Page 8 of The Virgin and the Viscount

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice rising with a hint of panic.

“Back to London. I much prefer to lie about in my own bedchamber.”

“You aren’t going to do anything to help me?” she asked.

He spun around and leaned against the carriage door. “I would, but you know my slothful nature might get in the way.”

Her eyes rolled upward. “I—”

“Yes, you hate me,” he interrupted her before she could finish her sentence.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she said coolly, but the flash of anger in her eyes said otherwise.

“Of course not.” He sighed, debating his options. “Now then, are you going to come with me?”

“You can’t possibly expect me to leave with you,” she said. “Can’t you fix the wheel?”

He leaned out of the doorway and eyed the broken wheel—the axle was split in half. Something about the break looked suspicious. He glanced at it again, noting the angles of everything. He didn’t want to further alarm Tilly, though, so he schooled his features as he looked back at her. “No, that wheel can’t be fixed. So your alternative is to wait here. Alone. In the middle of basically nowhere waiting for a highwayman to come and accost you.”

She blew out a breath.

Her expression of pure exasperation would be cute on a woman less annoying.

He held up one finger. “And it is about to storm.”

As if on cue, thunder rumbled around them and she started, her eyes going wide with fear.

“I do not care for storms.”

He held out his hand. “Come on, Tilly, I’ll find somewhere for us to wait out the storm, then we’ll be on our way to London. I promise I will let no harm come to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you?”

Why indeed?

Because he was a gentleman. Because he was a man of honor. Because he had never once given her any reason not to trust him. Despite all that, naturally Tilly would assume his motives were suspect and his actions questionable.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “I’ve never given you any reason not to.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then shut it with a frown. She knew that was the truth. He might know her deepest secret, but he’d never told anyone about that night. Though every time he relived it, a knot formed in his stomach. His brother, Thomas, who held her affections, was nothing short of a manipulating arse. The man did not deserve the love and devotion from a feral barn cat, let alone a woman like Tilly, even if she was the most bothersome woman of his acquaintance. Even if she was currently looking at him as if trying to decide which was worse: being accosted by both the weather and highwaymen or accepting his help.

Eventually, she leaned forward and took his hand, her smaller one fitting perfectly in his own. He assisted her out of the carriage, then swiftly brought her to his own rig and ushered her inside just as the sky opened up and rain poured from the darkened sky. There was no reason to head back to her family’s estate; they were already closer to London. But there was no making it all the way back to the city tonight. Not in this weather. They were going to have to find somewhere to stay.

“There’s an inn a few miles back where we can stay for the evening, then we’ll start for London as soon as the weather clears.”

She nodded, but said nothing else. Her wide eyes looked around the carriage, and he was thankful he’d thought to light the lanterns, especially since the storm quite obviously frightened her.

He held a book out to her. “I was reading this, but perhaps it will take your mind off the weather.”

Her gaze was wary as she took the offered book. “Oliver Twist?” Her delicate brows rose.

“Ah, you must have assumed I couldn’t read.”

She narrowed her gaze. “No, I would not have wagered you a Dickens man.”

“I enjoy most books.” He chuckled at her wide-eyed expression. “Don’t look so surprised. Perhaps you do not know everything about me.”

If they had met under different circumstances, if she had not first met his deceptive younger brother, perhaps she would not always assume the worst of him.

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