“You don’t know the first thing about war,Countess. I do not think you should presume to have any opinion on the matter.” Oh, he loved it when he made her twitch. She obviously did not like his pet name for her. He decided he would continue to call her Countess, just for the pleasure of seeing her twitch.
“I know the taxes I pay go to fund them,” she parried.
“And I know the soldiers who fight them die,” he deflected.
“That is very true, and sad, don’t you think?”
Touché, Countess. “I think we should talk of something else.”
“Of course,” she replied, but said nothing further and neither did he.
He had just realized what she was doing. She had neatly distracted him from his purpose, to get the pistol from her. He would let her assume for now it had worked. She leaned closer to the window to try and catch the lamplight on her pocket watch. He knew how she felt; he was thinking the same thing. Was this carriage ride ever going to end?
“I wish you would put that thing away,” Oliver said, folding his arms across his chest. It must have been the fifth time she’d done it since getting in the carriage. If she was going to do it all night it was going to drive him to drink—heavily.
“I must know what the time is,” she stated, her voice as cool as ever.
“Does it really matter if we are a few minutes late?” He was baiting her on purpose, and he knew it was dangerous considering what was in her reticule, but it was dark so he did have an advantage.
“Yes, it does.”
He waited. Nothing. “Is this another one of your theories, Countess? I suppose we men can’t be trusted with timepieces either? God forbid we may tell each other the wrong time.”
Frowning, she set the watch back in her bag and looked at him. “You are like a child, aren’t you? Must you knoweverylittlething? I think I liked you better when you were a witless drunk.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Nice. What was she expecting, his blood to start boiling, or his face to take on the look of chopped liver? Prove he was a child and throw a tantrum?Not bleedin’ likely!Instead, he laughed, for what he really wanted to do was take her over his knee and give her a good spanking on her conceited derriere.
Whatever she may think of him, which was obviously not much, he was a man of his word, a man who was intimate with the word duty.
“Are you ever serious, Bellamy?”
He could see by the severe set of her mouth she wasn’t the least impressed. “Occasionally, but I am usually ill at the time,” he replied flippantly as the carriage came to a stop. They both sighed in relief.
He sprang out of the coach and handed her down. “Your audience awaits, my lady.” Her hands were cold, so he tucked them in the crook of his arm and glanced down at her for a moment. “Ready?”
“Yes, of course.” Her face, in profile, was serious and intense. He almost felt sorry for her. It was no mean feat to walk into a room full of people. People who thought you were a murderess.
“You’re allowed to smile. People are going to think I dragged you here by your hair if you don’t,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Don’t be ludicrous, Bellamy. The last thing they will expect is for me to smile.”
Chapter Four
Oliver was surprisedthe Countess of Blackhurst wasn’t combusting right here, in the entrance of the Wainwright’s ballroom, so intense was the focus of the assembled crowd around them.
This is what it must be like to stand in front of a firing squad, he thought.
Heads turned in ripples across the room as the word spread of their arrival. It reminded him of the quiet before the battlecry. The nervous energy that would surround you until you could not stand still. Every muscle would contract, tense, ears straining to hear the command that would send you riding down the hill and into the mêlée.
Despite his own resolve to feel nothing for the Black Raven, a small dose of respect stole over him, until he recalled their encounter in the carriage. He felt her fingers tense on his arm and then release.
The hosts scurried over, their expressions wary. Lady Wainwright looked a little pale and in need of some smelling salts, but was rallying. Wainwright bowed and babbled like a fool.
Beside him the Black Raven kept her chin high, her gaze regally down her nose, and stared at the assembled crowd with a chill that made him shiver.
Released at last from the formalities, the Countess of Blackhurst inclined her head and sailed off in the manner ofa war ship heading straight for the enemy, all cannons primed and ready to go. What exactly her mission was still needed to be determined because he didn’t believe for a moment that she just wanted to have an excuse to wear a pretty gown.
A few in the crowd gave her the cut direct, turning their backs to her, but most were too caught up by their curiosity to act so hastily. The infamous Black Raven was in their midst, and they were all no doubt wondering why. A lesser woman would have swooned from the lack of air in the room and the amount of eyes watching her every breath, but not the Black Raven.
