Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

F rances woke with a start to a dark room and a strange sense of disorientation. Where was she…?

Right. The tavern. Mr. Creedy and the evening with Evan.

But then why was she…?

Still struggling to make sense of her sudden wakefulness, Frances swept an arm across the bed, finding the space empty but the blankets still warm.

"Evan?" she whispered, blinking into the darkness.

For a moment, she thought she would get no answer, but then a shadow in the corner unfolded, revealing itself to be Evan. She blinked again and the blurry lines became more defined as her eyes adjusted. He was fully dressed, a small bag in his hand.

Frances sat up, hastily pulling up the coverlet to conceal her naked form. He'd already seen all of her, of course, but being undressed when he was clothed made her feel too exposed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, though a creeping suspicion at the back of her mind told her that she already knew.

She could not read his expression in the moonlight, but his voice was forbidding. "Go back to sleep, Frances," he commanded.

She struggled to get to her feet without dropping the blanket. Goodness, but this was worse than her heaviest winter skirts.

"Like hell I will," she retorted, feeling that this was a fine time to indulge in some foul language. She was, after all, no longer a virgin; surely an epithet or two could not affect her reputation now. "You're leaving. Without me?"

And here she was, thinking, like an idiot, that they'd gotten past all this when he'd tried to give her the slip at Winchester Manor. More fool her, apparently. She should have remembered that the stubbornness of men had no limits.

"Go back to sleep , Frances," he said again, which she took to mean, "Yes, I was leaving without you, and now I'm going to be an absolute nuisance about getting caught at it."

She rolled her eyes in a spectacular performance. Pity it was likely too dark for him to register it.

"You are not leaving without me," she said, scanning the floor for her chemise. Ah, there it was. Splendid.

"Yes, I am," Evan retorted while Frances gathered her things. "It's still dark. You cannot go traipsing about in the dark."

"And you can?"

"Of course," he scoffed. "I'm a man."

Again, Frances could not restrain her eye roll, even though this time it was dark and she was rooting around on the floor for her second stocking.

"I hadn't realized men could see in the dark," she said brightly when she stood, stocking clenched triumphantly in her hand. "What a marvelous treat for you! Why, pray tell, do you keep it a secret?"

Evan's scowl was practically audible.

"You're being ridiculous, Frances," he protested.

Well, that was rich.

" I am being ridiculous?" she protested. "Really? Me? Because you are the one who is sneaking off to face Lord only knows what in the dead of night."

"I want to take the villains by surprise," he explained, like this was reasonable.

She ticked his idiocy off on her fingers. "First," she said, her tone even more reasonable than his had been. "You were the one arguing yourself blue in the face that we don't know they are villains."

"Second," she forged on, somehow just knowing he was opening his mouth to rebut that entirely correct point, "let's say they are villains. Did you propose that I sleep here, unaware, while you potentially get yourself attacked? Did you feel that it was better that I doze in a tavern while you get injured or killed? And—" Again, she continued speaking before he could interject. "—how long, in that case, do you think I should remain here? Until lunchtime? Supper? Should I stay another night?"

She was lacing up her bodice while she spoke. "In that case, I hope you don't take your purse with you; I have a bit of pin money, but likely not enough to get me back to London. Mr. Curry did say there's more men in town than women, though. I suppose I could always marry some nice farmer's son, just start my life anew here. Do you think Mr. Curry has sons? I could?—"

" Enough ," Evan burst out. "Christ. Enough. You've made your point."

"Are you sure?" she asked sweetly. "Because I could go on. Don't you think I would make a charming shepherdess?"

"You're not marrying some farmer," he grumbled, which was truly such a delightful detail for him to fixate his attention upon.

"No," she agreed cheerfully. "And you're not going to die alone in an abandoned mill. Everyone goes home happy. How marvelous."

"This," he groused, "is why I didn't believe you were shy."

Frances laughed at that, even though part of her still wanted to kick him in the shins for trying to leave her behind.

"Right, well, life is full of surprises," she said, jerking her laces tight as best she could. It wasn't as well as she might have managed with help, but she wasn't about to ask Evan, not just then. He'd no doubt take it as a reason why she was too fragile and maidenly to accompany him.

"If you accompany me," he warned, "there are going to be rules."

"Of course," she agreed with the magnanimity of someone who has won an argument.

"You are not charging blindly into a strange building that may or may not contain villains," he said. Frances preened at the acknowledgement of the fine and reasonable points she had made. Whatever one said about Evan Miller (and a dozen synonyms for "pigheaded" leapt to mind), he fought fair.

"Very well," she said demurely.

Her eyes had adjusted sufficiently to tell her that he looked unimpressed at her show at submission.

"You will wait outside," he declared.

"I will not question your logic that it is safer outside in the dark than inside a building," she intoned, semi-demurely.

He glowered. She smiled.

"It will be safe," he said severely, "because you will be hiding. I'm sure there's some sort of bush or stable that will serve."

She gazed down at the tragic state of her hem.

"Might as well," she allowed. "But how will I know if you're getting murdered, since I am so safe and so hidden elsewhere?"

This last question was not demure at all. She'd said it just to annoy him.

It worked.

"How about," he said in the driest tone imaginable, "I shout, ‘Help, help, I'm being murdered!' on the off chance I find myself being murdered?"

She gave a melodramatic sigh. Pecking at him had lent her the happy effect of no longer wishing to kick him in the shins. What a pleasant turn of events.

"Very well," she agreed. "It probably won't help you, though. I'll be too far away. So I shall agree to your plans, but you must agree not to haunt me when you get yourself killed."

"I'll see what I can do," Evan said wryly.

But as he turned toward the door to their little room, she saw the way the moonlight glinted ever so subtly off his smile.