Page 19 of While You Were Spying

Six

“This is really quiteunnecessary, Lord Winterbourne,” Francesca argued, desperation causing her pitch to rise.

“So you’ve said.”

Together they climbed the last hill before Tanglewilde, he leading his sorrel gelding by the halter and looking as annoyed as he sounded. Francesca knew this was her last chance to dissuade him. After they’d retrieved his horse from a copse of trees off the main road a half hour before, she’d expected to part ways. The marquess, however, had other ideas. Still had them.

Yesterday she couldn’t make him look at her twice. Today he was practically stitched to her side. Was he concerned for her welfare? Worrying for her safety and escorting her home were acts far too chivalrous for Winter—he wasn’t so nicknamed without reason. He was not a nice man.

Then another thought struck her. “Do you think that man in the clearing would have actually shot the other?”

Francesca would freely admit she had been terrified when the man drew his pistol on his companion. If Winterbourne wasn’t being so surly, she might have expressed gratitude that he’d appeared in the meadow when he did. Perhaps she had sensed those men nearby and that was why she’d felt uneasy earlier.

He hadn’t answered her, but she went on anyway. “I suppose they’re highwaymen who’ve hidden their spoils near the clearing.”

“Hmm.”

She frowned at his response. “If we hadn’t hidden, would they have demanded our money or our lives?”

“Only in a novel, Miss Dashing.”

She lifted her chin, disregarding his scorn. He was obviously in a bad temper, and perhaps it was just as well. His anger distracted her from noticing how his tight trousers molded against the muscles of his thighs above his riding boots, and from remembering how hard and solid his body had felt when he’d held her against him as they watched the highwaymen.

He was still scowling at her. If he hated her so much, why did he insist on seeing her home? They were well away from the men and presumably she was safe now.

Or she would be if she could prevent him from taking her home.

She needed to distract him. She stopped walking, forcing him to turn to look at her. “I think you owe me some answers, especially after lying to me last night.”

“I see.” He didn’t look distracted. His eyes, hardened amber, judged and assessed her.

She shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for him to answer. He didn’t.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. “You said your horse lost a shoe”—she pointed to his mount—“and he obviously hadn’t.”

“And?” He didn’t even blink.

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