Page 37 of How the Earl Entices

“The man on the bill,” the second one clarified. “There’s a sketch…”

When her voice trailed off, the other woman added, “We saw one at the inn where we bought our ticket. You resemble him.” A long, tense pause filled the compartment before she whispered, “The Earl of Spalding.”

Grace froze as a chill spiraled down her spine.

Ross laughed, almost too quickly. “This is the first time anyone’s accused me of being quality!” He playfully nudged her leg with his, as if sharing a joke. “Isn’t it, dear?”

With no other choice unless she wanted to cause a commotion that would stop the coach, Grace awkwardly smiled as her stunned surprise turned into bitter betrayal.

“Can you believe that, Mrs. Thomas?” Another nudge…another secret communication for her to play along. “Someone confusing me with an earl.”

“I wish I’d married an earl,” she forced out, stiltedly joining in with the pretense despite the frantic pounding of her heart.

He said he’d broken the law, but a manhunt by the authorities, with bills posted across the countryside—oh God, what had he done? She fought to keep the smile on her face as she realized how close they’d come that morning to being discovered by the men in the inn. Her stomach sickened.

She had to make it through this conversation. There would be time later to hear his explanation. Or more lies. But now she had to protect him, in order to protect herself.

She nudged him back. Hard. “Maybe then I could buy those new curtains for the parlor that you’ve been promising me.”

His smile tightened. “I told you, love. Profits are down. Blunt doesn’t grow on trees.”

“Yet you harvest enough of it to spend nearly every night with your chums.” As she’d done that morning—and ten years ago when she fled to protect her baby—she let the anger rise to the surface, to use it to her advantage and feign a fight. “Always enough money for drink and cards.” She slid him a sideways glance and sneered, “And women.”

That took him by surprise for a beat, his eyes widening. Then his gaze narrowed sharply. “Now is not the time nor place to—”

“I am soverytired of your lies!” The raw honesty in that soft comment was brutal. She certainly hadn’t needed to pretendthat. Ignoring Ross as he sat beside her, so close that the side of his body brushed hers as the coach rocked down the road, she pinned the women beneath her gaze. “Tell me. What is it that mydearhusband has supposedly done? Then I can turn him in, collect the reward money, and buy the curtains on my own.”

The two women exchanged a nervous glance. Although they were still just as uneasy as before, now their faces darkened sheepishly for inadvertently causing a fight between a married couple.

The one with spectacles perched on her up-turned nose rasped out a forced laugh. “You could certainly buy a lot more than just curtains with that reward!”

“Oh?” Grace whispered.Good God, what had he done?

The other woman nodded with an apologetic glance at Ross. “A thousand pound reward.”

Icy dread numbed her limbs. She rasped out, “For what?”

“Treason.”

Her gaze snapped to Ross. Her chest squeezed so hard that she winced, despite the rest of her having gone completely numb.

With all eyes on her, she laughed awkwardly. “My husband would never commit treason. He’s a staunch monarchist. Isn’t that so, Mr. Thomas?” She should place an affectionate hand on his knee or shoulder—anywhereto physically demonstrate that Ross was her husband and not a traitor. But she couldn’t bear the thought of touching him. Instead, she shifted away and forced out, “I’ll have to try harder to get you out of my hair.”

The woman with spectacles gave a grim shake of her head. “Not just treason—”

“Murder.”

Grace’s gaze flew to the other woman. Her heart stopped, and when it started again, each beat came like canon fire, so hard and jarring that her hand went to her chest.

She couldn’t joke her way out of this, and too much fear blossomed inside her to feel anything else. Not anger. Not even betrayal.

“Then you ladies are safe,” Ross drawled, flashing them his most charming smile. “The only things I murder are bottles of port and overpriced cigars.”

Grace couldn’t find enough trust in him to muster even a smile at that.Breathe…She stared out the rain-speckled window as the sun began to set and saw nothing. Her concentration—allof it—focused solely on not screaming.Just breathe…The conversation died, and they traveled on in silence, with Grace unable to look at him. Whenever the coach lurched over a rut and he brushed up against her, she inhaled sharply.

“Drummond’s Crossroads!” the driver called out with a pound of his fist on the roof.

The coach stopped, and the two women departed.