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found himselffloundering for something to say. It didn’t seem fitting that their encounter should end on such a note.
    But nothing came.
    He watched as she opened the door and stepped through. There was a moment when he thought she’d turn back, but with a decisive click the door shut.
    He didn’t even hear the tread of her feet as she walked away.
    He should be glad that she was gone. That he would be back on the road later this day. He only hoped the rains were delayed.
    He stared at the door longer than he should have.
     
    Clara barely resisted the urge to speak. She didn’t know what there was to say, but it seemed there should be something. Her honor had still not been defended. He clearly did not believe that she had not taken his watch. Then there was the matter of her shoes, stocking, and cloak.
    Her skirts were long enough that unless she kicked up her heels like a young girl nobody would remark on her feet, and the morning sun was still shining bright, giving hope that she would not look too much a fool walking the mile home without a cloak. Her feet might be sore and she’d probably catch a chill, but she would survive.
    Creeping down the stairs step by step, she listened for the sounds of anybody passing by. Fortunately, it was late enough that the first rush ofmorning was past, and early enough that late sleepers were still slumbering away.
    She reached the inn door and eased it open with care. She saw Jake’s shirttails as he disappeared into the stable, but that was all.
    A quick dart and she was free. If she was seen walking along the lane it would be considered odd, but not unduly so. There were some advantages to having an unusual reputation.
    Now she could only hope that her luck continued as she walked farther and farther from The Dog and toward the Abbey. Perhaps Robert had been out late himself the previous evening and would not even notice that she had been gone. She crossed her fingers tight.
    “Lady Westington.” Her name sounded from behind. She turned and looked over her shoulder. Coming toward her, perched high on a massive horse, was the prettiest blond pixie of a girl the world had ever seen.
    “Oh, I am so pleased to see you. Robert said you never rose before noon or I would have asked you to ride with me. Or do you prefer to walk? A morning stroll can be quite a wonder. Have you seen any deer or rabbits?” Jennie smiled down at her. Her stepson’s fiancée was full of joy, as always.
    Clara forced herself to stop, ignoring the icy rocks beneath her feet. It was imperative she appear normal. Jennie, and therefore Jennie’s father, Lord Darnell, must never know that the Countess of Westington had slipped again.
    “Don’t you have a groom with you? I thoughtyour father didn’t like you to ride alone?” she asked. Offense was the best defense.
    Jennie blushed like a beet. “You won’t tell him, will you? I know that I shouldn’t be unaccompanied, but none of the grooms was free and I didn’t want to wait.”
    Clara smiled back. “Don’t worry. We can keep this whole meeting a secret and pretend that it never happened. Or if you prefer, we can say that we were together the whole morning.”
    “Oh thank you, Lady Westington. That would be most delightful.”

Chapter 3
    T he fire danced and jumped, sending a blanket of warmth across the parlor. Morning sun had given way to gray, and the occasional splatter of rain blew against the latticed panes of the windows. Clara curled her toes in the heavy wool socks Molly had found for her. She was lucky she had not been drenched as well as chilled.
    That was far away now. She lifted the heavy mug of tea and took a welcome gulp, ignoring her still cold fingers that caused the tea to tremble. Most often she drank from the delicate porcelain cups the house seemed full of, but there were moments that only a mug would do. The heat of the stoneware warmed her lips even before she tilted the cup. An image of other lips placed carefully on the