A Regency Virgin's Undoing. Christine Merrill

it to the schedule and making little tutting noises of disapproval. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, ‘The recent rains have spoiled the roads. I doubt we will be able to go much farther today.’

      ‘Oh dear.’ There was little more to be said, other than to voice her disappointment. It was not as if arguing with Mr Hendricks would change the quality of the road, after all.

      Half an hour later, the coach gave a final lurch and ground to a stop in the mud. The drivers called to the passengers to exit and for any men strong enough to assist in pushing.

      As Mr Hendricks shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeves, Drusilla looked in dismay at the puddle in front of the door. As she started down the steps, her companion held up a hand to stay her. ‘Allow me.’ Then he hopped lightly to the ground, and held out his arms to her.

      ‘You cannot mean to carry me,’ she said, taking a half-step back.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘I am too heavy for you.’

      He gave her an odd look. ‘I hardly think it will be a problem. Now hurry. My feet are getting wet.’

      Gingerly, she sat on the edge and lowered herself towards him. Then he took her in his arms, turned and walked a little way up the hill to a dry place. He proved himself right, for he carried her easily. His body was warm against hers; suddenly and unreasonably, she regretted that she had not lain closer to him in the night. It felt delightful to have his arms about her and she allowed her own arms to creep about his neck, pretending it was only to aid in balance and had nothing to do with the desire to touch him.

      Too soon he arrived at the safe place and set her down on the ground. ‘Wait for me here, Sister.’

      Was the last word a reminder of her role? she wondered. As he laboured behind the coach, she could not manage to think of him thus. His broad shoulders strained, outlining themselves against the linen of his shirt. She could see muscle, bone and sinew in the strength of his arms and his legs as well, his lower anatomy well defined by the tightness of his mud-splattered trousers.

      It made her feel strange, rather like she had first thing in the morning, when he had been staring at her. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering if she had taken ill, and then let it fall to her side in defeat. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that her reactions to Mr Hendricks were related to heat or indigestion. It excited her to have his attention, if she fluttered at every glance and touch.

      Perhaps her sister’s foolishness was contagious. She was normally far too sensible to be looking at a man and thinking the things she was. More importantly, she should not be looking at this particular man. She had hired him, for heaven’s sake. He was her inferior. Not a suitor. Not a lover. Not even a friend. It was no different than Priscilla and her dancing master.

      Except in one thing. Mr Hendricks had shown no interest in seducing her. Last night, with the candour brought on by too much alcohol, he had admitted that his heart was already bruised. He had been eager to withdraw from civilisation, particularly the company of women. If he had even the slightest idea what was going on in her head, he would depart from her at the first opportunity, leaving her to face this calamity alone.

      As if to punish her for her lapse, the horses gave a tug and the body of the coach overbalanced still further. And then, with a horrible splintering, the mired wheel gave way. She covered her eyes with her hands, wishing she could reject the reality of the destroyed transport and the attractiveness of her companion. It was all ruined, as was her Priss.

      And she could not help but think that it was all her fault. If she had behaved with more foresight while they were still in London, been more strict … Or perhaps less so … If she had been a better example, or listened with more compassion to her sister’s problems … then Priss would not have run away. And she would not be sitting beside a broken coach, staring at a man’s shoulders and thinking nonsense.

      She felt the shadow of him cross her face, before he spoke. ‘Well, then. That’s done for.’

      ‘It’s over.’ Because it was. She could not walk to Scotland. By the time they could find another carriage, the couple would be even farther ahead of them. She might as well adjust to the idea of Mr Gervaise for a brother-in-law, and a father so angry that she would never see polite society again, lest she follow the path of her younger sister and humiliate him.

      He gave a short laugh. ‘Then you will be glad that I am here. For while the coach is done, the journey is hardly over. If you wish to continue, that is.’

      ‘Continue? Of course.’ Her eyes flew to the coach. ‘Can they get us a post-chaise?’

      ‘They’ll do it for two passengers, but not for three.’

      ‘There are only two of us,’ she said.

      Mr Hendricks cocked his head in the direction of their companion who was leaning against the broken axle. ‘After the way we have treated him, it is unlikely that he will yield his place to us. And do not think for a moment that you will change partners as though you were waltzing at Almack’s and go on with him instead,’ Hendricks said firmly. ‘I hesitate to think what might happen to you if he gets you alone.’

      A variety of responses occurred to her. She should have told him that she was not that foolish, that he had no right to talk to her in that tone. Instead, she announced, ‘I have never been waltzing at Almack’s, and, if I had, I certainly would not leave you in the middle of a dance.’ It was true. She had procured the vouchers with Priss in mind. She had not needed Father to tell her that the girl would not show to best advantage if both of them were on the floor. But it made her look like a looby to announce the fact now. It was bad enough to be thought foolish, but worse to be seen as exactly what she was: a wallflower spinster, too busy watching over the virtue of others to get the benefit of a Season.

      Mr Hendricks was staring at her as though she has sprouted feathers. ‘Go and speak to the driver. See what else can be done,’ she commanded in her most aristocratic tone. ‘I wish to be in Scotland before tomorrow, Hendricks. There is no time to waste.’ He did not need to be told his job. She hated people who solved their problems by tongue-lashing the nearest servant, but at least it made him turn from her so she could no longer see his look of pity.

      He came back a short time later, holding out a hand to her as though there was nothing strange between them. ‘The coachman tells me that southbound drivers claim it is this bad and worse for quite some way. Not fit for coach or wagon even if we could get one. But two horses, keeping to dry ground and travelling cross country, will have more success. I’ve bribed the driver to give us the wheelers and let us go on alone.’

      ‘You want us to continue on horseback?’ As though that was not obvious, without her chattering like a parrot at the poor man.

      He answered with a nod; if he thought her dull witted, he was kind enough to ignore it. He produced a compass from his pocket, glancing up at the sun for confirmation. ‘We will travel north and hope for drier roads when we reach Lancashire.’ Then, as though remembering that it was not he who led, said, ‘Does this meet with your approval, my lady?’

      She blinked, wondering if she would have managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in such a handy way had she not found him. ‘I think I am most fortunate to have taken you on, Mr Hendricks.’

      ‘Thank you, Lady Drusilla.’

Chapter Five

      Thank you, Lady Drusilla. As you please, my lady. Even as John walked back to help unhitch the horses from the coach, the voice in his head mocked him. In taking this trip, hadn’t he been planning to get out from under the thumbs of attractive and unattainable women? He’d only just got clear of Emily. And now, this.

      When he’d realised that there was no space at the inn, he should have offered to pig up with the cit instead of carrying the farce any further. But he’d been drunk and querulous