Folly's Reward by Jean R. Ewing Page A

there is only one way to find out, isn’t there? You must help me discover, Miss Drake, how much of a rake I am. In the meantime, I intend to take you to Carlisle, as promised. For whatever I am—and the delightful state of not knowing is proving most soothing to my soul, I must say—I intend to keep my word.”
    Prudence blushed, just a little. “You cannot mean to drive me to Carlisle after this.”
    “Why not? I am paid and contracted to do so. Come, let us fetch Bobby and return to our carriage.”
    She resented it, but she followed him down the stairs and out into the night, Bobby fast asleep in his arms. Their carriage was waiting.
    The famous Eske River was crossed by a bridge. Less than two hours later, they arrived at Carlisle. The George Inn was jammed with passengers just arriving from the south.
    Prudence pushed through the crowd, and booked and paid for tickets on the mail coach the next day as far as Liverpool. She secured a room for herself and Bobby for the night.
    But before she could either thank him or admonish him again, Hal had disappeared.
    * * *
    In spite of his burning fatigue, Hal could not sleep. He shared a room in the attic with two other travelers whose snores rumbled into the quiet night. Why the devil had he kissed Prudence Drake? To find out if he was indeed a rake?
    She had trembled in his hands like a doe!
    It had been strangely delightful, but if he was setting himself up as her knight-errant, he hadn’t exactly made a very good start. But where was she going in such haste with a child who claimed a title? And why did fear travel with her? Finally, lulled by his companion’s snores, Hal drifted into the sleep of deep exhaustion.
    He dreamt. There was the voice of a woman. Her words seemed faint and remote. She was arguing with someone: “But he broke into the house!”
    Hal heard someone saying her name, someone who meant everything to him—a man he would give his life for, if it were asked. “Helena. Go to bed, Helena.”
    And Helena was gazing down at him, her features full of fear and anger, and her blond hair brightly haloed by candlelight.
    As he looked up at her, the lovely face wavered and changed, and it was Prudence Drake who stood over him. The expression of distaste on her severe features threatened to break his heart.
    “Smile for me, sweet angel,” he heard himself say.
    But she turned away from him in disgust.
    When he awoke, the other men were gone. Hal dragged himself out of the bed. He shrugged into his shirt and winced as his sore muscles made protest. At least the pugnacious Jamie had broken no bones.
    His face looked back at him from the small mirror over the dresser. He surveyed it without pleasure. He was lucky not to have a black eye, for one cheek was marked with a magnificent bruise.
    And then as if his dreams continued, he heard his own voice: “How the hell is the family’s name for elegance to be kept up if you will keep appearing in public brindled like a cow?”
    Hal went close to the mirror and pushed his untidy hair back from his forehead. He studied the blue eyes and the high cheekbones. So he had a family with a name for elegance? All he vaguely remembered were the names of some children. Who were they? Who was he? Were there men and women out there somewhere who looked like him? Who missed him? Did anyone care that he had disappeared? And who the devil was Helena?
    He laughed at himself. Perhaps if he had let Jamie beat him to a pulp, he would have remembered. Isn’t that what usually happened with head injuries in novels? One did the damage, but a second repaired it?
    Hal slung on his torn jacket and went downstairs to pick up the horse he had arranged to rent the night before. It was past eight. The Liverpool coach had already left—a discovery he made without asking, because someone else was making the inquiries for him.
    From instinct Hal drew back and concealed himself behind a pillar as he heard the man’s voice.
    “I’ve been asking