One
INES
“She is an unmarried young lady,” her brother-in-law said. “It’s absolutely out of the question.”
Ines narrowed her eyes in annoyance, even though neither Benedict Draven nor her sister, Catarina, could see her. She was eavesdropping. Again. She hadn’t meant to—not this time. She’d been passing by the drawing room and heard her name. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t eavesdrop on her sister and brother-in-law. They were married and deserved their privacy. But that promise did not apply in case of emergency. And this obviously qualified as an emergency as their discussion pertained to her future.
“We cannot keep her here, under lock and key, forever,” Catarina said calmly. “She is young and wants some independence. It is not as though she is one of your fine Society ladies. She is a lacemaker.”
“She’s part of my family now, and I won’t have her living alone above the shop. Even if I thought it was safe, you know her temperament.”
Ines bristled but restrained herself from interjecting as that would only prove Draven’s point.
“I was a bit wild at her age too,” Catarina said, a smile in her voice. “If you remember.”
Draven made a sound of dismissal. “That was war, and you were desperate.”
“Yes, desperate to escape an arranged marriage to a cruel old man.”
Ines nodded her head—she’d been facing a similar fate at one time. She’d run away with Catarina when, at the tender age of fourteen, their father had tried to marry her to one of his friends. She didn’t like to think of how close she’d come to being trapped forever. Of course, when she’d escaped, she’d thought she was embarking on an exhilarating adventure. The reality was hours of detailed work in the back of a shop with other lacemakers. Her only excitement had been attending mass on Sundays. Ines ran a finger over a rough piece of paint on the wall and scratched at it as Draven spoke again.
“Why don’t we see how things progress with Mr. Podmore?”
Podmore. Ines almost retched aloud. Mr. Podmore must be the most tedious person in London, if not the whole of England. Probably the entire world. He was forever going on about carriages. He was a successful cartwright, and his conveyances were known for their sturdiness and reliability. He’d once spoken for a quarter hour, uninterrupted, on the importance of wheel spokes. Ines had almost fallen asleep. She would never allow herself to be pushed into a marriage with a man like Podmore. She wanted passion, excitement...danger.
“I am afraid the interest there is all on one side,” Catarina said. “But perhaps if they pursue an enjoyable activity together, it might help. I will suggest a ride in the park when he arrives today.”
Ines started. Podmore was to call on her today? Caramba! She had to escape before he arrived or she might be trapped with him for hours, and she simply could not listen to another monologue on wheel spokes.
Ines stepped back and bumped into someone. She spun around and stared into the face of Ward, Draven’s butler. He was only a little taller than she. His head was bald, but a shadow of stubble darkened his cheeks. “Ward!” she hissed. “What are you doing there?”
It was a ridiculous question. Ward was everywhere. One never knew when or where he would turn up.
The butler raised a brow. “I might ask you the same question, Miss Neves.”
She blew out a breath. This was why she wanted to live above the shop. There was no privacy here. Her color rose as she realized how hypocritical that thought was considering she was the one eavesdropping.
On the other hand, Ward was eavesdropping as well... Ines straightened her shoulders. “I will pretend I did not see you, if you pretend you did not see me.”
“Happily, miss.”
Ines started for the front door, but Ward cleared his throat. She turned back. “What is it now?”
“Mr. Murray will arrive and knock on the door any moment. I suggest you exit another way.”
Ines had no idea how Ward always knew who was coming and who was going and when they would appear, but she was too stunned by the mention of Duncan Murray to say anything.
The image of the Scotsman immediately flashed into her mind. All she had was his image as she had never been introduced to him. Ines had only glimpsed him through cracks in doorways. But those quick peeks had shown her quite enough to arouse her interest. He was tall, oh so wonderfully tall, and big and strong. She liked big men, men who had to turn to the side to fit their shoulders through the door and duck under the lintel to avoid banging their head. Mr. Murray had thick arms and legs—she’d seen his legs because he often wore a kilt. They were muscled and covered by brown hair. He had quite a lot of hair. The hair on his head was long enough to pull back in a queue, which was how he wore it when he visited. But she imagined untying the piece of leather securing his hair and running her hands through the freed locks. Then maybe he’d kiss her with those lips that always seemed to give everyone a mocking half smile. She’d feel the bristle of his two days’ worth of stubble.
She didn’t need to have met him to know he was a man of passion, excitement, and danger.
“Are you well, Miss Neves?” Ward asked.
Ines realized she’d been standing still, staring off into space. “Yes, why?” she asked quickly.
“Your face has gone red and your breathing has quickened.”
“I am thirsty,” she said, putting her hands to her hot cheeks. “I think I shall go to the kitchens and ask for a cup of tea.” She walked away as rapidly as she could, certain Ward had known exactly what was causing her cheeks to color. Once in the kitchen, she didn’t see the cook, and she set about heating water to make her own cup of tea. She didn’t really want any tea, but she needed something to do while she calmed her thoughts.
She had to hide somewhere until Podmore had gone. But if she left, she would miss the chance to spy on Mr. Murray’s arrival. She would have to sneak around because Benedict always met with the Scot in private. Ines had once overheard—very well, listened in—when Catarina told Draven that Murray was wild and would be a bad influence on Ines. Benedict had said that of course he was. That was why the troop had called him the Lunatic. A description like that only made Duncan Murray more intriguing.
She had to find a way to meet him one day.
Ines heard a carriage stop outside the house and groaned aloud. Today would not be that day, obviously. Murray always came on a horse. Podmore always came in a carriage. He had several—a gig, a curricle, a barouche. She knew all about them. She had to escape now or she’d be forced to spend the afternoon with him, and it was such a lovely afternoon—warm and sunny and far too pretty to spend with dull Mr. Podmore. If she could avoid him today, she would be spared his company for the next few days as tomorrow her family was to travel to the country for the wedding of the sister of the Duke of Mayne.
Ines left the cup of tea brewing on the table, wiped her hands on the apron, and crossed the room to the courtyard door. She opened it, peeked out, and when she didn’t see any of the servants about, stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Sheets and table linens hung on a line to dry and a half-painted chair had been abandoned in a corner. She could hide here for a little while, but a few sheets would not provide much cover. She had to find somewhere Catarina wouldn’t think to look.