She decided not to press and got back to what he considered a dilemma, saying, “It’s hard to get lost in England if you’re on a road. Roads lead to people, and people can be asked for directions.”
“Thank you very much, Nestor, for information I am aware of, which doesn’t help a bloody bit if we don’t encounter any people to ask before—or perhaps you know if we’ll reach an inn before dark?”
She was offended by his sarcastic tone. If she wasn’t hungry and tempted by the aromas coming from that basket, she might have gotten up and left. Impatience like his could be dangerous—or just amusing. Actually, it was another thing she found interesting about him. Was he really so used to getting what he wanted immediately that he became snide and sarcastic if it was withheld? But this was so silly! Had he really not noticed the many travelers they’d passed coming from the direction in which they were headed? Inside the coach, he might not have seen them.
And then she heard a rider coming their way. “You could ask him,” she said a little smugly, and cast her thumb at the road. “But as it happens, if you don’t tarry here too long, you’ll reach a hostelry before dark.”
He raised a brow at her. “You came from the north, did you?”
“I did.”
“And you couldn’t just say so?”
She grinned. “I just did. I had no trouble finding a bed to sleep in each night. But I didn’t need to stay at the next hostelry we’ll be coming to,” she added. “I make better time riding alone on Snow.”
He glanced over her head at her pet. “Then you’re not in a hurry to get home, since you’re plodding along with us?”
He was assuming that’s where she was going. Or he figured the question would make her reveal her destination, which she wasn’t about to do, so she simply replied, “You’re an interesting pair of traveling companions who will break the monotony of a long trip.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been called interesting before,” Charley remarked a bit snobbishly before tossing a napkin onto her lap.
“I know I haven’t,” Monty added with a laugh, but then he added as he looked at Charley, “But I assure you we aren’t interesting a’tall, just ordinary people undertaking a long journey.”
Another lie, Vanessa thought, but then he didn’t know she’d overheard him remind Charley in the coach that they were being accepted as guests wherever they were going as a favor to the Prince Regent. And that wasn’t interesting? They were definitely hiding something, but then so was she.
The boy started passing her the food. There was a lot of it, and it was incredibly fancy food, too, fit for a king or at the very least a couple of noblemen, but she wasn’t complaining. There were several different cheeses, fruit she couldn’t name because she’d never seen it before, a pile of sandwiches, each tied with ribbons on all sides so the filling wouldn’t fall out, and pieces of roasted chicken, the skin so crisp it crackled when she bit into it.
Wherever this strange duo was from, she guessed the fancy food basket had come from the Prince Regent’s own kitchen. So without appearing too curious, she remarked, “Did one of you prepare this sumptuous feast?” Charley gave her such an incredulous look, she laughed. “Well, obviously I meant one of your chefs.”
“This is hardly sumptuous if you’re used to ten-course meals of the finest meats and sauces,” Charley said loftily. “English cuisine pales in comparison to the cuisine of—”
Monty cut in, “We get the point, boy. You miss your own chef. Next time bring him along. I’m sure he can produce wondrous meals over a campfire.”
Charley scrunched his lips at the mild rebuke, but a moment later he glanced at Vanessa and asked, “Are you English, boy?”
She found it incredible that a boy likely younger than herself was addressing her that way, but she merely replied, “Don’t I sound English?”
“I sound English, but I’m not,” he replied.
“Oh?”
Charley ducked his head, and she noticed why. Monty was giving him a very pointed look. So she amended, “Actually, you’ve got a bit of an accent.”
“So do you,” Monty remarked. “Scottish?”
She chuckled. “Just a tad by blood, but I’m English born and bred—mostly. I’ve just spent the last six years in Scotland, so I suppose I picked up a bit of the brogue.”
“What were you doing up there?” Monty asked casually.
“Visiting family,” she said before taking a large bite of her sandwich so she wouldn’t have to say anymore.
She would have liked to savor that amazing lunch, but Monty was staring at her again as she ate. It was starting to annoy her because she’d like to gaze at him but couldn’t if she’d end up meeting his fascinating green eyes. So she wolfed down the meal, then left their little picnic to give Snow some fruit while her companions finished eating.
But she was only there a moment before an arm slipped around her shoulders and Monty said in a conspiratorial tone, “We’re not going to mention it to my ward unless he guesses, but if you were intentionally trying to look like a boy, you probably should have padded your shoulders and mucked up your cheeks, wench.”
Vanessa growled low, turned, and slammed her fist into his gut. She ignored the pain spreading up her wrist from giving it all she had and hitting what felt like a wall. She was too satisfied by the whoosh of air she heard him exhale and seeing him half bent over.
For good measure she snarled, “What sort of daft idiot are you? Calling me a wench? Get some spectacles, you bloody sod!”
