And that’s when the baby licked her.
To her credit Emmeline did not drop the squirming bundle. She jumped, but she managed to hold on. Shaking now with fear and uncertainty, she reached a hand back toward the baby’s face.
The baby licked her again with a big, wet tongue...
That was no baby tongue.
Emmeline touched the child’s face and felt a wet snout, fur, and soft, long ears.
It was not a baby at all. Further unwrapping of the blankets confirmed her suspicions that she held a small dog.
And that was the point Emmeline sank to the floor. She had been duped, played for a fool, tricked. And here she had prided herself on being the cleverest of her sisters. Well, they weren’t sitting in a broom closet with a dog wrapped like a baby, were they?
But why would the so-called mother want to trick her like that? What could she possibly be after—
Emmeline set the dog down quickly and reached inside her dress for the pockets she’d tied over her petticoat. She dove into one pocket then the other. Both were empty. But how—
That hug.
The embrace she had thought so sweet. That was when the woman had reached into her pockets and taken her purse. And now poor Mrs. Goodly was trapped on the coach with the duplicitous woman.
Except that Mrs. Goodly had encouraged her to go with the mother and baby. And Mrs. Goodly had not stopped the coach when Emmeline did not arrive before it departed. Surely a woman like Mrs. Goodly could make a coachman listen to her.
It was all so clear now. Mrs. Goodly had been part of the scheme as well, and Emmeline had been very easy prey. Why hadn’t she argued? The one time she held her tongue and look what had happened!
The dog licked her hand again and Emmeline stroked his head. “No wonder you were so quiet,” she said. “She was probably feeding you treats to keep you happy.” At the mention of the word treat the dog put his—or her—paws on Emmeline’s knee and jumped. “I don’t have anything for you,” Emmeline said, sinking down to the floor. “And until the next coach arrives, we’ll probably be stuck in here.”
She listened for a few moments, but the room that had been so full of people a few minutes ago was silent. She leaned her head back against the wall. “What will we do? I have no money, no one knows where I am.” She bolted upright, sending the dog scampering back. “I left my valise on the coach! Oh, no!”
She had nothing but the clothes on her back and the dog creeping back toward her feet. Now she’d have to slink home and admit what a failure she was—not only at securing a husband but at running away. She couldn’t do anything right!
Emmeline straightened her shoulders. If she continued to think that way, she’d probably end up right where she’d been, propping up a wall at another ball. She’d made the decision to go to her grandmother’s, and she would see that through.
One way or another.
Three
INES
Ines could not tear her gaze from the Scotsman seated across from her. He was like a dream—or a fantasy—come true. In the flesh he was even better than she had imagined. He was taller, gruffer, and more dangerous than she could have hoped. They sat in the public room of an inn in a village she did not know the name of. He’d told her, but she’d been looking at his hands. Large hands she suspected would feel deliciously rough on her skin. Watching her warily, he bit off a hunk of bread and motioned for her to eat. She tried, but it was difficult when she could not stop thinking about what he looked like under his clothes.
Everything about this day was surreal. Duncan Murray was looking at her, had been talking to her, was eating with her. Of course, he didn’t know who she was. He thought she was a Portuguese woman named Beatriz. Ines hadn’t planned to lie to him or to pretend she didn’t speak English. She’d been struck mute when she’d awoke to find him looking down at her. Her throat had closed up and her mind hadn’t been able to think of anything except the words I love you. And when he had asked her name, she had been about to tell him she was Ines, but then she realized that once he knew she was Catarina Draven’s sister, he would take her straight back to London. And so she’d given him one of her other sisters’ names, and she’d pretended she didn’t speak English so she didn’t have to try and think of any more lies. Ines was not a very good liar. Catarina always said Ines’s face was like an open book.
Quickly, she looked down and ate a spoonful of soup. If her face was an open book, she had better stop staring at him because he’d know right away she was lusting after him. But was that such a bad thing? If he knew, he might try to take advantage of her. She shivered at the thought of his kisses.
“Are ye cold, lass?” Duncan removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Ines was not cold, and though she liked the warmth of his coat and the scent of him surrounding her, she could not appreciate his chivalry. Why did he have to be such a gentleman? Didn’t he want to ravish her? Didn’t he want to sweep her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and kick open a chamber door then have his way with her?
Ines sighed. Given that Duncan Murray had been given the sobriquet the Lunatic by his fellow soldiers, Ines feared that it was not propriety that kept Murray from following his baser instincts. He had taken one look at her and didn’t want her. Catarina always said Ines was the pretty one, but she’d heard Murray was looking for a wife these past weeks in London. The fact that he was going home without one meant he was quite choosy, for surely he could have had any woman he wanted. He was breathtaking to look upon and exciting to be with.
Ines could only assume that whatever Duncan was looking for, it wasn’t her. He probably wanted one of those pale, yellow-haired English women with blue eyes and a curvaceous figure. Ines was dark haired, dark eyed, slender, and petite. She’d been told many times she was attractive, but obviously she did not have the qualities that would tempt the Scotsman.
“Why the long face, lass?” he asked. “I ken ye miss yer family, but we’ll have ye back in Town for supper tomorrow.”
Oh, good. Just what she wanted. To sit across from Catarina and Benedict and explain how she ended up in Duncan Murray’s carriage. The Scotsman would probably be none too pleased when he learned she spoke perfect English. She was beginning to regret not simply telling him who she was to begin with.
Murray pushed his plate away and lifted his glass of whisky. “I do wonder how ye ended up in my coach. It doesnae make sense tae me. Why would ye climb into an unfamiliar coach?”
She wished she could tell him about Podmore. She would have climbed into the mouth of a lion to avoid the cartwright.
“But I suppose that’s one more thing I dinnae ken aboot London. I went there tae find a bride.”
She did know this, but she was surprised he was speaking of it. Perhaps the whisky he’d drank made him talkative. Or perhaps it was easy to talk to someone he didn’t think could understand him.
“But do ye ken what I found instead? A passel of lasses who jumped everra time I said boo.” He shook his head and drank more whisky. “I was an idjit to believe anything had changed. We Scots are considered little more than barbarians.” He leaned closer, speaking conspiratorially. “In my case, that’s nae altogether untrue, lass, but I dinnae advertise the fact.” He winked, and Ines made a little sound of need, like the sound a puppy makes when waiting impatiently for her food to be set down.