I Lied To A Stranger To Save My Reputation — I Didn’t Know He Was A Duke

Part 2

I spoke those words directly to the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs Davis, completely avoiding his gaze.

We were supposed to have met my chaperone at the crossroads, I added hastily, feeling the heavy weight of the invention settle on my shoulders.

She will undoubtedly be very anxious, as we are bound for my aunt’s residence up in York.

Mrs Davis quietly finished setting down the tea tray.

She slowly straightened her posture.

She glanced once at me, once at the silent gentleman in the doorway, and then back to my face.

Of course, miss, she replied, her face remaining entirely impassive.

I shall have hot water sent up for the gentleman and some warm broth for you in about ten minutes.

I will also see what can possibly be done about finding a second bed by tomorrow morning.

She exited the room, and the door latch settled into its keeper for the second time that evening with the identical soft click.

He remained completely motionless where he stood.

He stared at me across the parlor for a very long, quiet moment.

I forced myself to meet his intense look because I had given him something I had absolutely no right to give.

The absolute least I owed him was looking him in the eye while he decided what to do with my falsehood.

Please forgive me, I whispered, and my voice surprisingly did not shake at all.

I promise I will explain.

If you will sit, I promise I will explain.

He walked forward slowly, pulled out the wooden chair opposite mine at the small table, and took a seat.

He placed his hands flat on the wood exactly the way a man sets down a heavy object he has been carrying.

He glanced at the folio on the small writing desk, then up at my face, and finally back at the folio.

Why don’t you begin with what is inside the folio, he suggested quietly.

I realized with a sharp intake of breath that he had managed to ask the perfect question first.

His name, when he finally gave it, was Brian Miller, and the impressive title that came after it I registered merely as a fact and then quickly set aside.

The aristocratic title was the largest part of what I had forced upon him and the smallest part of what I could actually afford to think about.

He provided his name plainly, without any grand flourish, and waited for mine.

I offered mine back in the exact same manner.

Megan Robinson, I stated clearly, daughter of the late Reverend Robinson.

The exchanging of our names across the small table felt like the opening sentence of a contract whose terms neither of us had properly read.

I explained about the folio, and about the London publisher who had taken my botanical plates for three years under my initials because a woman’s full name would never sell.

I mentioned the late rent, and the crucial unfinished drawing that I desperately needed to complete by the end of the week.

I finally told him exactly why I had spoken before he had the chance.

A working woman caught alone in a wealthy gentleman’s parlor is utterly ruined by the morning post, I explained.

I refused to look away from his face while I said those words.

Meanwhile, a betrothed gentlewoman traveling to visit her aunt is considered merely indelicate.

He listened to it all without moving a muscle, his hands remaining flat on the table.

I happen to be traveling toward a betrothal myself, he said at last, his words coming out with careful, measured precision.

I have not actually agreed to it yet, as my overbearing aunt arranged it entirely on my behalf.

You have conveniently given me a reason, if anyone should ask, why I did not continue my journey north.

I honestly do not yet know whether to thank you for that complication or to be very angry with you.

He stared into the fire and then back at me, the flickering flames catching the small, white line of an old scar resting at his temple.

The story we were keeping required that we ultimately arrive at our destinations separately, but as I watched him prepare to leave, I wondered if I would ever truly see him again?