Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (3 page)

Cecilia pressed a trembling hand against her mouth to keep herself from screaming as panic flared through every inch of her.

The carriage jerked.

She stumbled, almost falling off the seat.

Large bare hands jumped toward her and grabbed her corseted waist. The man steadied her, pulling her back onto the seat beside him. Well-muscled arms shifted against her from beneath his travelling coat as the hilt of a large dagger attached to a sizable leather belt grazed her thigh and skirts. His hands casually slid up her back, adjusting her against his side and the seat.

With a solid push of panicked hands, she broke his hold on her.

He held up both hands to demonstrate that he had no intention on harming her.

Despite the fact he wore a distinguished, pinstriped waistcoat beneath a wool coat of respectable means, there was no cravat around that neck and his linen shirt was scandalously left open, exposing a masculine throat and the upper portion of a broad, well-muscled chest that had clearly seen too many hours of labor.

Cecilia tried not to awkwardly gape at his exposed chest. “Do you speak English, sir?”

Enigmatic eyes, whose color she still couldn’t make out in the shadows, met hers from beneath the rim of his wool cap. He lowered his hands and to her complete astonishment, he offered in well-educated English, “I do. Were you looking for conversation?” His low, husky voice was surprisingly sophisticated and laced with a heavy Russian accent that penetrated not only the walls of the carriage but every inch of her skin.

It was like she had never heard a man speak before. It was unbelievably sensuous and made her feel as if he was thinking about doing things to her. Her throat tightened. “Were you touching me whilst I slept?”

He shifted his jaw, a teasing gleam flickering in his eyes. “Not in that way. I prefer my women to remember what I do.”

She pressed herself to the opposite side of the seat, setting as much distance between them. She couldn’t breathe knowing she was alone with some Russian wielding a dagger and that her travelling companion was somewhere back in the last village. Or the last three villages, for all she knew.

She had to speak to the driver.

Frantically snatching up her reticule from the seat beside her, Cecilia turned and thwacked the glass window several times. “Driver?” she called out as loud as she could. “Stop the coach, please.
Stop the coach
!”

A large calloused hand grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand and reticule from hitting the window again. “Ey.” He leaned in closer in reprimand, revealing the sharpening green of his eyes. “What are you doing? I have a schedule to keep.”

Between uneven breaths, Cecilia clutched her beaded reticule higher between them with a trembling hand, signaling to him that she was ready to bash his brains out with every last bead in its stitch. “If you touch me again, sir, I will hurt you and your schedule. I am trying to speak to the driver. Now let go of me!” She shook her reticule toward him for good measure.

Those green eyes brightened. He released her wrist. “How charming. You wish to threaten my life with a reticule.” He leaned in and lowered his voice dramatically. For effect. “If you put a few rocks in it,
dorogaya moya
, I guarantee it will work much better.”

He removed his cap, causing his dark hair to cascade onto his forehead. “I doubt the driver speaks any English. Few people in Russia do. Only the upper classes know the language. Fortunately for you, my father taught me how to speak it incredibly well. He had often told me, if it were not for my Russian accent and my incredible good looks, I could have easily been British.” He smiled. “Can I be of service to you?”

This one thought he had a sense of humor. She lowered her reticule back into her lap, trying to focus and stay calm. “Is this your carriage?”

“No.” Leaning back against the seat, he flicked the peeling upholstery with a bare finger. “I can assure you, I have far better taste than this.” He tilted his head toward her. “This is a public stagecoach. Did you not know that when you paid your fare?”

Her eyes widened. How had she ended up on a public stagecoach? Where was the carriage she had originally hired?

He paused. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” She gestured frantically toward the empty seat across from them. “My travelling companion is-is…missing! Have you seen her? And do you know how I got to be here? Because I…I don’t remember.” She tried to keep her voice calm lest she fall into hysterics.

The carriage jostled against the uneven grooves of the muddy road before settling into an even, swaying rhythm.

He shifted toward her. “How can you not remember?” His brows came together. “You were already on this stagecoach when I boarded hours ago.”

She blinked. “
Hours ago
? Was anyone with me?”

“No. Not when I boarded.”

She almost fainted. What had happened to Mrs. Bogdanovich? And why couldn’t she remember getting into the coach after her meal at the inn?

“You slept the whole while and kept nestling into my lap no matter what I did.” He patted his thigh to demonstrate where she had rested. “I eventually stopped moving you off my lap and simply made certain you did not fall off the seat.”

Her lips parted. She had
nestled
into his lap? That certainly explained why he’d been touching her. She had left him with very little choice. “Forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to impose or accuse you of anything inappropriate.”

He shrugged. “I have been accused of worse. And it was hardly an imposition. You appeared exhausted.” He sounded sincere.

Cecilia set a disbelieving hand against her throat, feeling as if they had already shared a very intimate moment she couldn’t even remember. “Apparently, the mint
kvass
I drank back at the inn was strong. Very strong. I don’t remember anything.” Except for his hands.

“I take it you have very thin blood?” he asked.

“Thin— Whatever do you mean?”

He hesitated. “
Kvass
has very little alcohol. You do know that, yes?”

She squinted. That made no sense. If it had very little alcohol, why had it affected her so? Something wasn’t right. “What time is it, sir? Do you know?”

He dug into his inner pocket and withdrew a watch attached to a chain. Flipping open the tarnished silver lid that had several notable dents in its surface, he tilted it toward the light of the lantern shining in. He stared at the watch, his expressive, rugged face stilling.

Something was clearly wrong. “Sir? What is it? Is the hour not showing?”

He slowly veered his gaze to hers. “Ah…no. It is showing. It always shows.” He cleared his throat, playing with the weight of the watch against his hand. “The hour is midnight. On the tick.”

Midnight? She had been sleeping since three in the afternoon? How was that even possible? Three o’clock had been the time she and Mrs. Bogdanovich had stopped at one of the inns for a meal. Why couldn’t she remember anything beyond that? Cecilia blinked down at her bare hands still clutching her reticule. Had she not been wearing gloves?

He snapped the lid shut, making her look up.

She had to do something. She had to do something before she ended up on the other side of the continent. “Forgive me, sir, but I’m going to have to stop the coach. I have to go back to Strelna. It’s the last city I remember being in.”

“You cannot be serious.” He slipped his watch and chain back into his coat with a thumb. “Strelna is ten hours away.”

Cecilia centered her breath. “My son is getting married against my will, and I’m alone in Russia and don’t speak the language. Mrs. Bogdanovich is my translator and travelling companion, and the fact that she is missing concerns me. Greatly. What if something happened to her?”

His features tightened. “Let us pray nothing has.” He leaned toward her. “Might I be of assistance? What do you need?”

She wanted to grab that unshaven face and kiss him for gallantly offering help. A breath escaped her. “Can you tell the driver to turn this coach around and go back to Strelna?”

He stared. “I can. But I am only a half hour from my stop and Strelna is ten hours away.”

Oh. That would be rather rude, wouldn’t it? “Forgive me. I will ensure you find your stop first.” Cecilia softened her voice. “In the meantime, could you please open the window and speak to the driver? Surely he would know how I got to be here and what happened to my travelling companion. I do not speak any Russian, sir, and therefore will require your assistance in this. Please.”

“I am at your service.” He tossed his hat onto the seat before them. “Give me a moment.” He rose to an imposing height of over six feet and bent his head and shoulders against the low ceiling of the carriage. Glancing back at her, he unlatched the window with a quick sweep of his hand. With the dip of a broad shoulder, he leaned out the window and hollered something, his dark hair lifting and scattering against the wind that roared into the space of the coach.

The driver hollered something back over the thundering clatter of wheels.

The man paused and glanced back at Cecilia, his brows coming together. He hesitated, his rugged features hardening. Leaning further out, he gruffly shouted something else, his tone now feral and nothing like the tone he had offered her.

She swallowed. What was going on?

The driver yelled a whole flurry of words as if the world were coming to an end.

Hitting the top of the outside carriage with a quick fist that thudded the roof, the man boomed something to the driver in reprimand.

The driver yelled another long flurry of words.

Leaning back in, the man latched the window, quieting the space again and shook his head. “
Dolbo yeb
.” He settled his large frame into the cushion beside her, causing the seat to sink. Swiping long strands of dark hair from his face, he crossed the ankle of a mud-crusted boot over his knee and scratched at his unshaven chin. “We have a little problem,
dorogaya moya
.”

His tone indicated the problem was anything but little. She almost grabbed him. “What? What did he say? What is it? What happened?”

“He was paid to take you.”

Dread seized her. “Paid? What do you mean?”

He dropped his hand onto his thigh. “According to him, you were delivered unconscious to his coach by two men outside a tourist inn back in Strelna. Do you not remember anything?”

Her eyes burned. “Two men?” What had she been doing with two men? “That isn’t possible. I…I wasn’t travelling with any men. I don’t even remember
meeting
any men.”

He swiped his face. “They told him you had a medical condition. He was paid to drop you off three towns from the next stop so your brother could take you to the doctor.”

She gasped. “
My brother
? I have no brother. Nor do I have a medical condition!”

He intently scanned her gown. “Are you sore in any unusual places?”

Her pulse thundered. “Are you insinuating these men might have…?”

“Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. “Should we take you to a doctor?”

Cecilia almost retched at the thought. But fortunately, no. Aside from the dizziness that had already waned, everything below the waist felt normal. As normal for a woman who hadn’t had sex in seven years. “No. That isn’t necessary.” She pressed a hand to her stomacher, trying to keep herself and her voice calm.

“Are you certain?”

Her face burned. “I appreciate your concern, but everything feels as it should.”

He puffed out a breath. “You are incredibly fortunate.”

Is that what he called it? “I don’t consider my situation fortunate at all. Dearest Lord,
I don’t even know where I am
!”

“Try to remain calm.” He held out a coaxing hand. “The driver will be attaching new horses in less than a half hour. You will get off with me. I will help you.”

Her lips parted. “Get off with you? But I don’t even know you.”

“You need help. And I will help you. You cannot trust the driver or anything he says. Most of these drivers in between main cities get paid to do things they should not. You are getting off with me. Do you understand? Your safety calls for it.”

Could she trust him?
Should
she trust him? “What about Mrs. Bogdanovich?”

“What about her?”

“I have to go back to Strelna and find her. What if these men did something to her?”

He glanced toward the latched window. “From what I remember of the schedule, another coach heads back toward the direction of Strelna in eight days. Unfortunately, we will not be able to get to her sooner. The warm weather has melted the snow and made travel slow. The roads are very muddy.”

Cecilia sat up. “
Eight days
? I cannot strand her for that long. I’m carrying all of our money. Please. Tell the driver I will pay him a hundred rubles to change out the horses at the next stop and turn this coach around.” She loosened the string on her reticule and dug into it, trying to find money to count out for the driver. “Tell him I have more than enough to—” She paused, swatting the emptiness of the silk inside. Where was her money? And more importantly, what had happened to her son’s letter? The one with the address where she was supposed to call on him once she got to Saint Petersburg?