Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(8)

She opened her mouth to correct him, but his next comment froze her, flooding her mouth with a sour taste.

“Now, my fee…”

Reluctantly, she walked to her reticule lying on the table, thinking how quickly her funds were dwindling. She had not taken unforeseeable possibilities into consideration.

She fought back a cringe as she handed a coin to the man. He waggled his fingers, indicating more. Sighing, she added another.

At least she was close to her destination. According to the innkeeper, Dubhlagan loomed only a day’s ride ahead. At the first opportunity, she would reach the village and learn where Bertram took lodgings. Hopefully he did not reside with his heiress’s family. She had no wish to arrive on the doorstep of some young woman’s home and put her to shame with the announcement that she was Sir Edmond Powell’s wife—that her beloved fiancé was in fact the Duke of Derring, imposter and fugitive from law.

Astrid cringed, imagining the ugly scene. She merely wished to stop Bertram’s farcical wedding, to speak her peace. Then she could return to her life. One that did not particularly fill her with happiness, but she had settled into an easy sort of routine nonetheless. Tea with Jane and Lucy. Juggling account ledgers with a negative balance. Attending select ton galas so that she might eat.

She deserved no better. On those rare occasions when she had been granted choices, she had failed. Herself and others. Astrid grimaced at the familiar pinch near her heart. It was the failing of others that stung. That remained her cross to bear.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” Astrid held the door for the physician.

“I’ll see these are cleaned and bring you a bite to eat,” Molly said, following him out, arms full of the man’s garments.

“Thank you,” Astrid murmured, shutting the door behind them, her stomach clenching at the mention of food.

She had not eaten since earlier that morning, and then only tea and toast—the cheapest fare to be had at the inn where they stayed the night. But then she was accustomed to skipping a meal here and there.

A brisk knock sounded at the door. Astrid hurried to open it, knowing it was too soon for Molly to return, but hopeful that another servant had been sent ahead with a tray.

“Coral,” she acknowledged upon opening the door.

Her maid entered the room, glancing at the man on the bed as if he were some dangerous animal that might waken any moment. “A coach is heading south within a few hours.”

Astrid blinked at the young girl. “What has that to do with us? I cannot leave yet.”

Her gaze strayed to the man who lay naked beneath the blankets. She winced. Her first thought should not have been for him. A stranger. Her thoughts should be on Bertram—her husband. On stopping him and setting matters to rights. That alone should be her primary reason for remaining.

Coral’s thin nose lifted a notch. “Then I insist you pay my fare and send me home.”

Astrid waved to the motionless man on the bed. His muscled chest lifted distractingly above the blanket’s edge. “And what of him? Shall we leave him unattended? To say nothing of the business that brought me to Scotland in the first place. We are only a day’s ride from Dubhlagan.”

Coral shrugged. “Let the innkeeper see to him. He is not our concern.”

“And yet he certainly made us his concern,” she countered. “I would think a little appreciation would be in order.”

“I’ve had my fill of this inhospitable country.” Coral wrapped her arms about her as if she still wore her ravaged gown and sought to shield herself.

They had both changed clothes upon arriving at the inn. Even though Astrid’s dress hadn’t suffered the damage of Coral’s, she too had felt the need to don grime-free clothes—to put distance from the day’s sordid events. “Just another day. Perhaps two,” she appealed.

“I’m going home. With or without you.”

Astrid nodded grimly, once again moving across the room to her reticule. Returning, she placed several coins into Coral’s hand. “Without, then.”

Coral shook her dark head. “Very well. I will return to Town alone.”

“Do what you must.” As would she.

“I trust you will still grant me character letters.”

Astrid smiled tightly. “Naturally.”

“I fear you’re making a grave mistake in staying, my lady,” Coral announced. “I hope you don’t come to regret it.” With that, she departed the room in a flurry of skirts.

The only mistake Astrid feared she had made was in selecting Coral to accompany her. Not that she had much choice. It was either Coral or Cook. The other three servants she had managed to retain over the years were all elderly men. Astrid had bowed to propriety in selecting Coral. And yet she was no fool. She knew the former scullery maid only used her, accepting a paltry wage, exploiting her situation as lady’s maid to a duchess—even an insolvent one—in hopes of one day securing a better position.

She would have been better off with Cook, old as she was, or one of the men.

Her gaze flitted to the man on the bed.

Now she would be sharing a room with him. And without Coral to act as chaperone. A man whose name she did not even know, yet whose lips, wide and almost too lovely to belong to any of his gender, made her mouth tingle. No matter how unwanted or inappropriate, she yearned to touch them, to feel for herself. A wholly intolerable impulse.