Chapter Ten
Althea had neverbeen this tired in all her life. They had been riding along the road for almost two hours. At least the clouds had dispersed. In an effort to distract herself from Montsimon’s proximity, she raised her head to admire the night sky, which looked as if a giant’s hand had strewn diamonds across an immense dark lake.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Montsimon said.
“Indeed, if only I could view it from my window in Mayfair.”
“Embrace the adventure, Lady Brookwood.”
“You are shockingly loose in the haft, my lord.”
He chuckled. “Such language from a lady.”
“I am trying to come up with something better,” she said bitterly.
She fought to hold herself away from him, but it was impossible. His hard thigh cradled her derriere in the most embarrassing fashion. She grew too tired to care and slumped back against him. “How much longer?”
“A while yet.”
Was there a hint of mirth in his voice? He was enjoying this! How dare he! She attempted to find a more discreet position, then froze. Was that what she suspected it was?
Montsimon gave a soft laugh. “My gun is in my pocket, but if you wriggle your bottom against me what do you expect?”
“Stop! I’ll walk.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We are miles from the inn.”
“What inn?”
He sighed. “The Old Gate in Canterbury. I’ll arrange for a bedchamber. You can rest while I conduct my business.”
“What business might you have in such a place?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a remarkably inquisitive woman?”
She huffed. “I believe I have a right.”
“I daresay you do.”
He sounded as weary as she was, but she straightened her spine. It would not do to feel too sorry for him.
“Why Canterbury?” She tried to turn her head to gauge his expression but gave up, fearing it would bring her face too close to his. “An inn in Kent seems an unusual venue for a diplomatic meeting. Diplomats mix in exalted circles. This is hardly the Congress of Vienna.”
“I could have traveled to Canterbury in considerable comfort, Lady Brookwood, but I had to make sure you weren’t followed.”
“It appears you have overdone it somewhat.”
“I did not intend this to happen.”
He sounded despondent. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. “The best laid plans, Montsimon?”
“Hastily made, because of an unforeseen problem.”
“I am that problem?”
“Not precisely, Lady Brookwood.”
Their intimate position made his use of her title seem odd. She wondered how her given name would sound on his Irish tongue. “I don’t wish to seem ungrateful, but why on earth would anyone wish to follow me?”
