Read Online The Gentleman's Quest by Deborah Simmons - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Simmons
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the subject, here and now, did little to cheer her.
“And you think that they want his book back?” Hero asked.
“The ones who left these stones are long gone, their true histories forgotten,” he said. “And most who call themselves Druids now gather for social or philanthropic purposes. But there were some others who embraced a more violent view of their forebears.”
Hero did not find his explanation comforting, especially when he lapsed into a brooding silence that brooked no further questions. And as she followed blindly, she couldn’t help the thought that returned to mind. He could lead her anywhere. And for any purpose.
She was not a timid creature, but the possibility of being caught alone on foggy moors with a powerful man obsessed with Druids was something even Hero found unsettling. She remembered his mention ofdeath and debauchery based on the Mallory, and she shivered.
Yet she kept following, for what else could she do? And even uneasy as she was, Hero realized that the whole situation felt like something Raven would orchestrate. Although he had never written a Gothic novel, he enjoyed living like a character in one, with all the attendant terrors and dramas.
Had he arranged for the seemingly gallant Mr Marchant to accompany her? Or worse, had he arranged for a mad Mr Marchant to abduct her? Her companion’s admission of a warrant for his arrest took on new meaning when considered under such circumstances. Was Mr Marchant the gentleman he claimed to be, or something else entirely?
Hero had made a life hunting and fetching and bargaining for Raven and ignoring all else, but now she felt her purpose faltering. Just what was she getting herself into?
The sun was setting when they rode into the courtyard of the Long Man. The inn was a simple one set in the middle of Longdown, a community large enough that their arrival would not be marked. Or at least that’s what Kit hoped when he looked for a place to stop for the night.
Inside the common room was busy, and Kit’s request for a room for himself and his brother drew little attention. He was not dressed in the sort of finery that would demand special service; nor was he the kind who might be refused admittance. His coin was good, and the horses would be tended to.
“Will you eat, sir?” the burly landlord inquired.
“Yes, but can you have it sent to the room? My brother is bone weary, and I’m for rest myself.”
The landlord looked like he might make Kit pay for a private parlour, but then he nodded, perhaps fearful of losing the business entirely, for Kit’s “brother” was slumped in the shadows near the door, as though waiting to see whether they would remain. With the meal settled, Kit motioned for Miss Ingram to join him, and the landlord led them to the staircase.
The room was decent enough, clean and neat, with a narrow window and a large bed not far from the fireplace, where logs were set. “I’ll have that lit for you, sirs,” the landlord said before disappearing back into the hall.
Kit nodded absently as he glanced around. He could have got two rooms, but he was loathe to leave Miss Ingram alone and unprotected, even if she was dressed as a boy. His own desire to stay in her company had nothing to do with his decision. Or at least that’s what Kit told himself as he eyed the single bed.
While no one would think it odd for a couple of brothers to bed down together, Kit would have to look elsewhere for his berth. Unfortunately, the only chair was stiff and straight-backed, so Kit looked to the expanse of hard floor and told himself it was no worse than where he had slept the night before.
Miss Ingram was already drawing the curtains, and Kit reached for the candle, lest they be plunged into blackness until the chambermaid came to light the fire. It was one thing to share a room with MissIngram, another to be alone with her in complete darkness, as he had learned last evening.
But a low word from her stayed Kit’s
“And you think that they want his book back?” Hero asked.
“The ones who left these stones are long gone, their true histories forgotten,” he said. “And most who call themselves Druids now gather for social or philanthropic purposes. But there were some others who embraced a more violent view of their forebears.”
Hero did not find his explanation comforting, especially when he lapsed into a brooding silence that brooked no further questions. And as she followed blindly, she couldn’t help the thought that returned to mind. He could lead her anywhere. And for any purpose.
She was not a timid creature, but the possibility of being caught alone on foggy moors with a powerful man obsessed with Druids was something even Hero found unsettling. She remembered his mention ofdeath and debauchery based on the Mallory, and she shivered.
Yet she kept following, for what else could she do? And even uneasy as she was, Hero realized that the whole situation felt like something Raven would orchestrate. Although he had never written a Gothic novel, he enjoyed living like a character in one, with all the attendant terrors and dramas.
Had he arranged for the seemingly gallant Mr Marchant to accompany her? Or worse, had he arranged for a mad Mr Marchant to abduct her? Her companion’s admission of a warrant for his arrest took on new meaning when considered under such circumstances. Was Mr Marchant the gentleman he claimed to be, or something else entirely?
Hero had made a life hunting and fetching and bargaining for Raven and ignoring all else, but now she felt her purpose faltering. Just what was she getting herself into?
The sun was setting when they rode into the courtyard of the Long Man. The inn was a simple one set in the middle of Longdown, a community large enough that their arrival would not be marked. Or at least that’s what Kit hoped when he looked for a place to stop for the night.
Inside the common room was busy, and Kit’s request for a room for himself and his brother drew little attention. He was not dressed in the sort of finery that would demand special service; nor was he the kind who might be refused admittance. His coin was good, and the horses would be tended to.
“Will you eat, sir?” the burly landlord inquired.
“Yes, but can you have it sent to the room? My brother is bone weary, and I’m for rest myself.”
The landlord looked like he might make Kit pay for a private parlour, but then he nodded, perhaps fearful of losing the business entirely, for Kit’s “brother” was slumped in the shadows near the door, as though waiting to see whether they would remain. With the meal settled, Kit motioned for Miss Ingram to join him, and the landlord led them to the staircase.
The room was decent enough, clean and neat, with a narrow window and a large bed not far from the fireplace, where logs were set. “I’ll have that lit for you, sirs,” the landlord said before disappearing back into the hall.
Kit nodded absently as he glanced around. He could have got two rooms, but he was loathe to leave Miss Ingram alone and unprotected, even if she was dressed as a boy. His own desire to stay in her company had nothing to do with his decision. Or at least that’s what Kit told himself as he eyed the single bed.
While no one would think it odd for a couple of brothers to bed down together, Kit would have to look elsewhere for his berth. Unfortunately, the only chair was stiff and straight-backed, so Kit looked to the expanse of hard floor and told himself it was no worse than where he had slept the night before.
Miss Ingram was already drawing the curtains, and Kit reached for the candle, lest they be plunged into blackness until the chambermaid came to light the fire. It was one thing to share a room with MissIngram, another to be alone with her in complete darkness, as he had learned last evening.
But a low word from her stayed Kit’s