“You know who I am,” he told her from his saddle. “I’m Detective Michael Pendridge. I’m from…uh…York.”
She stopped to rest her hands on her hips and squint her eyes at him. “You do not sound too sure. What are you doing here, Detective?”
“I was…uh…was beat up last night and left for dead. I woke up in the square. That’s when I saw you.”
“Hmm,” she said and starting walking again.
It wasn’t something she’d never heard of before. Men often got beat up. There weren’t many constables to stop the attackers, or victims who wanted to prosecute them if they were caught. There wasn’t any law here really. Lucky for Charlotte…and for Preston, and the rest of her friends.
“Why do you call yourself a detective and not investigator like the other investigators?”
“In York, that’s what we call ourselves. Anything else?”
She looked up at him. “Now that you’re here, what exactly do you mean to do?”
“About what?”
“Lawlessness.”
He cut his glance to her. “You mean you.”
“What?” She laughed a little. “Why would—”
“You’re the only person I know here except for your father and your…what is John anyway?”
She thought about it for a moment. Old John was many things, she thought fondly. He was there for her when her father was too busy, and her mother had gone off to who knew where.
“A rat apparently,” she answered, remembering that John had informed Detective Pendridge of where she was. “And a friend. To me and to my father.”
“Okay then, and John, your friend. Out of the three of you, you’re the only criminal. So what you’re asking is what am I going to do about you?”
She felt as if smoke were coming from the top of her head. He infuriated her. She balled her hands into fists. “Since you are so clever,” she said softly with a well-practiced smile. “Aye, what are your intentions with me? How long do you plan on staying here, following me?”
“I don’t know. It’s a nice set-up,” he answered. “I’m getting paid to do nothing really. You’re easy.”
“Easy?” She thought about waking up this morning and thinking how clever she was to escape through a secret passageway. But he was one step ahead of her. She grinded her teeth.
“I’ve had dealings with craftier, more elusive criminals than you.”
“Oh.” She lifted a brow at him. “I shall have to toss aside my pity for you and make you eat those words.”
He chuckled. She would make him eat that, too, after she basked in the sight of him. The darker shadow of a dimple in his right cheek mesmerized her for a moment, along with the deep, throaty sound of him.
She blinked away and kept on walking.
“Where are you going?” he drawled, as if he would rather be doing anything else but this.
“Just going for a walk on this pleasant morning,” she answered with a smile.
“At the pace you’re walking,” he informed her, “you’ll need to get on my horse with me soon. I urge you to slow down.”
He didn’t want her to get tired and have to ride with him! Did he not want her near him? Why? Heaven forbid he got off the horse and let her ride alone. It was her father’s horse, after all.
She slowed her pace anyway and looked around. She didn’t know where in the blazes she was going. She was disorientated by being on foot and not in a carriage or in her saddle. She’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. Which way was the village?
He stopped speaking and Charlotte finally looked up at him. He’d removed his leather over coat and tied it to his waist. He wore a shirt that was dyed black. It fit him like skin. The sleeves were cut short and hugged his thick upper arms. He looked strong, as if he could use his fists to beat his way out of a fight.
She admonished herself for giving his arms or the rest of him any thought. He was her father’s henchman. Paid to keep her whereabouts known to the duke.
