“So your aunt expects you?”
“Aunt…Aunt Mary desires a companion. She’s…she’s a rich spinster.” Close enough to the truth about her real great-aunt in Bath except her name was Georgiana. How Charis wished she could apply to that wonderful woman for help now. But her great-aunt, for all her fortune, was powerless against the law and the Farrells’ bullying.
“Miss Mary Watson of Portsmouth.” Did she hear skepticism in his deep voice, rich as vintage wine?
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So you can direct us to her house.”
Oh, Lord, no. She should have thought of that complication. She’d chosen Portsmouth as her destination because she imagined there she’d be part of a transient population, as unremarkable as a grain of sand in a gale. But she’d never visited the town, knew nothing about it.
“Of course.” She spoke hurriedly, before he quizzed her further on her mythical aunt. “Why were you in London?”
Did she mistake the haunted look that darkened his eyes? “Cornwall is isolated, especially in winter.”
Except he was tanned. His answers puzzled her. He mightn’t be lying like she was, but he wasn’t completely honest. “Does Akash work for you?”
He gave a surprised laugh. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh properly. His face lit with amusement, and her heart crashed to a trembling stop in her chest. He was the most breathtakingly attractive man she’d ever seen.
“Of course not. He’s my friend.”
“But…” She stopped for fear of causing offense.
“You shouldn’t make simple judgments, Miss Watson.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a flat silver flask. She waited for him to drink, but he held it out to her. “It’s brandy.”
“I don’t take strong spirits.”
“It will help you sleep and dull your aches.”
“Akash’s treatment did that.”
“Once you’ve been on the road a few hours, his magic will wear thin.” Sir Gideon’s voice lowered to velvet persuasion. “Drink it, Sarah. I promise it won’t hurt.”
She found herself reaching out, taking the flask and drinking. All under the power of fathomless dark eyes. As the liquor hit her throat, she coughed. Her bruised ribs protested the abrupt pressure even as comforting warmth spread through her veins.
She passed back the flask. Her brief vitality faded. Exhaustion weighted her aching limbs. Her swollen jaw protested as she fought back a yawn.
She wouldn’t sleep. She didn’t trust her companions enough to fall into unconsciousness. And she needed to be alert to seize her chance to escape.
She wouldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t…
The carriage rolled into Portsmouth the next morning. Gideon had dozed in snatches. That was all he managed these days, whether in a speeding coach or the most luxurious feather bed. Sometimes he thought he’d sell his soul for an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Other days he recognized he didn’t have a soul to sell.
At least his fear of closed-in spaces wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been when he first left India. His confinement in this coach had been uncomfortable, but he’d managed, thank God.
From the bench opposite, Akash studied him in silence. It had started to snow before dawn, and his friend had sought refuge in the vehicle. They’d suggested to Tulliver that they stop at a wayside inn. But Tulliver had proven as immune to English cold as he had to blistering heat on the boat back from India.
Gideon’s eyes alighted on the slumbering bundle at Akash’s side. Sarah lay curled in the corner, pressed against the upholstery as if even asleep she remained wary.
Gideon’s belly knotted with coruscating anger at whoever had hurt her. The craven deserved to rot in hell.
He slid back the blind and caught his first glimpse of Miss Sarah Watson in daylight. The bruising on her face was worse this morning, for all Akash’s arcane skills. Her hair was a rat’s nest. One scratched hand clutched his thick greatcoat around her, hiding the slender curves he recalled with such unwelcome clarity from last night. The other dangled loosely against her breast, suspended from Akash’s makeshift sling.
“Shall I wake her?” Akash murmured.
Gideon nodded. Gently, Akash touched her hand where it clenched in the coat’s thick black wool. Not for the first time, Gideon envied his friend the ease of contact.
He remained still, watching the girl stir. Her eyes—a cloudy hazel in the bright light reflected off the snow outside—opened and slowly focused on him. With accusation.