He inclined his head in acknowledgment and grinned, his eyes lit with intellectual challenge. “In truthful reflections, apromisebroken can weigh heavy on avenging inclinations.”
She widened her eyes. The wretched man lived to intimidate her. She would have none of it. “The nature of one’s thoughts could be considered menacing.”
“One should not fail in being obtuse,” he said carelessly. “Like an arrow released from its bow, your message has met its target, yet your pledge is incomplete.”
How she itched to dump her tea on him. Neither life nor death, neither angels nor demons, neither present nor future, nor anything else would make her go back to his labuntil she was ready.
Aunt Margaret harrumphed. Rachel darted a glance to Sir Alford and Pembroke. She let out a breath. The conversation had flown over their heads.
“I will bid you adieu, Aunt Margaret…Miss Thorne.” Anthony offered an abrupt bow to her. A barely controlled hostility simmered beneath his formality, if released, would roll her over with the force of a tidal wave. He did not acknowledge the two knights. He turned on his heel and left.
Watching him go, she leaned shakily against the cushions and released a long, shuddering breath. Anthony. A sharp, sweet pain throbbed in her chest. If he knew the truth, he would loathe her.
Chapter Ten
Anthony slammed the door to the carriage. Rachel had taken their argument seriously and he had to do everything himself. At this speed, he wouldn’t make a single discovery until the next millennium.
Fiery acid boiled through his gut. Was she off meeting more potential husbands, buffoons like Pembroke and Alford? What had made him interrupt her visit with those two barnacles? Why did he care who she entertained and why did he possess the juvenile urge to reveal her staunch patriotism?Jealousy?Never.
He raked his fingers through his hair, seeking and explanation for his behavior. Because the ramifications of the argument that divided them now threatened to unravel everything he had built. A second later, he realized that was it. The argument.
Not only had his temper brought the miscalculations, but also a tempest of unforeseen challenges forcing him to start over. He had made the mistake of letting his frustration get the best of him and that mistake had dire consequences. To keep his listing ship from capsizing, he would seek her out and apologize. Yes, he would express regret.
He strode past several shops in the village to Harold the Blacksmith’s shop. A horse dunked its head into a trough to draw water. He recognized the mare from his father’s stables. When the head groom had informed him Rachel had ridden to town on an errand, refusing escort, his blood boiled.
“I’ve come to pick up my order.” He looked around for the infuriating woman.Running a shipyard.Clearly, she had enjoyed too much freedom for too long.
Harold lifted his hammer and banged several times on red-hot metal. “It ain’t done.”
“I need it now.” Anthony’s stomach muscles hardened, the toothless blacksmith must have taken leave of his senses. To not have finished his order on time?
Harold shoved the flattened metal into a bucket of water. Steam whooshed upward, clouding his blackened face. “Everything is on hold. Have to polish off an order for that Colonial lady.”
Colonial lady?Rachel?What was she up to? “Cancel it.”
“I can’t. I couldn’t disappoint her.”
So now she had charmed the blacksmith.Miss Thorne possessed the aptitude to manipulate fools to genius.“I order you to cancel it.”
“She wouldn’t like it.”
“The devil she will.” Anthony was in the mood to take on the blacksmith, had licked him before, but with a hammer the size of Thor’s, and biceps the size of trussed full grown turkeys straining his shirtsleeves, he thought better of it. To continue a conversation with Harold was an exercise in idiocy, the blacksmith’s mental gears turned only so far.
Anthony stalked off, his heels digging half-moon furrows in the mud. His quarry rested on a porch step, wreathed in a crown of sunlight, sucking on a candy cane and surrounded by several of the village children, also sucking candy canes. Leaning against her was a filthy mutt, dining on fresh meat while she regaled her young audience with stories about Indians in the Colonies. For dramatic effect, she pulled the string of an imaginary bow and sighted down her prey.Pling.He could almost hear the whistle of the arrow.
His shadow covered her. Horror written on their faces, the children inched away.Good.The mutt barked and the hair on its back ruffled up. She pulled the candy cane out of her mouth and pointed it at him. “Why do you have to be so forbidding?”
“This is my normal face.”
“That is your formidable face and would scare the hair off a wooly mammoth.” She rummaged through a brown bag and produced six candy canes. “Horehound, peppermint, licorice, lemon…would you like one?”
He bared his teeth. “No. And would you mind telling me what you have the blacksmith engaged in so that he cannot fill my order.”
She shrugged a dainty shoulder, daring to dismiss him. “A secret. I gave him my design and told him he had to have it completed immediately. He can shape the copper curvatures that I need.”
Damn her conniving heart. He stared her down. “Cancel it.”
She scratched the mutt behind the ears and it howled in pleasure. “I like this dog. The blacksmith says he’s a stray. Starved you know.” She smoothed open the brown paper package so the dog could lick the remnants of his meal.
