eyes she lowered at once, aware that she was blushing at having been discovered staring at a total stranger in a common inn. It was most unfair, she thought ridiculously, that he should be so exceptionally good-looking. What on earth must he be thinking of her?
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, she read silently, vainly attempting to concentrate on the printed page before her. But how could she, when a man who might have been the model of Lochinvar himself was seated but a few feet away from her?
She reached for her glass, and was surprised to find it empty. It had been her second tonight. She rarely drank more than one glass. Perhaps that explained the curious fluttering in her stomach.
As the stranger across the room continued to eat his supper, she found her gaze returning more than once to his handsome profile. More than once, too, as she looked up, she saw that he was surreptitiously studying her as well. For more than half an hour this exchange of glances - advance, engage, retreat - continued. Finally, she heard a scraping of the floor as the stranger pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. She knew with absolute certainty that he was going to speak to her.
‘That must be a most interesting book,’ his attractively deep voice declared, somewhere above her head.
Though she had fully expected this, Elizabeth gave a start which was quite genuine. ‘I - I beg your pardon, sir?’ she stammered, feeling remarkably foolish.
‘I merely enquired as to the nature of your book.’
‘It is - it is Marmion, sir.’
‘Ah! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,’ he quoted blithely, ‘there never was knight like the young Lochinvar.’
Elizabeth felt her colour deepening and knew not which way to look. He could not possibly have guessed...!
‘I hope you do not think me too presumptuous,’ the gentleman spoke into the uncomfortable silence. He appeared contrite, though she thought she could detect a faintly quizzical gleam in his eyes. ‘The truth is, I am much in need of company, and as you appear to be the only other guest here at the moment, I felt emboldened to seek your acquaintance. I am Nick Markham - at your service.’
It was obvious that, in her plain gown, she had been mistaken for a servant: a lady’s maid or a governess, perhaps. She had best make him aware of her true position at once, before he became too familiar. Then she caught her breath as the most outrageous thought occurred to her. What would it be like if he did become familiar? What if she were a lady’s maid? What if she were Janet? She had amused herself with such imaginings earlier. Now she was presented with the opportunity to discover, in some small way, the reality. After all, what harm could it do? He was a stranger to her. She would never see him again.
Before she could even stop to consider the consequences of her actions, she found herself responding to Mr Markham’s audacious words.
‘I am Bess, sir - Bess Newcombe.’ She used her mother’s maiden name. And from that moment she became Bess, and it was as if Elizabeth, Countess of Dansmere, had never existed.
‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Newcombe,’ he said gravely. ‘May I be permitted to intrude myself upon your solitude for a short time?’ Bess smiled and nodded towards the seat opposite, which he immediately took possession of, adding, ‘I fear I have the advantage over you.’
‘In what way, sir?’
He laughed. ‘Why, I already know all about you.’
For a moment she actually paled, and the spell she had fallen under was all but broken. Surely he could not know the truth!
‘Do not be alarmed, Miss Newcombe,’ her companion entreated, observing her reaction, but mistaking its cause. ‘I am not a sorcerer, I assure you. And perhaps I exaggerated a little. It is merely that the whole inn was in a buzz with the news of your unfortunate accident when I arrived earlier. But I see the report of your injury was
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, she read silently, vainly attempting to concentrate on the printed page before her. But how could she, when a man who might have been the model of Lochinvar himself was seated but a few feet away from her?
She reached for her glass, and was surprised to find it empty. It had been her second tonight. She rarely drank more than one glass. Perhaps that explained the curious fluttering in her stomach.
As the stranger across the room continued to eat his supper, she found her gaze returning more than once to his handsome profile. More than once, too, as she looked up, she saw that he was surreptitiously studying her as well. For more than half an hour this exchange of glances - advance, engage, retreat - continued. Finally, she heard a scraping of the floor as the stranger pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. She knew with absolute certainty that he was going to speak to her.
‘That must be a most interesting book,’ his attractively deep voice declared, somewhere above her head.
Though she had fully expected this, Elizabeth gave a start which was quite genuine. ‘I - I beg your pardon, sir?’ she stammered, feeling remarkably foolish.
‘I merely enquired as to the nature of your book.’
‘It is - it is Marmion, sir.’
‘Ah! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,’ he quoted blithely, ‘there never was knight like the young Lochinvar.’
Elizabeth felt her colour deepening and knew not which way to look. He could not possibly have guessed...!
‘I hope you do not think me too presumptuous,’ the gentleman spoke into the uncomfortable silence. He appeared contrite, though she thought she could detect a faintly quizzical gleam in his eyes. ‘The truth is, I am much in need of company, and as you appear to be the only other guest here at the moment, I felt emboldened to seek your acquaintance. I am Nick Markham - at your service.’
It was obvious that, in her plain gown, she had been mistaken for a servant: a lady’s maid or a governess, perhaps. She had best make him aware of her true position at once, before he became too familiar. Then she caught her breath as the most outrageous thought occurred to her. What would it be like if he did become familiar? What if she were a lady’s maid? What if she were Janet? She had amused herself with such imaginings earlier. Now she was presented with the opportunity to discover, in some small way, the reality. After all, what harm could it do? He was a stranger to her. She would never see him again.
Before she could even stop to consider the consequences of her actions, she found herself responding to Mr Markham’s audacious words.
‘I am Bess, sir - Bess Newcombe.’ She used her mother’s maiden name. And from that moment she became Bess, and it was as if Elizabeth, Countess of Dansmere, had never existed.
‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Newcombe,’ he said gravely. ‘May I be permitted to intrude myself upon your solitude for a short time?’ Bess smiled and nodded towards the seat opposite, which he immediately took possession of, adding, ‘I fear I have the advantage over you.’
‘In what way, sir?’
He laughed. ‘Why, I already know all about you.’
For a moment she actually paled, and the spell she had fallen under was all but broken. Surely he could not know the truth!
‘Do not be alarmed, Miss Newcombe,’ her companion entreated, observing her reaction, but mistaking its cause. ‘I am not a sorcerer, I assure you. And perhaps I exaggerated a little. It is merely that the whole inn was in a buzz with the news of your unfortunate accident when I arrived earlier. But I see the report of your injury was
Similar Books
Pursuit Of The Mountain Man
William W. Johnstone
Emily French
Illusion
The Part Time People
Tom Lichtenberg, Benhamish Allen
Badge
Viola Grace
Saboteur: A Novel
J. Travis Phelps
Heft
Liz Moore
Naming Maya
Uma Krishnaswami
Odette's Secrets
Maryann Macdonald
The Charming Way
Kristine Grayson