Free Going Rogue by Jessica Jefferson Page B

doing, but are ye certain ye want to pursue Miss Marshall? I still can’t quite reconcile the two of ye together.”
    “What’s there to question? She’s a beautiful girl.” Derek sighed. “You were the one so keen on me opening this damn office and settling down. Now you’re questioning my methods?”
    “I only suggested that since yer the Earl now, perhaps you should slow down, find yerself a respectable wife.”
    “Isn’t Miss Marshall respectable enough for you?”
    “She is, but she’s also quiet, and yer . . . not.”
    “It’s a fine trait for a countess to possess.”
    “Forgive me for saying so, but don’t ye find her to be a bit odd?”
    “Brilliant maybe, but not odd. I promised you I’d find a wife and secure my line before I went and got myself shot again.”
    Brayan shook his head. “Ye promised me to stay put for a few months and use that time to think about returning to your estate in Scotland. Yer father did so much for you in life, the least ye can do is try and stay alive for a bit and see to yer legacy.”
    “I told you I’d think about,” Derek lied. He’d stop by on occasion, long enough to check on the status of things, but he fully intended on maintaining his status as the majority owner of King’s Ransom Transport. It was his duty to travel and meet with new clients. Hopefully, he could take a wife and that would be enough to get Brayan off his back. “Miss Marshall is perfectly acceptable.”
    “For who?” His cousin cast him a sideways glance, and he was completely justified in his doubt. Miss Marshall was lovely, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. Still, Derek believed that mutual respect would be a strong enough foundation on which to build a marriage. If he craved more, he’d simply seek out such comfort elsewhere.
    Women were always more than willing to provide him companionship .
    “Do ye think Miss Castle will be jealous?” Brayan asked as the carriage came to a halt.
    Derek smiled. God, he hoped so.

 
    Chapter 11
    It was dawn.
    Meredith didn’t bother to shield her eyes from the sun pouring in through the windows—she was already awake. She’d been awake for hours, unable to get comfortable, blaming her night’s restlessness on a lumpy mattress.
    Truth be told, she hadn’t slept well since her evening at the opera.
    Giving up, she rolled out of bed, flinching when her bare feet touched the cold floor. She walked around to the end of the bed and kneeled. It had been two years since she’d accessed her secret hiding spot, momentarily questioning its location. She carefully tested one of the floor boards, a brief sense of relief washing over her when she felt it give. The space was exactly how she’d left it—occupied only by a battered old box, filled with letters and a green cut-glass ring.
    She picked up the box and blew across the top of it, a cloud of dust evaporated into the air. She slowly opened the lid, as if she expected a surprise after all these years. Inside were the well-read pieces of foolscap, a past she’d worked so hard to forget.
    She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not here . . . not anywhere .
    He belonged in Middlebury .
    She unfolded one of the letters, the familiar scribble making her smile.
    The sound of her door opening startled her and she hastily hid the letter behind her back.
    “You’re here?” Cynthia asked, poking her head around the door.
    Meredith nodded, positioning herself in front of the hole in her floor. “Where else would I be?”
    Her aunt stepped into the room, still wearing her evening gown from the night before. “I just didn’t expect to see you. Usually, you’re just getting in at this hour.”
    “Like you are now?”
    A sly smile crept up her face. “It was a splendid party. Mr. Darby was there. You remember Mr. Darby don’t you? That handsome widow I was telling you about?”
    She clutched the letter tighter. “Yes, of course I do. Did you get to dance like you were hoping