Page 72 of The Boxing Baroness

Sin believed her. He only hoped that the truth didn’t doom her as well as her treasonous ex-lover.

Chapter 18

Barnabas had booked rooms for them in a humble but clean inn on the outskirts of Calais.

Their first performance, three days hence, was in Lille, a solid two days’ journey from Calais. The heavily loaded prop wagons that had come across with them would never be able to make the journey that quickly, so it was fortunate that another set of wagons had departed for Lille several days ago.

The caravans that had arrived with them would bypass Lille altogether and continue to the next city on the tour. If nothing went wrong, this manner of leapfrogging should mean a full crew and set of props would await them at each stop.

Her uncle had made sure the itinerary was lighter at the beginning, which meant they would stay a full two weeks in the towns that made up the first part of the tour to allow for bad weather delays. Starting in May they would be stopping in many smaller towns where they’d offer shows with only one of the main acts each evening; that was when they’d begin to get more use from the caravans rather than staying at inns.

It was unseasonably cold the morning they set out, and, as the day wore on, the sky became even darker and the rain began to develop into sleet.

Marianne had decided to ride Reggie rather than make the journey inside the caravan she shared with Cecile and Jo. They were fortunate there were posting inns at regular intervals, where they’d be able to break their journey throughout the day. But if the sleety rain continued to fall so heavily, they were not likely to make it to their midway point, the town of Blendecques, before dark.

“You should be riding in the caravan with the others.”

Marianne turned at the sound of the familiar, haughty voice. The duke was mounted not on Dobbin or Cassio, but on a sturdy-looking chestnut gelding better suited for uncertain terrain and long rides. She suspected the horse had cost the duke a pretty penny, but it didn’t look out of place—as Cassio would have done—among some of the other mounts her uncle’s employees were riding.

Marianne lowered her ugly scarf just enough to crack the shell of ice that had formed over her mouth. “Why don’t you ride with Smithy? ”

Like the duke, the other two men had mounts, but Elliot was driving their caravan while Guy drove the one with Cecile and Jo. Cecile could have driven it perfectly well, but that was part of Guy’s job and the Frenchwoman enjoyed making the big marquess work.

Jo rode inside the caravan along with Angus.

“You won’t be much use in Lille if you are ill,” the duke said.

Marianne couldn’t help smiling. “You can’t bear the fact that I don’t obey your orders, can you?”

He glared at her, only his pale, sea-green eyes familiar. He’d stopped shaving entirely and the copper and blond scruff that covered his face rendered him unrecognizable.

Marianne’s gaze flickered to his hair. “Your hair looks darker.”

He hesitated—as if he were going to persist with his scold—but then he seemed to think better of it. “I started using a dye made from black walnuts.”

“What were you using before?”

“Something made from coffee. Smithy says this will last longer.”

“No more spectacles?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’ll need them here.”

Marianne didn’t think so, either. With the darker hair, even his mother might not have known him.

His mother. Hadn’t he said his mother was alive? But that an aunt had raised him? There was a story there, she suspected. But his elegant, aristocratic profile told her he’d have no interest in sharing confidences.

Since when did Marianne care what he wanted? Why not probe? What else was there to do on such a dreary day?

“Did you see your family on your week away?”

His jaw flexed and he didn’t turn. For a long moment, she thought he’d not answer. But then he said, “Some of them.” He must have realized how churlish he sounded. “I’d already visited with my sisters at a christening a month ago, but I saw my aunt and mother.”

“They didn’t go to the christening?”

He turned to her. “No.”

Marianne held his cold gaze and raised her eyebrows.