Free The Scoundrel and the Debutante by Julia London

wheel.”
    â€œYes, of course.” She held his gaze, watching him closely. A smile slowly appeared. “Thank you for not revealing me to Dr. Linford.”
    He sighed. “I am unduly swayed by the smile of a beautiful woman. It is my cross to bear.”
    Her smile deepened. “I’ll wait on the rocks.” She walked past him—gliding, really, with an elegance that was not learned, he knew from experience. She took a seat where they’d gathered previously, picked up her valise and balanced it on her lap, her hands folded primly on top. She looked straight ahead, as if she were at a garden party.
    Roan couldn’t help his smile as he walked past her and touched her shoulder. “I didn’t thank
you.
”
    â€œThank me?” she asked, looking up at him.
    â€œFor your great esteem,” he said, and winked.
    Miss Cabot muttered something under her breath that sounded very much like
rooster
and more, then turned her head, fidgeting with a curl at her nape.
    Roan joined the men, discarding his coat. The driver of the second coach had the tools necessary to repair the broken wheel. Roan would have had the wheel repaired more quickly had he been allowed to conduct the work himself. He was familiar with broken wheels; he and his family were in the lumber trade, their teams bringing loads into New York City from as far north as Canada. It was arduous work, cutting and hauling lumber, and Roan had been pressed on more than one occasion to lend a hand to help with the work and the transport. He didn’t mind it—he liked the way physical labor made him feel alive and strong. As a result, he had repaired more wheels and axles and that sort of thing than perhaps even these men had seen.
    But the driver was adamant that the work be done his way.
    The wheel was fixed and attached to the axle, and the men began to load the luggage onto the coach once more. As the team of horses was harnessed, the driver asked the passengers to board.
    Roan donned his coat, then collected his smaller bag from the pile of luggage that would be reloaded. He turned and looked back to the rocks, intending to rally Miss Cabot.
    She was not sitting on the rocks.
    Roan walked into the meadow, scanning the tree line and the road. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Had she boarded the second coach? He looked back to that coach. The passengers were gathering their things and boarding.
    Roan strode back to the second coach. “Excuse me,” he said, and stepped through the passengers to look into the interior. Only a woman and a small girl sat inside.
    Roan turned back to the others. “Have any of you seen a woman? About yay tall,” he said, holding his hand out to indicate her height. “With a bonnet?” he asked, gesturing to his head.
    No one had seen her.
    Roan was baffled. Where could she be? He hurried back to the first coach, where the luggage was now secured. One of the men reached for Roan’s bag, but he held tight. “Have you seen Miss Cabot?” he asked the man. “She got on in Ashton Down.”
    â€œNo, sir,” the man said. “Shall I put your bag up top?”
    â€œI’ll hold on to it, thank you,” Roan said. He stepped around the coachman and peered into the interior of the first coach. Two gentlemen who had ridden on top put themselves inside next to the young man who was scrunched down on the bench, swallowed in his coat, still holding the battered valise.
    No Miss Cabot.
    A sliver of panic raced up Roan’s spine. He turned to the driver, who was overseeing the last adjustments to the team’s harnesses. “Have you seen Miss Cabot?”
    â€œThe comely one?” the driver asked, squinting up at him.
    Roan didn’t have time to think why it annoyed him the driver would refer to her in that way and said, “Yes, that one.”
    The driver shook his head. “Heeding the call of nature, I’d say.”
    Yes, of course.