Part 16 (1/2)

”Mr Lester.” Calmly, she extended her hand.

”I.

hadn't expected to see you this morning--I thought you were here for the races. ”

His brows had risen sceptic ally at her first remark; on her second, his green eyes glittered. He grasped her hand--for an instant, as his eyes held hers, Lucinda wondered why she was playing with fire.

”Indeed,” Harry replied, his habitual drawl in abeyance. He helped her from the carriage, steadying her on the cobbles.

”I own to surprise on that score myself. However, as you are my aunt's guest, and at my instigation, I feel honour-bound to ensure you come to no harm.”

Lucinda's eyes narrowed but Harry, distracted by the absence of groom or maid--Grimms had already disappeared into the stables--did not notice.

”Speaking of which, where's your groom?”

Lucinda allowed herself a small smile.

”Riding with your brother and Heather. I have to thank you for sending Gerald to us--he's entertaining company for Heather--I dare say she would otherwise grow bored.

And, of course, that leaves me free to tend to business without having to worry my head over her. ”

Harry didn't share her confidence--but he wasn't, at this point, concerned with her stepdaughter. His expression hardened as he looked down at her. He was still holding her hand; tucking it into his arm, he turned her towards the inn door.

”You should at least have a groom with you.”

”Nonsense, Mr Lester.” Lucinda slanted him a curious glance.

”Surely you aren't suggesting that at my age I need a chaperon?”

Looking into her eyes, softly blue, their expression openly independent, challenging yet oddly innocent, Harry inwardly cursed. The d.a.m.ned woman didn't need a chaperon--she needed an armed guard. Just why he had elected himself to the post was not a point he was willing to pursue. He contented himself with repressively stating,

”In my opinion, Mrs Babbacombe, women like you should not be allowed out alone.”

Her eyes twinkled; two tiny dimples appeared in her cheeks.

”Actually, I'd like to see the stables.” She turned to the archway leading from the main yard. ”The stables?”

Her gaze ranging their surroundings, Lucinda nodded.

”The state of the stable yard frequently reflects the quality of the inn's management.”

The state of the stables suggested the innkeeper of the Barbican Arms was a perfectionist; everything was neat, clean and in its place. Horses turned their heads to stare as Lucinda picked her way over the cobbles, still wet with dew, forced more than once to lean heavily on Harry's arm.

When they reached the earthen floor of the stables, she determinedly straightened. Regretfully withdrawing her fingers from the warmth of his sleeve, she strolled along the row of loose boxes, stopping here and there to acknowledge their curious occupants. She eventually reached the tack room and peered in.

”Excuse me, ma'am--but you shouldn't be in here.” An elderly groom hurried out.

Harry stepped out of the shadows.

”It's all right, Johnson. I'll see the lady safe,”