Page 59 of The Hired Hero
She turned to regard the tangled locks straggling out from beneath his misshapen hat, the unshaven cheeks—one of which was beginning to turn a mottled purple under the black stubbling—and the disarray of the rest of his shabby clothes.
“You’re not exactly looking like a Pink of thetonyourself,” she replied. “As to the question of whether I’m all right, given the fact that I haven’t had a decent meal in ages—not to speak of clean sheets or a bath—and that I am traveling with someone who would like to bite my head off every time he opens his mouth, I’m no worse than should be expected.”
Davenport released his hold. “If you will wait here, I’ll see if I can scrape up something decent to eat inside, though the odds look grim.”
He returned shortly with a wedge of dry cheddar, a crust of bread and a shriveled apple. Caroline’s eyes flew past the meager offerings to drink in the steaming mug of tea he was holding cradled against his chest. Without a word, he passed it to her.
She let the heat seep into her chilled, chafed hands for a moment before raising it to her lips.
“Is it that bad?” he asked abruptly.
She stopped in midswallow, confused. “What?”
“My disposition. Do I cut up at you as terribly as you say?”
She pressed the mug up to her cheek, as if taking in its comforting warmth. “Oh, that. I don’t really mind,” she said softly. “I’ve gotten rather used to it.”
The earl was about to respond when the rush of people elbowing their way back into the coach indicated that it was nearly ready to leave.
Damnation.He jammed his hands into his pockets and kicked at an errant pebble. “We had better make haste. It wouldn’t do to be left behind at this stage.”
The ostlers were already buckling the last bits of harness, and as they hurried toward the waiting vehicle to regain their places, neither of them noticed a lone rider set off at a gallop toward London.
* * *
Davenport restrainedthe urge to reach out and yank off the ridiculous man’s cap that obscured most of her face. The little he could see of it revealed that the guarded expression Caroline had worn since morning had softened in repose, only heightening the look of vulnerability she took such pains to hide. His chest constricted—and not because of his bruised ribs. At least she was able to sleep, he thought, in spite of the horrors she had been through.
But for him, sleep would not come, despite his feigned snores. Her revelations had him in such a state that he didn’t know whether to shake her until her teeth rattled or take her in his arms and soothe her fears with a gentle kiss.
A harried smile stole to his lips—for then again, hadn’t she been knocking his world akilter ever since that first morning when she had opened her eyes and promptly punched him in the nose? He nearly chuckled out loud at the memory, then sobered considerably.
It was no laughing matter. An unaccustomed heat crept over his face as he recalled his actions of last night. No doubt she had been exhausted. No doubt she had been in a state of shock. No doubt she had been, well, tipsy! He had taken advantage of her, no matter that she had not sought to discourage his advances. Whatever had possessed him to lose himself so utterly to the heat of the moment? He had had his share of affairs and mistresses, but always within the boundaries of his own carefully constructed rules about dallying with an innocent.
But last night, his rules had proved as effective as a sand fortress against the incoming tide. His vow to remain in strict control of his emotions had been swept away as easily as a speck on the strand. What he had experienced in the past was desire and physical need. What he had experienced last night was…something very different.
It shook him to the very marrow.
Davenport heaved an inward oath. Here he had vowed to stay free of emotional entanglements and devote his energies to his estate—and what had happened, weak fool that he was? Caroline was outspoken. Independent. Opinionated. Fearless. She was, in short, all that a lady shouldnotbe.
She was vocal with her opinions, she rode astride, she used decidedly unladylike language, she didn’t swoon at the first hint of unpleasantness. And to make matters worse, she was tall and willowy, when he usually preferred tiny and rounded.
So what was it about her?
The earl nearly gave a bark of ironic laughter, at the same time repressing an urge to tug his hair out by the roots.
What was it?he repeated to himself. The answer was very simple—she was vocal with her opinions, she rode astride, she used decidedly unladylike language, she didn’t swoon at the first hint of unpleasantness. And furthermore, she didn’t blink at his curses and only grinned at his irritable set downs. In addition, she tolerated his fits of ill temper and had risked her own life to save his skin.
Had he left anything out?wondered Davenport as he gritted his teeth. Oh, and she never used tears to twist a man to her own desires.
She was brave. She was loyal. She had pluck to the bone, and a sense of humor. She… Who the devil was she?
If he had felt rather queasy before, the thought of that question made him positively ill. He was not a total gudgeon.Highly sensitive dispatches, couriers to a private estate—it took little imagination to figure out her father was a very important man.
But why the devil wouldn’t she tell him who?
There were any number of possible explanations, but one sprang foremost to mind. She wanted to walk away from him at the end of this, hoping that what had passed between them would remain as unknown as her real identity. The import of her silence was as clear as any words she might have uttered. She wanted nothing to do with the Earl of Davenport, especially now that he had shown his true character—one not so very different from that of his infamous twin.
No doubt that accounted for the fact that she had barely been able to force herself to look at him since morning.
