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Dark Rise (Dark Rise #1)(72)

Author:C.S. Pacat

‘I can’t allow you to leave without replacing your jacket. It’s the least I can do.’

She could see his splashed, muddy trousers very plainly, and could only imagine the sorry state of the jacket that would be revealed when she stood up.

Will demurred. ‘That isn’t necessary—’

‘I insist. You’re soaked. And covered in mud. And your hair is ruined. And—’

Carefully, he said, ‘I don’t think your family would be thrilled to learn that a young man had escorted you home.’

She flushed. That was true. It would be a scandal. The very scandal that he had accompanied her to avoid. If her aunt knew she had spent time with a young man, it would mean a lifetime of disapproving looks, not to mention losing every remaining freedom she had. Certainly, she couldn’t introduce Will to any of them.

‘Then you can wait for me in the stables while I bring you the clothes.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Tell the driver to go around the back,’ she said. Perhaps Will realised that she wouldn’t be denied, because he opened the coach window to shout the instruction out to the driver.

They pulled up near the entrance to the mews, and she could see at once that her own carriage had not returned. Mrs Dupont was still unaccounted for. But her aunt and uncle would be at home with her sister and the servants. She would have to be careful. She showed Will the back way in through the mews and stables that allowed you into the garden – and from there into the house.

The stables were dry and warm, smelling of fresh hay, and they ran in through the rain. She accumulated a few droplets on her hair and bonnet, but it was nothing she couldn’t shake off, and she was home now, out of harm’s way.

‘It’s a lovely house,’ Will said. He was looking past her into the dark leaves of the garden.

‘We only came here in January. We used to live in Hertfordshire.’ She kept her eyes on the lit windows of the house as she said it.

‘I was the opposite. My family used to live in London, but we left for the country.’

He pushed his hand through his hair, forcing out the water. Something about the casual nature of the gesture made her flush. She had never been alone with a boy her own age before. Their eyes met, and he looked amused, making the situation like a joke shared between them.

‘Wait here,’ she said, and went out towards the house.

Inside, the full impact of what she was doing reasserted itself. This was Lord Crenshaw’s house. The servants were Lord Crenshaw’s servants. She had ringed herself in with Lord Crenshaw’s walls, and into it all she had brought someone she shouldn’t. A young man whom she’d only just met, taking a risk she should never have taken.

Her heartbeat accelerated wildly as she entered the back parlour. Was that footsteps? She stayed very still inside the door. After a few seconds of silence, she took a first step inside.

‘What are you doing?’ said a familiar voice.

‘I was just speaking with the coachman.’ Katherine turned calmly.

Elizabeth was standing in the parlour, frowning. ‘That’s not the coachman.’ And then: ‘It’s a strange boy you’ve brought back to the house.’

‘He’s a friend,’ said Katherine.

‘You don’t have any friends,’ said Elizabeth.

Katherine drew in a breath. ‘Elizabeth. He helped me, and it messed up his clothes. I’m getting him some new ones. It’s just polite, but you know the kind of trouble I’d be in. You can’t tell anyone.’

‘You mean it might mess up the engagement,’ said Elizabeth, with particular scorn.

That was true. But Katherine felt excitement rather than nerves. The threat of discovery was low, she thought. It felt more as if she and Will were in an adventure together. ‘That’s right.’

‘He’s getting you in trouble. I don’t like him.’

‘You don’t like anyone.’

‘That’s not true! I like Aunt. And our old cook. And Mr Bailey who sells muffins.’ Elizabeth spoke slowly, thinking the list through with care. ‘And—’

‘I ran into him by chance and promised that he’d be safe here. Would you have me break my word?’

Her little sister was a very upright person, a stickler, even, for the rules, and this point of honour was digested, albeit with difficulty.

‘No,’ said Elizabeth, scowling.

‘No. So stay quiet and don’t say anything.’

Will looked up when she entered with the jacket, half-changed in long trousers and socked feet, with the shirt she had left out for him untied and the neckcloth still draped over his shoulders, a state of undress she had never seen before in a man.

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