Page 14 of The Spinster's Secret Scoundrel
“Then, to the Ram’s Head.”
Her laughter died. “How is that supposed to be any better?”
“I—”
She was right. For them to be seen together would do her no favors. “I only meant to do something nice for you, in exchange for your hospitality last night.”
An unreadable emotion flickered over her face, and then the wariness returned. A ball of fire lodged beside Thierry’s heart. What had happened to make such a beautiful woman so wary of men? Of kindness?
“I appreciate your offer,” she said stiffly. “But the best way to thank me is to leave, Thierry. As soon as you pay me.”
Miss Naughton extended her hand, palm up. Thierry swallowed.
“Yes. About that.”
Her brow pinched in displeasure.
“Iwillpay the money I promised you yesterday. I need to get it, first.”
She rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “I knew it. I should’ve known better than to trust a gentleman.”
Thierry bristled. “I am many things, but I am not a cheat, Miss Naughton.”
Her eyes slitted. “Prove it. With money.”
“Watch me.” He collected his hat and smacked it onto his head. Thierry let the front door slam behind him…only to realize that he ought to have gone out the back way to avoid being seen from the road.
* * *
“Cursed woman,”he muttered under his breath as he hiked down into the village. “Damnable temper. No wonder the tart-tongued chit is a spinster,” Thierry growled to himself as he stomped into the Cock and Bull and took a seat at the bar. The place was almost empty this early in the day.
“Who’re you talking about?” asked Maggie, the tavern owner’s daughter. At nineteen, she was pretty in a rosy-cheeked, friendly way. Thierry took great care to treat her with respect, lest he lose her parents’.
“Woman problems,” he replied vaguely, offering her an ingratiating smile.
“Aye, I imagine a man like you is plagued with such troubles.” She winked.
“Is your father about?”
“In the back,” she said, with a jerk of her head, and passed him a tankard of ale. “On the house.”
Thierry raised it in salute and went to find Caden Bulloy, the tavern owner, where his daughter said he’d be. He explained the situation from start to finish. His near-miss with the Waterguard, his undignified, stealthy escape via dinghy with the cargo of rare cognac, all of it.
“Sounds like an adventure fitting of Le Fantôme, Thierry,” Caden laughed. “Where’s the brandy now?”
“Hidden in Miss Naughton’s outbuilding.”
Caden blanched.
“Adeline Naughton? Lives on the edge of town in Prescott’s old gardener’s cottage, lures the village geese onto her property for the eggs?ThatMiss Naughton?”
“Is there another?” Thierry asked, baffled.
“Nay.” Caden’s face turned thunderous. “Does she know?”
Thierry had years of experience gauging when a lie might save his neck. Instinct told him that keeping his distance from Miss Naughton now would protect them both. “I sneaked it up the hill and into her outbuilding, one crate at a time.”
“Lucky you weren’t transporting tubs.” Caden tapped his temple. “Would’ve been a dead giveaway.”
