Alex sighed. “Suppose you tell me why you did such a mad-brained thing?”
“I told you already. I am being persecuted.”
“By this guardian, I suppose?”
She became animated, waving her gloved hands for emphasis. “Yes, and also by Mr Cumberledge. He is Cousin Walter’s partner, and of course he wishes me to marry him so they may both benefit from my trust.”
Alex could not forbear a disbelieving laugh. “An heiress, are you?”
She drew in a breath and sighed it out. “I don’t know. No one will tell me how much Papa left for me. I must guess it is substantial, or they would not be worrying me to marry that oafish beast.”
“Which oafish beast? This Cumberledge?”
Her gloved fingers curled into fists. “I hate him! He tried to paw me and pretend he was in love with me, but it is no such thing.”
“This is why you ran away?”
“I’m not running away. I am going to London to see the lawyer.”
Alex began to feel a touch light-headed. What had he got himself mixed up in? Why had he let the wench persuade him into this?
“I must have taken leave of my senses,” he muttered. A tiny giggle drew his attention. He cocked an eyebrow. “Find that amusing? Suppose I should count myself fortunate if I don’t come out of this with a charge of kidnapping.”
“Oh, it will not come to that, sir. I shall slip out at the next stage, and no one will know I was ever in your carriage.”
For a moment, Alex allowed himself the luxury of relief, but it was short-lived. Under no circumstances could he let the silly chit go off on her own. She’d come to grief in no time. Best to keep this reflection to himself for the moment. Didn’t want her doing something idiotic, like trying to jump from the coach. She’d shown herself capable of any sort of crazy conduct.
“What’s your name?”
A wary look entered her face. “Why should I tell you?”
“Why shouldn’t you? Considering the way you were willing to trust yourself to a strange man, can’t see why you’d balk at telling me your name.”
“I didn’t trust you! Besides, I had the pistol.”
“Which wasn’t loaded, birdwit.”
“How dare you call me birdwit?”
“What else am I to call you if I don’t know your name?”
“Well, it’s Apple.”
Alex let out a snorting laugh. “Wish you won’t be so stubborn! Apple? No one’s called Apple.”
Her eyes flashed. “Iamcalled Apple. It’s my papa’s fault. He began it when I was a child and it stuck.”
“Oh, it’s a pet name? What’s your real name?”
“It’s Appoline, if you must know. Appoline Greenaway.”
“Ah, I see. Makes a bit more sense now.” He doffed his hat and made a little bow. “Miss Greenaway. I’m Dymond. Alexander Dymond. My friends call me Alex.”
She inclined her head in a manner that struck him as a touch imperious. He tried not to laugh. A little out of place for a girl of her class. Though was it?
“What’s your station, Miss Greenaway? I mean, who was your father?”
“John Greenaway.”
