A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

But he, Charlie, was a dull dog according to his last mistress. A prosy bore. Robert’s parting shot rang in his ears. Try to have a bit of fun, for once.

That was all right for Robert. He wasn’t the ducal heir with hundreds of people relying on his every decision. Hades, the last time he’d done as he pleased it had ended in disaster. For everyone, including Robert. Never again.

He’d do well to keep this woman firmly at a distance.

Mindful of the lame horse following behind, Charlie walked his team. He raised his voice to be heard over the wind’s howl. ‘As travelling companions, I believe introductions are in order. Tonbridge, at your service.’

‘Honor Meredith Draycott,’ she said. ‘Call me Merry. Thank you for stopping.’

As if he’d had a choice.

‘Tonbridge,’ she said. ‘That’s a place.’

He felt slightly affronted, as if she’d accused him of lying. ‘It is also my name.’

She considered this in silence for a second, perhaps two. ‘You are an of.’

He blinked. ‘Of?’

‘Something of Tonbridge. Duke or earl or some such.’

He grinned. Couldn’t help it. ‘Marquis of,’ he said.

‘Oh, my.’

The first thing she’d said that hadn’t surprised him, he realised. Which in and of itself was surprising.

‘What are you doing in these parts?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to Durn.’

‘Mountford’s estate. Oh, you are that marquis. You still have a long way to go.’

‘I do. I plan to put up in Skepton for the night.’

They reached the top of hill and the road flattened out. The clouds seemed closer to earth up here, the wind stronger, more raw, more determined to find a way beneath his coat.

She inhaled deeply. ‘It’s going to snow.’

Charlie glanced up at the sky. The clouds looked no more threatening than they had when he set out earlier in the day. ‘How can you tell?’

‘I’ve lived on these moors all my life. I can smell it.’

He tried not to smile. He must not have succeeded because she huffed. ‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘I can smell when it’s going to rain, too, or feel it on my skin. You have to feel the weather or you can get into trouble out here on the moors.’

He chuckled under his breath. ‘Like running off the road?’

‘That was not my fault,’ she said haughtily. She glanced back over her shoulder at her horses. ‘I think his limp is getting worse.’

Charlie didn’t much fancy leaving the horse out here, but he might be forced to do so if the animal became too lame to walk. He slowed his team down a fraction. ‘How much further?’

‘Two miles. Turn right at the crossroads.’

At this rate it was going to be midnight before he reached the next town. Blasted woman wandering around the countryside alone.

‘You can leave me at the corner,’ she said.

Had she read his mind? More likely she’d seen the disgruntlement on his face. Clearly, he needed to be more careful about letting his thoughts show. ‘I will see you to your door, Miss Draycott.’

‘Pigheaded man,’ she muttered.

Definitely not a lady. Most likely bourgeoisie, with lots of money and no refinement.

As they turned at the crossroads, white flakes drifted down and settled on the horses’ backs where they melted and on Charlie’s coat where they did not.

‘See,’ she said.

He shot her a glance and realised that she didn’t look all that happy about being proved right. ‘Should we expect a significant amount?’

She shrugged. ‘Up here on the high moors? Like as not. The wind will drift it, too.’

Hardly comforting. The few flakes turned into a flurry, and pretty soon he was having trouble making out the road at all. Only the roughness at the verge gave him any clue he was still on track since there were no trees or hedges. Even that faint guide wouldn’t last long. There was already a half-inch of pure white blanketing everything in sight. In the growing dusk, he was beginning not to trust his vision.

She gave a shiver and hunched deeper in her coat.

The cold was biting at his toes and fingers, too. If it came to a choice between the lame horse and the two people in the carriage, he was going to have to choose the people, even if he valued the horses more.

‘There,’ she said, pointing.

A brief break in the wind allowed him to see the outline of a square lump of a house. A monstrous ugly house. Not what he’d been expecting. Though he should have, given the expensive clothes, the fashionable phaeton and the mode of speech.

‘Good,’ he said. He glanced back. The lame horse didn’t seem any worse though it made him wince to see how the animal favoured his right front leg. ‘I assume you have someone who can care for that animal?’

‘Yes.’ She turned in her seat, her knees bumping slightly against his and sending every nerve in his body jangling.

Her eyes widened as if she, too, felt the shock.

It was the cold. It couldn’t be anything else.

‘You will stay the night, of course,’ she said.

He opened his mouth to refuse.

‘Don’t be an ass,’ she said. ‘You won’t find your way back to the main road.’

He raised his gaze. All sign of the house was gone. The snow was blowing in his face and it seemed a whole lot darker than it had a minute or two before.

‘It looks as if we will not find your house after all.’