Chapter Twenty

Hannah tried to awaken in a better mood, really she did. The bed had been the most comfortable she had slept on all week, and the room had been quiet with little noise coming up from the bar thanks to being on the top floor. There was no reason at all to be grumpy.

And she certainly had no reason to direct that grumpiness at Red. The man had been utterly clueless as to why she had been annoyed at him yesterday, and for that she was grateful because her reasoning was foolish and illogical.

What did it matter if he was desperate for their time together to be over? He had made no promises and neither had she. Why, what a fool she must be to think an earl-turned-smuggler would want anything from her.

Hannah splashed her face and dabbed away the droplets as they ran down her neck. She dressed in an efficient manner. If she kept herself busy enough, she would not think on Red and this strange emotional turmoil she had managed to tangle herself up in.

"Silly girl," she muttered to her reflection while she ran a brush through her hair. "Silly, silly girl."

She had been hurt. There, she admitted it. Red had hurt her. She scowled at herself. Somehow she had let Red in, and now he had the ability to hurt her. In truth, she had not even realized she had been keeping people out until now, but apparently she had been. There was no sense in lying to herself.

But now she had let someone infiltrate and why? Because he was handsome? Intelligent? Because he could trade words with her so beautifully and encouraged her to be something more than just an intellect?

She stuck out her tongue at her reflection. No more dwelling on this. It would not help. Red wanted to return home and rightly so. He had a smuggling operation to see to and she...well she would go home and wait for her father, she supposed. Hopefully he would return from France before long and they could discuss all that he had recovered.

They would be apart, and that was how it should be. Red was simply a sensible man, while she was being utterly insensible. A strange thing for her to be sure, but she would conquer it. She would remind herself at every moment that there was nothing apart from a mild attraction between her and Red and he would return to Cornwall soon and forget her.

And she would forget him.

She narrowed her gaze at herself. "Yes, you will."

Hannah dressed and started her hair. She would try to make it as pretty as possible to make up for the fact she was wearing a dress that had yet to be cleaned or pressed. Hopefully the liberal amount of scent of violets would freshen it up. It was hardly ideal, but how could she complain? It had been her fault.

She was just in the process of pushing in the last few clips when there was a knock at the door. A few clips pressed between her lips and one hand in her hair, she opened the door. Her heart gave a stutter.

Unlike her, Red was beautifully clean and well-presented. Elegant from his single-breasted grey waistcoat and slightly darker tailcoat to his buckskins. And there was she, looking as though she had just emerged from the workhouse.

"Good morning," he said, hesitation in his voice.

"Good morning," she murmured with the clips still between her lips. She glanced at his shoe as though she could see through it and know the condition of his foot. "How is your toe?"

"Better. Though I have perfected an excellent hobble."

"So it is still sore?"

He lifted a shoulder. "I'll survive."

"I am sorry."

"It was my fault." He searched her face. "It was my fault, Hannah," he insisted.

Likely he thought she'd been upset by what had happened to his toe. Certainly she regretted he had been hurt by the artifact, but that was not what had disturbed her.

"Anyway," he grinned at her, "I thought I might take you into town and we could eat there."

"Of course. Let me finish my hair." She turned, and he ducked into her room. The space instantly grew smaller. As she sat and pushed the clips into place, picking up a butterfly comb to finish it.

Hannah fumbled it, and the comb fell on the floor. Before she could bend to pick it up, Red had appeared at her side. He straightened, comb in hand. "Allow me."

She motioned to the back of her hair where the curls were gathered. "Just here."

Never taking his gaze from hers, he slid the comb into place and adjusted it several times to his liking. He admired his own work in the mirror. "Perfect."

Had she had any breath left in her body, it would have frozen. As it was, it had vanished as soon as his fingers had come to her hair. A bitter ache gathered in her throat. She tore her gaze away and stood abruptly, forcing Red to take several steps back. Snatching up her pelisse, she slung it on, avoiding his aid and lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

"Shall we?"

"Of course." There was confusion in his eyes, likely over her abrupt manner.

But how was he to know she had spent the night thinking of him, wondering why it was she did not wish to leave his side so soon. Pondering how it would be possible for a bluestocking and a smuggler to be together. Dwelling on utterly fanciful notions.

She did not like it once bit. She dealt with facts, not fancy. And the facts were, he had expressed nothing but mild attraction toward her. He was a smuggler. He lived a less than savory life. He was arrogant and a tease. Not to mention he was an earl. She might be a gentleman's daughter, but she hardly ranked high enough to pass an earl's notice.

Red took her arm once they were downstairs and out in the street. It had rained overnight, leaving puddles between the cobbles. A carriage rattled past, overloaded with passengers and parceled goods. She had to dart back so as not to get sprayed with water as its wheel hit a water-loaded rut. She was already dirty and creased, but she did not want it to get much worse. Hopefully she might find a washerwoman or someone at the inn to scrub her dress overnight so at least she could be clean again before they moved on.

"Did you sleep well?" Red asked as he led her along the crowded pavement.

The hour was early but not so early as to dissuade people from strolling along the main street. Shops lined it, some of them with their goods spilling onto the street. The haberdashery had so many fabrics that it had a stall set up in front displaying the vibrant colors and beautiful fabrics. A few street vendors offered their wares on the edge of the road. The scent of roasted chestnuts reached her nose, and she spied the smoke from the stall up ahead.

"Excellently," she lied.

"Good."

"And you?"

"Not so well."

Her heart gave a little jolt. Had he been thinking of her too? "Oh. Why?"

He glanced down at his hobbling gait. "Having a toe twice the size as it should be is a little off-putting." He motioned along the street to a narrow building that looked as if it had been squeezed between the other two at one point. It had two windows at the bottom and a small pale blue door. All the woodwork has been painted to match. It reached up to three stories and hanging beneath the second set of windows was a sign indicating it was a tea room.

"This is an excellent place to eat."

She nodded, too hungry and on edge to question his decision. It did indeed look pleasant, so she was happy to let him take charge. He opened the door and urged her in with a palm to her back. It occurred to her that this was not a lone moment. There had been many a time when he had taken her arm or touched her in some familiar way. She had become so used to it, these moments had barely passed her notice, but for some reason, it did now.

It really did.

Her back felt scalded by the touch, and she instantly missed it when his palm left her.

She ducked into the room. The low beams were hardly low enough to hit her head, but they left the room feeling tiny. Underfoot, the floorboards were uneven and left one feeling as though one were on board a ship as they made their way to a table in the corner. Several tables were already full with a crowd of well-to-do patrons enjoying tea, scones and cream.

"And here I thought only Devon was known for its scones and cream," she remarked as she sat.

"Apparently Somerset likes the tradition too."

A young man, no older than six and ten bustled over. An apron tied around his waist, he had smears of what appeared to be jam on it and a ruddy complexion that nearly blended in with his bright red hair.

"What can I get you, sir, ma'am?"

Hannah peered at the board on the wall where what was on offer was meticulously listed. Then she eyed the scones at the table next to them. "Scones and cream, if you please. And some coffee."

Red grinned. "The same for me please. And plenty of coffee."

The young lad dipped his head and hastened off at a speed far too quick for so early in the morning. The simmering chatter around them indicated that most people had not quite awoken either and had come for the coffee in the hopes of it aiding them through the day.

"I thought..." Red leaned in, and Hannah frowned. There was a nervous air about him. So very unlike Red. "I thought we might visit a dressmaker or two today."

"We can hardly afford to wait weeks for new dresses to be made."

Was it silly of her to think that actually she would be willing to wait? Did it make her a fool to give up her plans simply so she could spend more time with Red before returning home? She drew in a breath and ran her finger across a scar in the wooden table. "Yes."

"Pardon?"

Hannah smiled hastily. "Nothing at all."

"So you do not wish to argue with me?" His lips quirked. "You might like to tell me that in some certain historical era it was considered a status symbol to remain in one's clothes forever? Or maybe you are hoping that the mud stains on your skirts will give you a superior air, as though you have just dug the stone from the ground yourself?"

Blast, she was flushing. He was right, she was muddy, and the chances were, after another day, she could add smelly to that too. She could not stay in this dress forever, and if she didn't find someone who could wash it tonight, she would look even more like she had just emerged from the digs around the pyramids.

"I am sorry that I am a sight for sore eyes," she said primly. "I had intended to have it washed tonight if I could find someone."

Creases appeared around his eyes. "Hannah, I have seen you in a worst state. Our first night together you could be likened to a drowned rat, if you recall."

She shuddered. "Do not mention rats."

"My point is, I do not care if you wish to walk around like some creature from the deep, but I am sure you do."

The young lad interrupted, nearly dropping the first plate of scones in his haste. Red grabbed the plate quickly and prevented it from spilling all over Hannah's lap. The boy mumbled several apologies and placed a jug of coffee and cups on their table.

"I do not suppose a bit of cream and jam could have made much difference to my appearance at this point."

"You would look tastier to be certain."

Hannah giggled. "You cannot tell me you do not mind that you are travelling with a creature who looks as though she may have been pulled from a gutter. It is not very becoming of an earl."

"I long ago gave up caring what others thought."

Slathering her scone in cream and jam, she took a bite whilst Red poured the coffee. The sweet bite of the strawberry, mingling with the delicate, indulgent taste of the cream made her close her eyes. Combined with the strong scent of coffee, she could almost forget she was in a crusty, old gown, feeling entirely unattractive in front of the most attractive man she had ever met.

"Nice?"

She snapped open her eyes to find Red staring at her with that intense look that was becoming more frequent. She swiped away some cream from the corner of her lip and licked it off the end of her finger before nodding. His expression became slightly pained.

"If you wish to see if we can find me a dress," she conceded, unwilling to annoy him further, "we can try. However, I do not see what we can do in a short space of time. We should be arranging a carriage today."

His attention snapped away from her mouth, and he took a gulp of coffee. Red cursed, nearly dropping the coffee and letting it slop over the side of the cup as he slammed it down.

"Hot?"

He nodded. "We'll find you a dress," he assured. "I'll be damned if I have reputation for being able to get hold of anything for nothing."

"If we are to wait for you to smuggle one in from France," she said, her voice low, "then we shall have a long stay here indeed."

He leaned in, his smile wicked. "You underestimate my bargaining skills, Miss St. John. Whatever you need I can get."

Hannah was not at all sure what she needed at present, or whether he could get it for her.