“Because he obviously has the feelings for you.”
Now Emmeline rolled her eyes. But the fluttering in her belly began again. “Ines, I know you fancy yourself half in love, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is as well.”
“I do not know if he is in love with you, but there is no doubt he finds you attractive. The entire time we were talking, he could not keep his eyes off you.”
“He was undoubtedly trying to figure out what we were saying. Either that or plotting how to take me home in the most efficient manner.”
“I do not think so. His expression was not that of a man scheming.”
Emmeline looked at Ines. She was barely a woman and quite obviously in love with love. Nothing she said should be given any weight. But Emmeline couldn’t stop from asking, “What was his expression, then?”
“A man who likes what he sees and is trying to puzzle out exactly what to do about that.”
Emmeline was spared from making any sort of comment when the men exited the inn a moment later. Stratford declared he would be accompanying her to the Pope estate, and Emmeline tried not to feel a burst of happiness. But just because Ines had been right that she wanted him to accompany her today did not mean she was right that he had feelings for her.
And even if he did, so what? It was not as though Emmeline had feelings for Stratford. Did she? Was that why her belly fluttered when he was near?
No. They were friends, nothing more. Why, she could remember when he had been but a boy of eleven or twelve, all gangly arms and long legs. He would come home from playing with his older brothers, his shoes and trousers covered with mud. Emmeline remembered looking at him and feeling jealous that he had such freedom, while she’d had to sit in the drawing room and sew tiny, straight stitches in an old piece of cloth. It hadn’t been Stratford’s fault he was a male and she a female, but that accident of fate didn’t stop her from sticking her tongue out at him when no one was looking. And it didn’t stop him from pulling her hair when she walked past him on the way to dinner.
Of course, she’d noticed when he’d grown up. It seemed he went away to school one autumn and when she saw him the next summer, he was all but a man. She’d actually been shy around him at first because he’d become a handsome man, with that thick blond hair and those intelligent blue eyes half-hidden under his thick honey-colored lashes. But then he’d pulled her hair when she walked into dinner, and she’d known he hadn’t changed a bit.
If Ines noticed him looking at her, it was probably because he was trying to find some fault with her or plan when he could pull her hair again. She’d caught him watching her at times when he escorted her to an event during the Season. Once she’d asked him what he found so interesting, as she mostly stood against the wall and waited to go home, and he’d said he was ensuring no scoundrels tried to lure her onto the dance floor.
She’d laughed and told him that most rakes were the sort of men who reached for the low-hanging fruit of widows and courtesans. He’d looked shocked at her response, but he hadn’t argued. The next time she’d caught him watching her, she’d stuck out her tongue at him. They were friends. That was all.
Mr. Murray’s coachman finally brought the vehicle to the front of the inn, and Murray offered his hand to Ines, who took it and climbed inside. Stratford then offered his hand to Emmeline. But she lifted her skirts, climbed in on her own, then stuck out her tongue at him. Smiling, she sat next to Ines. When Stratford entered and sat opposite her, she expected him to give her an annoyed look. Instead, something in his eyes made her collar feel too tight and her belly flutter. She quickly looked away, out the windows of the coach, as the conveyance made its way through picturesque town and then sped away.
INES
About a quarter hour into the journey, Ines realized it was more difficult than she’d anticipated to pretend she did not understand English. Miss Wellesley or one of the gentlemen often said something she was tempted to comment about. More than once, Miss Wellesley gave her a pointed look when Ines was paying too much attention to the conversation. She knew how one behaved when one did not know the language. She hadn’t known Spanish when her sister had first taken her to Barcelona. When one didn’t understand what was being said all around, it was easy to ignore the conversation and focus on one’s surroundings. But now she was having difficulty ignoring what was said. One method that seemed to work was to watch Mr. Murray speak and notice how his lips moved or his amber-colored eyes crinkled when he laughed.
But she’d obviously stared at him too long because he gave her a questioning look, and she was forced to go back to staring out the window again. Though Ines had been disappointed the Scotsman hadn’t tried to take advantage of her the night before, she realized it was probably for the best. Benedict would kill Murray if he ever found out, and Ines didn’t want that blood on her hands. But Draven would probably only lecture Murray if he kissed Ines. Surely, she was worth a lecture.
The Scotsman caught her looking at him again, but this time he nodded out the window. “If ye look before we start down this rise, ye can see Wentmore below.”
Ines waited until Mr. Fortescue and Miss Wellesley looked out the window, then followed their example. She winced a bit at what she saw. Wentmore had probably once been a lovely manor house. It was still lovely, though the stone of the front face was three-fourths obscured by the overgrown ivy that seemed to have wrapped itself around the house in a choking embrace. The front lawns were also poorly maintained. The grass was yellow, and the hedges and topiary were overgrown. Along one side, she caught a dark stain on the stone. She almost forgot herself and asked about it, but Miss Wellesley asked first. “What is that mark on the side of the stone? It looks like a burn.”
“I think you’re right,” Fortescue said. “There might have been a fire.” He looked at Murray. “I hope we can go inside to see how bad the damage is and if Nash needs assistance.”
Murray snorted. “He wouldnae take it even if we offered.”
“Then maybe we don’t give him the chance to refuse. I have a plan.”
Murray sighed. “Of course, ye do.”
He spoke low so only Murray could hear. Ines exchanged a look with Miss Wellesley, who seemed annoyed to be left out of the conversation. A few moments later, the coach slowed, and Mr. Fortescue opened the door and jumped out. No one emerged from the house to greet them and after Murray exited the coach, the coachman called down, “Are you sure this is where you wanted to go?”
“This is Wentmore,” Murray said. Then he looked back at the women. “Stay here while we go inside and do a wee bit of reconnaissance.” He started away.
Emmeline turned to Ines. “This looks worse than I imagined.”
“It doesn’t appear anyone lives here,” Ines murmured.
“Or if someone does, he does not welcome visitors.”
Just then a crash echoed from inside the house, and the women exchanged worried looks. The crash was followed by the sound of raised male voices. Then the door banged open and Murray flew out. When he turned to look at the coach, blood ran down the side of his cheek.
“Caramba!” Ines said. She jumped out of the coach, but Murray had already gained his feet and was running back into the house. The door closed behind him. Miss Wellesley joined Ines on the weed-filled drive, and they listened to more shouts and then the sound of a rifle or pistol firing.