32
The coach was luxurious. April Duprey had to admire that, her sharp eyes automatically calculating the cost of the plush, red-velvet interior, and the seat cushions and pillows that were gold trimmed, tufted, and tasseled. And she couldn’t help but appreciate the carriage’s excellent springs. She’d noticed the smoothness of the ride in London, automatically comparing it to the cheaper hackneys and carriages that she used. No doubt about it, she was dealing with Quality.
After nearly four hours of traveling, however, she was no longer impressed. Even the coach’s excellent springs couldn’t disguise the roughness of the country roads, and the swaying and jolting of the coach left her feeling slightly queasy. She pressed a gloved hand to her stomach, and prayed that it wouldn’t be much longer before she reached her destination.
As though in answer to her prayer, the coach began to slow, then turn. She stifled a groan when the coach lurched forward again, the ride increasingly bumpy as the wheels hit rocks and ruts, forcing her to grip one of the brass handrails near the door.
Her patience worn thin, she silently cursed the gentry, who issued orders with no thought to the comfort of the likes of her. Initially, she’d been delighted when she’d received such a prompt response to her letter, and had obeyed the contents of that letter without argument. He’d send for her, he said. A private carriage, he said, to take her into the country, where they could meet.
He’d asked that she keep the drapes closed during the journey. It was an odd request, but she’d shrugged it off. After all, she’d made a career out of servicing the odd requests from gentlemen. Still, she’d disliked staying in the gloomy carriage when they’d made their one stop at the mail-coach inn to feed and water the horses, and she’d resented the silent coachman as he went about his business without once opening the door to see about her needs or to acknowledge her company. It was one thing to be ignored by Quality; it was another to be ignored by her own class.
After that, her mood had turned sour. Once, she’d defiantly flipped open the heavy velvet drapes to look outside. Not that there was much to look at: forests and rolling green hills dotted by the occasional thatched house. She’d eyed the open countryside with the discomfort only a born and bred Londoner could feel, preferring the congested streets and familiar grime-coated buildings of Town.
Now she became aware of a change. Again, the horses were slowing. She twitched the curtains to peer outside. On the other side of the paned glass, the dense trees that crowded alongside the lane, the dark branches and green leaves stretching across the road in a canopy effect, seemed closer. As though when she wasn’t looking, the woods had crept nearer, hemming her in. She shivered and dropped the curtain, half-remembered stories of evil wood elves, sprites, and mischievous fairies flitting through her mind.
The carriage rattled to a stop. She straightened, shrugging away the silly superstitions, her attention already shifting to the business at hand. Self-consciously, she tidied her hair, listening as the coachman scrabbled off his perch, rocking the carriage. A moment later, the door opened, and the coachman folded down the three steps. He lifted a hand to help her down.
She accepted the assistance, her gaze sweeping the wooded area with growing consternation. She’d expected some form of civilization, a cottage or inn, at the very least, in which to do their business, not this desolate stretch of forest. Again, though she wore an ankle-skimming wool pelisse over the bright pink, cotton walking gown that she’d chosen for this meeting, she shivered.
Movement drew her eye. A rider and horse emerged from the shadowy trees. The rider didn’t dismount, drawing the beast to a halt about ten yards away. Knowing it was expected of her, she began walking, making sure she rolled her hips in a well-practiced move. Behind her, the servant climbed onto the coach and moved off down the lane.
“Did you tell anyone about our meeting today?” the rider asked abruptly.
So that’s how it was going to be, she thought. No coy flirtations to smooth the way of their dealings. “No, sir. As you wrote, this is a private affair.” She paused, and when he was silent, she arched a brow. “Shall we get down to business, then?”
For the first time, he smiled. But it wasn’t a pleasant smile, and April felt a whisper of disquiet that had nothing to do with the forest and everything to do with the man.