He set down his knife. “I stand corrected.”
A slight twitch at his lip sent Felicity up into the boughs again. “You find it amusing?”
“Not in the least, ma’am.” He picked up the coffee pot. “May I pour you a cup? The beverage often has a soothing effect, you know.”
Felicity surveyed him, torn between dudgeon and a burgeoning desire to laugh. “You really are perfectly provoking, my lord.”
That did produce the wry smile. “So you have frequently informed me. Consider me chastened.”
Felicity emitted an unladylike sound of disbelief. But she kept her tongue as she received the filled cup from him. It was futile to argue the point. She added cream and sugar, stirring the brown liquid. But his bland manner goaded her at length. “Does nothing pierce your armour?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I have learned better than to tangle with an angry cat.”
It was of no use. The giggle would not be suppressed. His answering smile warmed her. “A little more, sir, and you may well receive hot coffee in the face!”
“I don’t advise you to try it.”
She eyed him. “A threat?”
He lifted a warning finger. “Behave, Miss Temple.”
A demon she did not know she possessed tempted her to push for more, but common sense prevailed. What in the world was she doing? And she called him provoking!
She drank her coffee in silence, reflecting that such moments did much to turn her thoughts from the dark apprehensions of this journey. Which brought her full circle to remembrance of those faint suspicions as to his real reason for taking all this trouble on her behalf.
Somehow it seemed less important than the realisation she enjoyed sparring with him and found him, in the main, agreeable company. A dangerous drift. She must not become accustomed. Once this quest was over, Lord Lynchmere would pass out of her life.
CHAPTER NINE
Contrary to Raoul’s expectation, Miss Temple favoured pressing on the last ten miles after the change at Newbury and they reached Middenhall at dusk. Having consulted a map beforehand, using Savernake Forest as his guide, he had been able to plan his route beyond Hungerford, using the upper road from Newbury, and knew they must run into Middenhall about three miles short of Marlborough.
Warned that they were approaching their goal, his companion had sat up straighter these last few miles, looking about her as if she hoped for recognition of some landmark. As the horses trotted into what appeared to be a substantial village, Miss Temple’s alertness increased.
“Is it familiar to you?”
She seemed distrait. “I don’t know. Yes, I think. There ought to be a green and a church. Yes, there!”
The road had suddenly opened out, dividing into two lanes passing either side of a patch of common ground. A signpost indicated the one leading on to Marlborough. Spotting a tavern, Raoul took the other lane and brought his team to a halt within a short distance of the turn into its yard. At a word, his groom leapt down and went to the horses’ heads.
There was no one about. In the way of villages at this hour, the place appeared asleep. Workers must still be about their labours and the business of the evening had not yet begun.
“The church was … there, on the corner.”
Raoul followed Miss Temple’s glance as she looked along a row of houses from the tavern to a church spire at one end of the lane and a lych-gate leading in from the edge of the green. Across the way was a cluster of cottages, with hedges browned by dust from traffic on the through road.
“It is smaller than I remember.”
Raoul looked round. “That is a trick of aging. You were a child when you saw it last.”
She did not answer, her gaze still travelling about. How much of it was as she recalled? A child’s view was necessarily circumscribed.
“Has it changed much, do you think?”
“I cannot tell. There used to be a village shop. Mr Dog’s.”
“You jest.”
A tiny laugh escaped her. “No, it was so. I don’t think it was his proper name — Dog-something? — but everyone called him Mr Dog.” She leaned towards the row of houses that flanked the tavern as she spoke. “Oh, it is still there! See: that one next door to the barber’s pole, a little beyond the tavern. I wonder if Mr Dog is still the owner? He was a dear, forever slipping me a confection when Papa was otherwise engaged. But he was old. Or he seemed old to me then.”
