Mistletoe and Mischief Read Online Free Page A

back.”
    “I suppose not,” Charles agreed, shaking his head hopelessly.
    “Well, then, how shall we explain my lack of baggage? I think I have reasoned out a story, if you will listen.”
    “Carry on,” Charles said, thinking he knew now why she had been silent for so long. She must have had quite a bit of scheming to do.
    When she continued, she sounded quite cheerful again–almost as if she were enjoying herself. “We shall say, then, if it pleases you, that my maid was injured in the coaching accident. And I was so distraught over her condition, that I quite forgot my own bags when we resumed our trip. We expect your servants to catch up with us on the morrow, at least, which is why we have elected to push on. My abigail, alas, shall not be able to join us.”
    “Your powers of invention truly amaze me,” Charles said.
    He could almost hear her blush.
    “Yes, it is deplorable, is it not, that I should show such a talent for lying. However, you must not think I do so under normal circumstances. This time, I have your reputation to protect as well as my own. You would hardly expect me to place principle above my concerns for it.”
    “You have my heartfelt gratitude,” Charles said, and earnestly meant it, though he knew his response sounded pettish. This headache had robbed him of his usual cordiality. “Is there anything else I should know?”
    “Not that I can think of, my lord. If anything occurs to me, I shall inform you of it immediately.”
    “Please do.”
    “And you will contrive to call me Louisa, I hope?”
    “I shall do my best to fulfill whatever role I am assigned, but I warn you I am not accustomed to play-acting.”
    “What a pity,” she said, and this time he thought he detected a touch of irony in her voice. “Then we shall have to confine your part to as few lines as possible. Just let me play the lead and I am sure we shall come about.”
    Charles fell silent, fuming at the rebuke in her tone, but his pain was so intense that he had little mind to reflect on his lack of manners now. The few miles to Appleby, which should have passed quickly, seemed an eternity. Timothy was forced to walk the horses the last many yards.
    When finally they arrived, Charles directed him to pull up at The Bull and Cock, instead of The George, where he had once stayed, however many years ago.
    The sound of their wheels alerted the innkeeper, who was surprised to find anyone travelling so long after dark. The crest on Charles's coach impressed him forcibly, however, so he listened to Louisa's brief explanations without protest. His inn was empty this time of year, and he was not likely to turn away such rich travellers as a marquess and his cousin. If he wondered why the marquess had stopped at his house instead of at The George, which enjoyed almost all the aristocratic custom coming this way, he did not comment. He bustled about with the baggage, enquiring which rooms their bags should be carried to.
    “Put them in my cousin's room,” Louisa said. “It is a long story–rather tedious–but I have none of my things with me just now. We hope our servants will catch up with us before tomorrow. Perhaps your wife would lend me something for the night.”
    “I–I'll see, miss,” he stammered at the strange request. “She'll be reet happy to help ye, I'll warrant.”
    “Very good,” Louisa said unconcernedly. “But I hope you will give your attention to my cousin first. He is suffering with the headache. A large bowl of punch will be just what he needs.”
    On his way upstairs at the moment, Charles paused in surprise at her words. He had not said anything about his headache. It shamed him to think that she had noticed, pointing out as nothing else could how abominable his manners had been. But, he reflected, perhaps she had only made up a headache to deflect the innkeeper's questions. With Miss Davenport, it was impossible to know.
    Whatever her motives, her suggestion of a warm punch was just what