Montgomery’s unpretentious gray eyes flickered over Slade with recognition. “I recall you helping the day Ludlow was shot.”
Slade exchanged a few words with Montgomery. He exhaled contentedly upon learning Ludlow was out of bed and recovering.
Reddington, a shy, pale lass, inquired about the horses, which she and Montgomery took their leave of Slade and Fifi to peruse.
After they left, Fifi turned to Slade. “May we take a look at the gentleman’s blades on display?”
His eyes widened with surprise at her question. Pistols, defensive skills, and now blades? “You wish to look at the knives?” he asked.
She snorted at his question. “I realize my tastes could be considered boorish, even masculine, trending towards improper, as are some of my other proclivities. But I’ve had an interest ever since Egan trained me in their proper use.”
Why would Egan train her on the use of gentleman’s blades? But then he recalled that as a young lass she had been keen to learn swordplay, to the utter dismay of her parents. Hell, the first time he’d met her she’d been nine and was reciting the knight’s oath when she’d fallen into the loch.
Slade grinned at her, tugging Destroyer along towards the merchant stalls. “I don’t think it boorish or masculine in theleast, just surprising. But it does pique my interest on your other proclivities.”
Merchants called out, even clanked their displayed silver, tin, and lead goods together to grab their attention as they took a leisurely stroll along the stalls towards the knife and sword sellers.
“Reading, for example. My mother never missed a chance to remind me such an exhibition of independent spirit won’t do me any favors in securing a husband,” Fifi said.
“Are you in the market for a husband?” He wondered out aloud.
“A husband is the farthest thing from my mind,” she said.
“It takes great strength of character to be an independent spirit, going against the norm. Most people are too afraid to step out of the mold of a follower. As for reading, it’s rather commendable you want to improve your mind.”
She sent him a pointed smile, as if his answer pleased her. A becoming flush of the palest rose colored her cheeks, erasing the lightest of her pretty freckles.
“And you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Yes. Any vices to share with an old friend?”
Slade considered her question before speaking. “I’ve been told I snore rather loudly. When we were stationed in Germany during the war, my comrades feared I would lead the enemy straight to our camp,” he said.
Her lips twitched. “What an unforgivable vice indeed. And did your snoring lead the enemy to your camp?”
He chuckled at her restrained merriment. “Well, no. We came upon their camp first and disarmed them before they could retaliate.”
She looked impressed, yet mirth still danced on her features. “You and your men triumphed despite your loud snores. Well done.”
Her face glowed with an adorable warmth, reminding him of when they were younger.
A gust of wind swept the area—it flipped Fifi’s bonnet right off her head. His body tightened and heated, filling with an unexpected hunger as her enticing scent suffused with orange blossoms and bergamot teased his nostrils. The wind tossed her hair like wild waves crashing on rocks. And the sun glinted off each fiery red and copper-toned strand, like a cloak of fire hypnotically dancing around her shoulders.
Slade was so spellbound he didn’t move fast enough to pick up the bonnet as a gentleman would have.
“Oh no,” she gasped.
The prosaic action of her bending to retrieve the fallen bonnet drew Slade’s eyes to her enticingly curved backside. He scolded himself, dragging his gaze away and shaking himself out of his momentary stupor. This was Egan’s sister, he reminded himself again.
It was then that he took in the reason for her gasp. Destroyer’s front hoof had partially crushed the bonnet which she now held in her hand.
He grimaced at the ruined hat.
“Both Destroyer and I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Fitting name your horse has,” she murmured. Her eyes narrowed at his horse in disapproval.
