The Vanishing Viscountess. Diane Gaston

ran into him. “You will have to trust my word as a gentleman, will you not?” He walked over to where Miss Brown waited next to the cart.

      He did not know how much of her story to believe, but he’d be damned if he’d turn her over to a magistrate. No matter what she had done, she’d paid for it by what that deuced Bow Street Runner made her endure, leaving her to die while he saved himself. As far as Tanner was concerned, that alone should give her freedom.

      Saving her life absolved him, in part, for the other deaths that weighed on his conscience. He would see her safe to help repay that debt.

      He touched her arm. “I will climb up first, then assist you.”

      His ribs only hurt mildly as he got up next to the old man. He reached for Miss Brown’s hand and pulled her up. As she settled next to him, he wanted to put his arm around her. He wanted to touch her, to keep fresh the memory of their naked embrace. He remembered the feel of her in his arms as he lay between sleep and waking. Her skin, soft and smooth and warm. Her curves, fitting against him as if tailored to him.

      “Let us go,” he told the farmer.

      Mr Davies snapped the ribbons and the old horse started moving.

      “You make him pay, husband!” Mrs Davies shouted after them.

      The old horse pulled the cart past the vegetable garden, colourful with cabbages and kale. Wheat was already planted for the winter crop and a rook swept down and disappeared into the field of swaying stalks. The cart rolled at a slow speed finally reaching a road, leaving the cottage some distance behind.

      At the road, Tanner turned to Mr Davies. “Take us to Cemaes.”

      The old man’s head jerked in surprise. “Cemaes is north. You’ll be wanting to go south to the ferry to Holyhead.”

      “We wish to go north. To Cemaes,” Tanner said.

      Mr Davies shook his head. “You want to go to Holyhead, I tell you.”

      Tanner felt a shiver crawl up his back. He’d wager the old man had some mishap planned on the road to the ferry. He held up the sovereign, which glittered in the sunlight. “If you wish to earn this coin, you will take us to Cemaes.” He returned the coin to his pocket. “If not, we will walk from here.” Tanner began to stand.

      The farmer gestured for him to sit. “I’ll take you to Cemaes,” he grumbled and turned the horse and cart north.

      The road, still muddy from the rains, wound past more farmland and other small cottages like the Davies’s. Sometimes Tanner could glimpse the sea, looking calm this day, like a slumbering monster that had devoured its fill. The old man kept the frown on his face and did not speak. Miss Brown gripped the seat to steady herself as the cart rumbled along, but she, too, was silent. The cart jostled her against him, from time to time, keeping Tanner physically aware of her.

      Her face was obscured by the hood of the cloak, and Tanner missed watching the play of emotions on her face. He’d seen her angry, earnest, frightened and relieved. He would enjoy hearing her laugh, or seeing passion light her face.

      He also wished to discover her real name and the names of the people from whom she had supposedly stolen jewels. If she confided in him, he could help her. Even if she was guilty of the theft, he could make her troubles disappear. Money, power and influence overcame justice most of the time. If he repaid the son for the jewels, he’d wager the theft would be totally forgiven.

      Tanner could not gaze at her without being obvious, so he settled for the warmth of the sun on his face, the scent of the fresh sea air and fragrant fields, and the sight of the peaceful countryside. It was not precisely an Arcadian paradise, not with men toiling in the fields and cottages too small for comfort, but it was solid and timeless and vastly preferable to the cold, fickle sea.

      As the sun grew higher in the sky, they passed a windmill spinning in the breeze, and a standing stone placed there by Celtic people long erased from history. Tanner guessed the time to be about noon. He dug his fingers into his pocket for his timepiece. It was no longer there.

      His head whipped around to the old farmer driving the cart. The old man had gone through his pockets, he’d wager. “I wonder what time it is,” he said.

      The old man’s jaw flexed.

      Tanner coughed and winced as the pain in his ribs kicked at him again. Miss Brown looked over at him with concern in her eyes. He returned a reassuring smile, before glancing back to the old farmer.

      He ought to deprive the man of the sovereign he’d promised, glad he’d had the presence of mind to hang on to his purse after he’d peeled every piece of wet clothing off his body, making a sopping pile on the cottage floor. Miss Brown had been shivering so violently, Tanner had been desperate to make her warm.

      Mr Davies flicked the ribbons and glanced at Tanner nervously, fearful, no doubt, that Tanner would challenge him on the theft of his timepiece.

      Tanner glanced back to the road. Let the man keep the watch, he said to himself. As payment for his bed. Tanner would have given the man anything for that warm bed. For her. To save her from the killing cold as he had saved her from the killing sea.

      Two slow hours passed and Tanner suspected they could have walked faster than the old horse moved on the muddy road. Finally rooftops and a church bell tower came into view.

      “Cemaes,” said the old man, lifting his chin towards the town.

      Miss Brown leaned forward. What was she thinking? Tanner wondered. What plan was she making for herself?

      They came to the first houses, gleaming white, edged with chrysanthemums and marigolds. Up ahead the buildings became thicker and Tanner could see people walking about.

      Miss Brown put her hand on Tanner’s arm. “May we stop here?” She gave him that earnest look again.

      He drank it in for a moment, then turned to the old man. “Mr Davies, you may leave us off here.”

      The old man’s bushy brows shot up. “It is no distance to the inn.”

      “Good!” Tanner responded in a jovial voice. “Then it shall be only a short walk for us. Stop, if you please.”

      The farmer shrugged and pulled on the ribbons, halting his horse. Tanner climbed down and reached up for Miss Brown. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her down to the road and was reluctant to let go of her. He fished in his pocket for the sovereign and handed it up to Mr Davies, who grabbed it quickly, as if fearing Tanner would change his mind. Without a word of farewell, the man flicked the ribbons again, and the old horse clopped its way into town, to the inn and some refreshment for them both, Tanner suspected.

      “You gave him a sovereign.” Miss Brown said in a disapproving tone.

      Tanner kicked a pebble into the street. “Yes.”

      She rolled her eyes.

      “Too much?”

      “I dare say,” she responded. “Half that amount would have been generous.”

      He tilted his head, somewhat chagrined. “Especially since the man also stole my watch and I highly suspect his son was the man you hit over the head.”

      Her jaw dropped. “Tell me it is not so.” Outrage filled her face. “How shabby of them to take such advantage.”

      This was an odd reaction for a supposed thief, Tanner thought. “Well, it is done…” He glanced around him, at the cobblestones in the street, at the tidy houses. “Why did you wish to be let off here?”

      The sun illuminated her features and made her eyes sparkle like sapphires. He felt momentarily deprived of breath.

      “I wanted a chance to talk with you.” She gazed at him intently. “To prepare.”

      It took a moment for him to respond. “Prepare for what?”

      She frowned in concentration. “I cannot