Both men stood up as she approached.
“Don’t let us interrupt you,” she said hastily.
“Too late,” Cromarty said, turning Horatio upside down, much to the boy’s delight. He jerked his head toward Sir Marcus. “Besides, I was achieving nothing with this lunkhead.”
Helen blinked, though Sir Marcus seemed to see nothing wrong with the insult, merely twitching the corners of his mouth into a tolerant smile.
“What were you trying to achieve?” she asked mildly.
Mr. Cromarty grimaced. “Sensible discussion about the idiocy of traveling to Russia on a whim.”
“A whim?” Helen repeated startled. “I don’t believe anyone would go there right now upon a mere whim.”
Cromarty’s eyebrows flew up. “By God, you’re right. What are you not telling me, Dain?”
“Whatever is not your business,” Sir Marcus said irritably. “I made a promise to a friend. That is not a whim.” He seemed about to stalk away into the inn, but Mr. Cromarty stayed him.
“By the way, I forgot to mention. I heard Isabelle de Renarde had got married.”
If the information was meant to be a barb, to throw Sir Marcus, or trick him into admitting something, it fell wide of the mark. He did glance back, but a sincere smile flickered across his face.
“I knew she would. But I’m glad to know it’s happened.”
“Drat the man,” Mr. Cromarty muttered as his friend vanished inside. “Then it isn’t Isabelle.”
“What isn’t?” Eliza asked.
“That’s making him so determined to k—” Cromarty broke off with a quick glance at the children. “Risk himself,” he corrected.
“Perhaps you should just take him at his word,” Helen suggested. “He’s keeping a promise to a friend.”
“A friend would not expect him to keep such a promise in such circumstances,” Cromarty snapped. He forced a smile. “But there, I have said enough to him and to you! Shall we go back inside? We’ll be leaving soon.”
Oddly enough, the best part of the ride back to Steynings was the time she spent in Sir Marcus’s company. Henrietta had dropped back to ride with the children, so Helen urged the mare on in order to make way, and a few moments later, she found Sir Marcus beside her.
Again, sheer awareness of his large frame, his strong hands easily controlling his lively mount, took her breath away. Covering it, she rushed into speech.
“Will this be your first visit to Russia?”
As soon as the words were out, she would have given anything to unsay them. But without any show of irritation, he replied merely, “No, I have been there several times over the years.” He paused, as though almost forcing himself to speak. “Actually, I spent most of my life abroad. I grew up mostly in France before the revolution. My mother was French. War might have put a stop to the traditional Grand Tour, but as an adult, I made my own variations and kept going. I would come home for a year and then my feet would itch, and off I’d go again, somewhere new and different.”
“Which other countries have you seen?” she asked.
It seemed to her he had been most of the way around the world, catching European countries in moments of peace, but also going beyond the Ottoman Empire to the east, as far as India and China. He had spent time in North Africa, including Egypt, and sailed west to the United States and South America.
“I would love to see even a fraction of the places you have,” she said enviously. “I have not even been to Scotland! And so, you have been home for a year now?”
“Four years. I had to come home when my father died and put his ramshackle estates in order.”
“I am guessing that has irked you unbearably?”
“Actually, no, I rather enjoyed it. I had almost decided to settle only…” He trailed off with a shrug.
“Only you have a restless spirit,” she said lightly. “And a friend in need.” Remembering he did not want to talk about that, she hastily asked instead about Egypt and for the next twenty minutes listened, rapt, to his descriptions of that fascinating land and several others. He answered her eager questions with great patience and interspersed it all with humorous stories that made her laugh.
In those moments, she was transported from the too-familiar countryside of Sussex to places entirely new and exotic, exciting her wonder and fresh desire to travel there for herself. She could have happily listened to him for hours and was only dragged back to reality when Henrietta brushed past her to the group in front.
“Oh dear, I’ve let myself be distracted,” she said in dismay. “I would love to hear more some time, but…”
With an apologetic shrug, she fell back to rejoin the children. In truth, they had hardly been neglected, with both their sister and Anne riding among them, while she was only a few yards in front. But she knew she must have brought unwelcome notice on herself by such a long conversation with Sir Marcus. She would be accused of encroaching or even, God help her, flirting, both ideas which made her cringe. A governess’s living depended upon her spotless reputation, and while Lady Overton was a tolerant employer, Helen was only too aware she could not stretch that good nature too far.
“Thank you,” Anne breathed, bringing her horse closer to Helen’s, which snorted and tried to toss her head.
“For what?” Helen asked, uncomprehending.
“For keeping him occupied.”
Helen blinked. “My dear Miss Marshall, he is not an ogre waiting to pounce upon you!”
“Of course not.” Anne flushed and apologized, but Helen could see that was still exactly what she thought.
Only as they all dismounted at Steynings, did she find herself face to face with Sir Marcus once more.
“I hope I did not bore you with my excessive reminiscences,” he said shortly.
“Quite the opposite,” she muttered. She had time, before she fled, to see his frown vanish and his eyes smile. As she hurried after the twins—George would inevitably hang around the stables for as long as he could—she folded her arm across her chest, as though that could calm the rapid beating of her heart.
What is the matter with me? Why does he affect me so?
Of course, he meant nothing by his careless attention. He was probably still, in his own way, apologizing for his rudeness at the Hart. But she needed to look after herself. She would have to avoid him until either he or the Overtons left Steynings.
Chapter Five
Retreating to her bedchamber to change for dinner that evening, Helen appreciated the solitude. She needed it to calm her foolish agitation and give herself a severe talking-to until she returned to her sane and sensible self.
However, as she sank on to the bed, her gaze on the window, her mind focused stubbornly on the narrow balcony from where she had spoken yesterday to Sir Marcus. It would not be so unlikely for another such encounter to occur.
She rolled off the bed and jumped to her feet, marching to the slightly damaged mirror on the dressing table.
She was nine-and-twenty years old and to earn her living, she had always contrived to look older. Pulling the pins from her hair, she dragged her fingers through it, letting it bounce and cluster around her face. Instantly, she looked younger, softer. Thinking of Sir Marcus, she let her lips tremble into a smile that almost broke her heart.