Read Online The Gentleman's Quest by Deborah Simmons - Free Book Online

stood, yet the hairs on her neck tingled at his very presence. She waited, tense, until she heard him step outside. Then, and only then, did she release the breath she had been holding and reach for her cap.
    She straightened and saw, to her dismay, that her hand was trembling. What next? Would she start stuttering? Hero cursed this man’s ability to discompose her, senses running riot, wits scattered when she needed them most.
    Kneeling before the hearth, Hero doused the lingering embers there, and shivered. Better to be cold, she thought, than so warm that she couldn’t think properly. By the time she had finished, Mr Marchant had returned, and Hero turned to face him with a chillier greeting on her lips.
    He didn’t seem to notice, and they made a quick meal of bread and cheese from the packet he had got from his housekeeper. Then he went out to ready the horses while Hero tried to remove all evidence of their presence. After sweeping away their tracks on the floor, she stood at the doorway, giving the place one last look.
    Still laden with dust, it was nothing more than a small farmhouse, but the single room was cozier than her bedchamber at Raven Hill. Hero’s gaze lingered before the hearth, where she had slept so effortlessly for the first time in long memory. A surge of unfamiliar feelings kept her where she stood until a draught rattled the shutters. The noise finally spurred her to step outside and shut the door behind her.
    The early morning light was filtered by the mist, which seemed ever present. Although the atmosphere would have suited Raven’s sensibilities, Hero was more concerned with making her way as rapidly as possible. In this fog, Mr Marchant could lead her anywhere, and it would be difficult to keep her bearings.
    “We’ll stay off the main roads as long as possible,” he said, as he helped her mount. “Then head east.”
    “To Cheswick.”
    “To Raven Hill,” Mr Marchant said.
    “Cheswick is closer,” Hero pointed out. He groaned, and Hero suppressed a smile, for he made the sound whenever she pressed him. She was beginning to find his groans even more endearing than his grins. And all the more dangerous.
    Hero could not afford to be distracted, and she forced herself to pay more attention to her surroundings than her companion. But there was little to notice. And the routes Mr Marchant took were hardly more than paths, where she saw no signs of life, only barren moors.
    The fog did not unnerve her, for Hero was not the fanciful sort. One did not stay long at Raven Hill and give in to whimsy—not if one wanted to retain one’s sanity. Still, when they traveled into a dell, the haze settled around them, making their movements echo strangely. And Hero began to wonder if what she heard was their own progress or something else, perhaps even the sound of pursuers.
    Then suddenly, something loomed out of the mist, a tall silhouette, dark and ominous. Hero stifled a gasp and grasped the pistol in her coat, while Mr Marchant continued on his way in front of her. Suspicion roiled through her, chilling her to the bone and closing her throat. Yet, as she faced it the shape took form, mocking her fears.
    How amused Raven would have been to see her start at a rock, but it was large and unnaturally shaped,making Hero wonder at its placement here in the middle of nowhere. Urging her mount forward, she called to Mr Marchant, “What is that, a road marker?”
    “A standing stone,” he said. “I’ve discovered that there are many of them in the area. Sometimes they are alone, like that one, or they can be grouped in circles, rows and by cairns. All are thought to be the work of the Druids who once lived here. Maybe that’s why Mallory built his home in this land, with its references to sacred oaks and waters.”
    Hero glanced toward him, but could see little of his expression. She hadn’t known what to make of his earlier remarks about Druids and had long since dismissed them. The resumption of