Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin. Christine Merrill

strange man in her bed. But she hated to be reminded of her ignorance and to feel that he was amusing himself with her naïveté. But it was late and she was tired, and could think of no alternative sleeping arrangements if he was unwilling to move. She stared at the bed, then at him. ‘If it is only for the few hours until dawn, I think I can manage to control myself.’

      ‘Unless you are driven wild by the appearance of a man’s bare feet,’ he said, not bothering a glance in her direction. ‘I will retain my shirt in deference to your modesty. But I mean to remove my socks and dry them by the fire.’

      ‘Is there any reason that I would be inflamed at the sight of them?’ she asked, suddenly rather curious. For other than in paintings, she could not remember ever seeing any male feet.

      ‘None that I know of. But if you wish, you may assure yourself that they are not cloven hooves.’ He pulled back the covers and she caught a glimpse of them as he rolled easily into his side of the bed. They were quite ordinary, although there was something distinctly masculine about the size.

      But being able to travel with dry toes tomorrow would be rather pleasant. So she went to her side of the bed, with her back to him, and as discretely as possible removed her boots, undid her garters and rolled her own stockings down.

      Then she glanced at the bed again, trying not to look at the body already in it. To lie down beside it would be more than a careless disregard for modesty. But she was very tired, and there might not be another chance to sleep in a bed, not even part of one, between here and the end of her journey. ‘I have, in the past, been forced to share a mattress with my sister. That did not upset my sleep.’ But Mr Hendricks seemed much larger than Priscilla. And he was occupying slightly more than half of the available space. She wondered, uneasily, how much room she was likely to need.

      He rolled so that he could look at her again as she arranged her stockings next to his. His eyes flicked briefly to her feet, bare on the cold floor of the inn, and then just as quickly back to her face. He gave her a strange, tight smile. ‘But I am not really your brother.’ Then he removed his spectacles, folded them and placed them on a stool next to the bed. ‘We will manage the best we can.’ He rolled so that his back was to her again. ‘When you are ready to retire, please extinguish the candle.’

      Once she was sure that his eyes were truly closed, Dru dropped the front of her gown and loosened the stays built into it to make sleeping a little easier. She feared that the shortness of breath she was experiencing was more the sign of rising panic. She was not even a day from home, but it was farther than she had ever travelled without escort. And on the very first night, she had fallen into what the map maker might label terra incognita, a place where the rules as she understood them did not apply. She was in bed with a strange man and both of them were barefoot. Although no governess had lectured her on this particular circumstance, she was sure that the forecast would have been dire.

      She suspected that Priss would have managed the situation much better, for the girl had been so unwilling to follow the dictates of convention that she would not feel their absence.

      But Dru missed them sorely. She must hope that the man she had hired to aid her was as honest and dependable as he managed to look, in some lights at least. Once he was rested and sober, and wearing his spectacles again, everything would be all right. She remembered the flash of gold in his eyes, after he’d removed his glasses, but just before he’d closed them. Strange, deep, unfathomable eyes. Eyes that had been places and seen things. And they had been looking at her.

      ‘Here there be dragons,’ she whispered, blew out the candle and lay down beside him.

      From somewhere on the other side of the mattress, she heard a groan, and the muttered, ‘I will slay them in the morning.’ And then, there was nothing but silence.

       Chapter Four

      When she woke the next morning, she was stiff with discomfort and not all the pain she felt could be blamed on the stress of travelling. She had slept with her arms folded tightly across her chest, fearing that the least movement would rouse her companion.

      But he had not seemed at all bothered by her presence. His even snoring was a demonstration of that. It had roused her several times during the night. Of course, he was quiet enough now that it was almost light and time to be getting up again. She grumbled to herself at the unfairness of it, tossing to lie on her other side.

      He was silent because he was awake. Only inches from her nose he lay facing her, watching.

      And why she had thought him a parson on the previous day she had no idea. So close like this, his eyes were reminiscent of some great cat. His body reminded her of that as well, for there was a stillness in it now that did not seem so much immobility, as the gathering of energy that came, right before the pounce.

      And that attention was focused on her. Like a rabbit, she responded to it by freezing. Unable to turn away from him, she lay there, paralysed, waiting for the eventual assault, yet was unable to fear it. While she’d not thought further than the desperate effort to save her sister’s reputation, she’d put her own honour at stake. And that particular commodity was so shelf worn as to be practically useless. While it was foolish to put it at risk, she sometimes wondered if anyone even cared that she possessed it.

      But in this moment, she was sure that Mr Hendricks had noticed, was giving the matter some thought and would divest her of it with efficiency and discretion, should she ask him to.

      Then the man next to her sat up, yawned, stretched and reached for his glasses. He put them on; when he looked at her again, it was as if the great cat she feared was safely encased behind a thick, protective window. It watched her for a moment, then lost interest, retreating slowly back into its cage and out of sight, leaving the somewhat owlish parson she had noted on the previous day.

      ‘You slept well, I trust?’ he asked.

      ‘As well as can be expected,’ she admitted.

      ‘Very good.’ He swung his legs out of the bed and to the floor, reaching for his socks and boots. ‘I will leave you to prepare yourself for the day, and will be returning in …’ he reached for his watch and checked the time ‘… approximately fifteen minutes. Will that be sufficient?’

      ‘Certainly. I will go down to the common room for breakfast, so that you will know when the room is empty.’

      He nodded, then left her.

      In his place was a strange feeling, almost of bereavement. It was hardly appropriate. She had only just met the man and should be relieved that he was allowing her some privacy so that she could have a wash. And she had best get about it, for she was willing to wager that when he’d said fifteen minutes, he had meant exactly that and would be measuring it on a watch that was both properly maintained and more than usually accurate. He would be an efficient task master, well aware of the schedule and the need to adhere to it, if she wished to reach her goal.

      She should be pleased. Had this not been exactly what she needed? But as she sat up and reached for her valise and prepared to refresh herself, she sighed.

      Less than an hour later, they were side by side again in the carriage and travelling north. The man who had bothered her yesterday was there again today, watching her closely from the other seat. He eyed Mr Hendricks as well, as though looking for some resemblance between them or some sign that the night had been spent in more than sleep.

      Mr Hendricks noticed it as well and gave the man a dark look. ‘I trust you slept well, sir.’

      Drusilla smiled to herself as the man coloured from guilt.

      ‘I expect the day’s travel to be equally uncomfortable,’ he said, this time to Dru. ‘The driver was in the parlour when I took my breakfast; he has got word that the roads grow more difficult the farther north we travel. They may become impassable.’

      ‘I prefer not to invoke disaster by discussing it,’ she said uneasily.

      Mr Hendricks shrugged. ‘It is better to be prepared against the eventuality