Having learned his lesson somewhat belatedly, Martin devoted as much of his attention as he could summon to driving. The London road was gained without further mishap. Soon, they were bowling along at a spanking pace. Even so, it was past two o’clock when, accepting the inevitable, Martin checked and turned into the yard of the Frog and Duck at Wincanton.
He turned to smile into Juno’s questioning eyes. ‘Lunch. I’m famished, even if, being a fashionable woman, you are not.’
Helen’s eyes widened slightly. ‘I’m not that fashionable.’
Martin laughed and jumped down. He reached up to lift fair Juno to the ground, noting her slight hesitation before, without fuss, she drew nearer and let him grasp her waist.
Flustered again but determined not to show it, Helen accepted Martin’s proffered arm. He led her up the steps to the inn door, then stood aside to allow her to enter. As she did so, the head groom, having laid eyes on the horses his ostlers had taken in charge, came hurrying to ask Martin’s orders.
Alone, Helen crossed the threshold, thankful for the cool dimness within. She was feeling unduly warm. The door gave directly on to the taproom, a large chamber, low-ceilinged and cosy with a huge fireplace at one end. Alerted by the noise outside, the landlord was coming forward from his domain on the other side of the room. Seeing her, he stopped. And stared. Helen became aware that all the other occupants of the tap, six in all and all male, were likewise transfixed. Then, to her discomfort, a leering grin suffused the landlord’s face. Faint echoes appeared on his patrons’ faces, too.
Simultaneously realising what a sight she must present, and the likely conclusion the landlord had drawn, Helen drew herself up, ready to defend her status.
There was no need. Martin came through the door and stopped by her side. One comprehensive glance was all it took for him to grasp the conclusion the inhabitants of the Frog and Duck had jumped to. He scowled at the landlord. ‘A private parlour, host, where my wife can be at ease.’
The growled command wiped the leer from the landlord’s face so fast, he had no expression ready to cover the ensuing blankness.
Helen was not sure whether to laugh or gasp. Wife? In the end, she covered her left hand with her right and, tipping up her chin, looked down her nose at the landlord, a feat assisted by the fact that she was taller than he. The man shrank as obsequiousness took hold.
‘Yes, m’lord! Certainly, m’lord. If madam would step this way?’
Bowing every two paces, he led them to a neat little parlour. While Martin gave orders for a substantial meal, Helen sank, with a little sigh of thankfulness, into a well-padded armchair by the hearth, carefully avoiding the mirror above the mantelpiece. She had little real idea how bad her state was, but could not imagine knowing would help.
Martin heard her sigh. He glanced at her, then said to the landlord, ‘We had an accident with our chaise. Our servants are following behind, with our luggage. Perhaps,’ he continued, raising his voice and turning to address a weary Juno, ‘you’d like to refresh yourself above stairs, my dear?’
Helen blinked, then readily agreed. Led to a small chamber and supplied with warm water, she washed the dust of the road from her face and hands, then steeled herself to exam
ine the damage her adventures had wrought in her appearance. It was not as bad as she had feared. Her eyes were sparkling clear and the wind had whipped colour into her cheeks. Clearly, driving about the countryside with Martin Willesden agreed with her constitution. In the end, she undid her hair and reformed the mass of curls into a simpler knot. Her dress, the apricot silk marred by a host of creases, was beyond her ability to change. Other than shaking and straightening her skirts, there was little else she could do.
Returning to the parlour, she found their repast laid out upon the table. Martin rose with a smile and held a chair for her.
‘Wine?’
At her nod, he filled her glass. Then, without more ado, they applied themselves to the task of demolishing the food before them.
Finally satisfied, Martin sat back in his chair and put aside contemplation of their problems the better to savour his wine while quietly studying fair Juno, absorbed in peeling a plum. His eyes slid over her generous curves— generous, ample—such words came readily to mind. Along with luscious, ripe and other, less acceptable terms. Martin hid a smile behind his goblet. All in all, he had no fault to find in the arrangement of fair Juno’s dispositions.
‘We won’t reach London tonight, will we?’
The question drew Martin’s gaze to her lips, full and richly curved and presently stained with plum juice. A driving urge to taste them seared through him. Abruptly, he refocused his mind on their problem. He raised his eyes to Juno’s, troubled green and concerned. He smiled reassuringly. ‘No.’
Helen felt justified in ignoring the smile. ‘No’, he said, and smiled. Did he have any idea of the panic she was holding at bay by dint of sheer determination?
Apparently, he did, for he continued, more seriously, ‘Getting stuck in that ford has delayed us too much. However, I draw the line at driving my horses through the night, not that that would avail us, for I can’t see arriving in London at dawn to be much improvement over our current state.’
Helen frowned, forced to acknowledge the truth of that remark. He would not be able to hire a chaise for her if they passed by Hounslow in the middle of the night.
‘And, before you suggest it, I refuse to be a party to any scheme to hire a chaise for you to travel alone through the night.’
Helen’s frown deepened. She opened her mouth to argue.
‘Even with outriders.’
Helen shut her mouth and glared. But his tone and the set of his jaw warned her that no argument would shift him. And, in truth, she had no wish to spend the night jolting over the roads, a prey to fears of highwaymen and worse. ‘What, then?’ she asked in her most reasonable tone.
She was rewarded with a brilliant smile which quite took her breath away. Luckily, he did not expect her to speak.
‘I had wondered,’ Martin began diffidently, unsure how his plan would be received, ‘if we could find an inn where neither of us is known, to put up in for the night.’