“I have to go to the pr?—”
“No, you don’t.” He jabbed a finger at her and pushed her back.
“Well, I never.”
“I never either.” He climbed in across from her and slammed the door. “I’ve been tricked by you one too many times.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sick to my stomach because the man I love is about to...die. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“You’ll believe it when I throw up on your boot.”
“I was ready to do that myself back there at the jail with all of that ‘I love you forever’ trash.”
“That’s because you don’t know the first thing about love unless it’s the dollars that line your pocket.” She snatched up her reticule and threw it at him.
He grabbed it and tossed it aside. “You’re wasting your time grieving for a man who chose the mission and Miss Perfect over you. At the very least, he should have hadyouwith him spying on the warehouse, had you up in Alleyton with him the night of the attack. You’re the woman who could have helped him succeed.”
“I’m the woman who ended up with my face in the dirt, and the man I love is in jail about to be hung.”
“You’re the woman who doesn’t give up.” He drummed his fingers on this thigh. “So I ask again, what are you up to?”
“Nothing, other than trying not to fall apart in front of a ballroom full of people. You have bested me. I have no choice but to go along with this sham betrothal. I can’t save Devon. All I can do is try to keep myself from being thrown in jail for treason and bargain for Lucy to have a decent owner.”
He loosened his blue silk cravat. “I don’t believe it. You’re too quiet, too compliant. It’s not like you. You’re up to something. Do you have a knife hidden beneath your skirt? And what’s that flask all about?”
“What flask?”
“The one you swiped from me.” He held out his hand.
Spearing him with her eyes, she smacked the gold-plated tin into his palm.
“Should I have one of my men search you for weapons?”
“I’ll scratch the face off of anyone who touches me, including you.”
“Hmm.” He settled back against the cushions and rapped on the door with his knuckles.
“Yes, sir?” The footman popped his head in the door, looking more like a gunman than a footman with a holster on each hip.
“We’re not staying. Tell Henry to turn the coach around. We’re going for a ride. West of town. Find a secluded area.”
“Yes, sir.” The man tipped his hat and shot Morning Fawn a glance better aimed at a tart.
She stiffened as the door closed. “I’ve warned you what will happen if you put your hands on me.”
“Settle down.” He fingered the flask lid as the carriage pulled into motion. “I want to have a real talk with you. I mean, I thought I had one a couple weeks ago in my office after I found you dressed in that ridiculous outfit. I was foolish enough to think I’d finally discovered your true self. But I was mistaken. There are layers of deception and determination I’ve only begun to decipher.”
“I’m a stone wall as far as you’re concerned.” She tightened her cloak about her. “I want nothing to do with you. So you might as well take me back to the ball and have me play my part for the night.” As if she could. She shifted her gaze to the far window. “I don’t care what you do—there will never be anything between you and me. I bet my uncle would still give you the land you’re after if you’d do him the courtesy of depositing me at the nearest monastery or asylum.”
“Nunnery.”
“Excuse me?”
“Monasteries are for men. Nunneries are for women.”
The carriage rumbled across the drawbridge and onto the road.
