Chapter 8 #2
She gave an inward grimace. Ye heavens, he had been angrier than a mad hornet earlier.
With good reason, conceded Caroline. She had goaded him unmercifully with her razor-sharp tongue.
Her lips thinned as she recalled how many times both her father and Lucien had warned her that a lady had to learn to curb her emotions or risk placing herself beyond the pale.
But though he had been tempted to lash out, the earl had held back. Some emotion she hadn’t been able to decipher had flickered through his eyes at the last minute, tempering his rage. It was as if he had been…ashamed of his reaction.
That puzzled her. A rakehell wasn’t supposed to have any emotions—at least not any decent ones.
Or perhaps she had misunderstood Lucien’s whispered explanations on the subject.
Regardless, it appeared the Earl of Davenport was not entirely without honor. He could very well have let her slip to her death under the pounding hooves, and not a soul would have blamed him. And then, the touch of his hand around her waist had been almost gentle as he had helped her recover.
It was all so very confusing. Even now, despite the fact that he had stalked from the room in an ill temper, the earl had been thoughtful enough to send breakfast in to her.
Caroline let her breath out in a sigh. No doubt it would be best not to dwell on the gentleman—especially his interesting eyes and pleasant laugh. All she should care about was whether he could bring her safely to Town.
A sharp rap on the library door interrupted her musing. Davenport stuck his head into the room, making a point of letting his gaze linger on the clock on the mantel.
“Are you ready? Or, like most females, did you mean forty-five minutes to indicate we won’t be leaving until after noon?”
Caroline brushed the crumbs from her breeches as she stood up and shrugged into her coat.
The earl waited as she paused by the mirror to tuck her hair up under the wool cap, then turned on his heel, leaving her to follow in his wake.
He ignored the incredulous looks from both Mrs. Collins and Owens as the two of them strode through the entrance hall.
Caroline managed a brief smile, then shot forward to keep the heavy oak door from slamming on her nose.
Outside, Davenport flung a leather portmanteau over Nero’s flanks, then tied another set of bags at the back of the other horse’s saddle. As he turned, he noticed Caroline looking with longing at the stallion.
“Don’t even think of it,” he growled.
Caroline sighed and let him give her a leg up onto the smaller mount. “Milord,” she ventured as she set her boots into the stirrups. “I have one other question. Are you armed?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do not let that lively imagination of yours run away with you. Though you may relish the idea of pistols at dawn and other such nonsense, I do not. You may rest assured that our journey will pass without incident.”
For the first time, Caroline felt a stab of guilt.
Did she truly have a right to bring another person into danger?
The papers pressed against her ribs were an all-too-uncomfortable reminder that what lay ahead was no ordinary journey.
However, it was for the safety of their country, she reminded herself.
Surely, even a dissolute rake would feel honor bound to help if he knew the truth.
The earl swung himself into the saddle and, without a backward look, spurred his horse into a canter.
An hour later, Caroline found herself wondering whether the earl was going to utter a word to her during their journey. He had kept up a rapid pace without so much as a glance as to whether she was still with him—which only made her determined to use all of her considerable skill to keep up.
From her position behind him, Caroline noted that Davenport rode with an effortless grace, handling the spirited stallion with subtle commands rather than engaging in a heavy-handed battle of wills.
The horse moved with a confident exuberance, yet there was no doubt as to who was in control.
Grudgingly, she admitted that in this, at least, he was bang up to the mark.
As they reached a long stretch of flat road, Davenport slowed his horse to a walk. Caroline urged her own mount forward to come abreast of him.
“You ride tolerably well,” he said curtly before she had a chance to say anything. “You may count yourself lucky.”
The compliment she had intended to give died on her lips. “What do you mean?”
“If you hadn’t been able to keep up, I would have ended this harebrained scheme an hour ago.” A pause. “I still might,” he added under his breath.
“B-But we have an agreement!” sputtered Caroline.
“Yes,” he replied coolly, not taking his eyes from the road ahead. “But be that as it may, if it had been beyond your powers, I’d not have risked your neck—or mine. I’ve no intention of having to play nursemaid, no matter what the reward.”
So he thought to manage her like his horse? Caroline reined in her temper, settling for what she considered a mild response.
“Satisfied?”
“For now.”
She restrained the urge to deliver a swift kick to his shins.
After a strained silence, she tried another tack of questioning. “Are we to travel on back roads for the entire journey?”
“Do you wish to set the route as well?” he countered, a touch of sarcasm creeping into his tone.
She noticed that he avoided using her name and, in fact, had ceased making even the slightest attempt at polite address—now it was not even “miss.”
Ye heavens, the man was absolutely infuriating. But he was her only choice.
“As I am unfamiliar with this part of the country, it would be a useless endeavor on my part.”
“Ah, something on which you are not the expert,” he muttered acidly. “I hadn’t thought it possible.”
That struck her as unfair. “Are you always so deliberately rude to a lady?” she inquired through gritted teeth.
“Lady?” He finally turned to look at her, his dark brows arching up as his eyes swept over her breeches, shabby coat and drooping cap. “I thought I was riding with my groom. As such, there is little need to be charming.”
With that, he spurred Nero into a trot.
Some time later, they made a brief stop beside a river to allow the horses to drink and take a short respite from the road.
Davenport fished out a packet of cold ham and a wedge of Stilton from his bag, along with half a loaf of bread and a bottle of cider.
He laid everything out on the ground and, after helping himself to a hefty portion, went to stand with his back to her, looking out over the water as he ate.
His behavior was worse than boorish, decided Caroline as she helped herself to a few morsels.
But then, what else should she expect from such a man?
Why, he probably had no more sense of civility than his horse.
If he was determined to be unspeakably rude throughout the entire trip, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that it bothered her.
And she certainly wouldn’t admit she wasn’t up to matching his stamina, which was what he seemed intent on doing. So although she dearly would have liked to linger and rest her aching limbs in the late-morning sun, she hurriedly finished the last of her cheese and caught up the reins of her mount.
“Whenever you are ready,” she called with a show of obvious impatience as she hoisted herself into the saddle.
The earl threw the remains of his meal into the swirling currents and remounted without a word.
* * *
He was being unspeakably rude.
Davenport knew it, and yet the knowledge only made him feel more disgruntled at his situation. It was his own fault for agreeing to the outrageous proposal, but that did nothing to improve his humor.
What the devil had caused him to agree to shepherd the young lady to London? The money? He wanted to tell himself it was that, but he knew it wasn’t the truth. Something in her sparking eyes had revealed a touching vulnerability.
And fool that he was, he had been incapable of turning his back on her.
His hands tightened on the reins, causing the big stallion to shy.
With a silent curse, he patted the horse’s neck in apology, then suddenly urged Nero into a full gallop, as if the effort could give vent to his anger.
A string of oaths followed, all directed at himself.
How had he been such a gudgeon once again to let a helpless young lady use him to her advantage?
His mouth quirked involuntarily at the corners as he recalled the image of Caroline-Whoever-She-Was pounding neck and leather out over the field on his stallion. Perhaps “helpless” was not the right word for this particular young lady.
But then his jaw set as he wondered, not for the first time, why it seemed to be that the cruel men in this world attracted the opposite sex, like a moth to a flame.
Helen’s face came to mind, her porcelain skin suspiciously darkened, her eyes desperate, crying for help.
He had forgiven her for turning to him for support.
But he had not forgiven himself for being so weak-willed.
It wouldn’t ever happen again.
He meant to care for nothing but his own future and restoring his lands and name to respectability. This morning had been a regrettable lapse in judgement, but he had been tired and preoccupied with other problems.
She had taken him by surprise. It was damned unfair of her to expect him to be her knight in shining armor.
He would merely be the mercenary, decided the earl. He would get her to her family, collect his blunt—if there truly was any to collect—and be gone, as quickly as possible. That was all she had hired him to do.
And that was all she would bloody well get.
* * *