“Then what happened?” Prin gasped.
Elise glanced into the mirror where she sat in front of her dressing table. Never had she felt so much relief in retiring to her bedchamber, the cloak of night putting an end to her horrid day.
In the candlelight, her sister’s reflection looked back at her, beautiful dark eyes wide and anxious. Elise took a dollop of lavender-scented cream and rubbed it into her throat and hands. “Josiah came in smiling. At that point, I knew Matthew and John must have met with success. Later, Josiah confirmed it when we had a moment to speak. Amberly seemed unfazed by the need to hire another coach.”
Prin sat on the windowsill. Distracted by something outside, she waved an ivory-handled fan in hopes of encouraging a breeze. “Your Englishman is plum spoiled. I thought it the first time I saw him.”
Elise joined Prin at the window. Far beyond the lawn, the orange glow of a bonfire betrayed the location of slave row. Her heart ached for Prin. She knew her sister longed to be with her husband, but it wasn’t possible for Prin to stay with Kane in one of the men’s cabins.
“I thought you said he was dangerous?” she said, trying to distract Prin from the woeful song that carried across the darkness.
“Aye, that too.”
“Well, whatever he is, he dealt with his disappointment rather well considering the sum he paid that ferret of a driver.” Elise caught Prin’s attention in the mirror. “Will you finish braiding my hair?”
Prin set her fan aside and began finger-combing the mass of Elise’s dark tresses. “Why would your man worry what he paid? Judgin’ by those fancy togs of his, he doesn’t seem short of money.”
“True,” Elise said in contemplation. “But surely a tradesman would grumble when losing such a large sum over a hired coach. Still, he’s English. They’re an enigma at the best of times.”
Later, Prin tucked in comfortably beside her, Elise finished her prayers and watched the flickering shadows on the plastered ceiling. The mantel clock chimed midnight. She left the bed, picking up her fan from the side table as she went. At the window, she leaned against the sill and looked out into the night, idly tapping the fan in her palm. A mosquito bit her arm. She swatted the pest and rubbed the sting.
Stars winked in the velvety sky, and the slightest whiff of smoke laced the sultry air. The nearby outbuildings stood as darkened apparitions in the yard. Farther afield, the fires no longer burned on slave row. The singing had stopped, casting the night into an eerie, silent clam. Even the trees stood motionless, not enough breeze to sway their limbs or rustle the leaves.
Elise lit another candle and glanced at the bed, where Prin’s thin form made little more than a bump on the feather mattress. If only they’d been left alone in Virginia, she thought for the thousandth time. Their father’s farm had burned after a bolt of lightning struck during a violent storm, but they could have rebuilt, gone on just as they had, and enjoyed a life of peace and freedom with their father’s hateful presence buried in the ground.
This whole mess was her fault, Elise thought. If only she hadn’t written her mother, unwisely mentioning her father’s death in the tornado, Roger would never have had a chance to enter their lives and muck them up so cruelly.
“Oh, do stop, Elise,” she whispered to herself. It helped nothing to fret about the past. She needed to concentrate on the present, for that was all she had. Her future was too precarious to contemplate and best left in God’s hands.
Drake leaned back against the wooden bench, his arm propped along the narrow back as he chewed a sprig of mint. He’d quit the stifling confines of his room over an hour ago, hoping the fresh night air might clear his head, but he and a hooting owl remained wide-awake.
Here in the garden, the fresh scent of herbs and the sweet smell of flowers combined with the mustiness of damp earth. The gentle lap of the river should have been relaxing, but it wasn’t. Thoughts of Elise kept him from sleep. Even the knowledge that he’d managed to track the Fox to his den didn’t ensnare him as much as she did.
Usually a man of single-minded determination, he knew he should be devising some form of trap for his enemy, not mooning after a young woman he knew so little about. Yet today he’d admitted his attraction to Elise like an untried lad. Little wonder she hadn’t taken him seriously.
Truth be told, he didn’t understand his rash behavior. Past relationships had taught him to be wary in his dealings with women. He’d never had trouble attracting females, but he felt his title and fortune were his biggest draw. His wife had certainly let him know she thought so and his recent fiancée’s unfaithfulness solidified the belief.
The owl hooted, and insects filled the night with chatter. Perhaps Miss Cooper had managed to dodge his every defense and capture his attention because her interest in him seemed genuine though she knew nothing of his true identity?
Whether or not that was the case, he couldn’t deny he found her beautiful, witty and charming. Her mix of strength and vulnerability made him admire her and wish to protect her. He tensed remembering how every nerve in his body had jumped to attention the moment Beaufort’s spy entered the tavern with Elise’s satchel.
Something was amiss between her and Goss. The odd little man had disappeared after he left The Rolling Tide, and Elise seemed agitated when he queried her about the situation on the return trip to Brixton Hall.
Clearly, she doesn’t trust me. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. He would just have to give her time.
He frowned. Time was a precious commodity, and he had far too little to squander. He had a few weeks at best before he wore out the Sayers’ welcome, and once he found the Fox and saw the brigand hanged, he’d need to sail for home.
He clawed his fingers through his hair. The wisest course would be to leave Elise alone and put neither of them at risk of heartbreak...unless, of course, he could convince her to return to England with him.