“Rosemount House on Curzon Street.”
He looked forward to speaking to Lord Caindale. “I’ll leave you. Your mother will be relieved to learn that her brother is safe.”
Althea’s brow creased, her eyes somber. “Yes, she will.”
Jack swung into the saddle. He nodded to Althea, turned the horse, and cantered along the carriageway. He intended to see Colonel Viscount Bascombe, a trusted friend of his father’s and a respected member of the government. In Jack’s experience, an officer’s relationship with the army never ended, even after one had left it. He would call at Bascombe’s domicile first, leave his card, and hope to see the gentleman during the day. No telling what he might have heardconcerning Bonaparte’s death. Because somehow, he felt everything that had happened led back to that.
*
The curricle rattledalong the Holyhead road toward Wales. They’d been traveling for hours, during which Harry had remained annoyingly taciturn. Erina glanced at his profile, missing the usual camaraderie between them. Even when they had argued, it had been strangely companionable.
She wriggled on the seat. Eager to begin their journey, she had dressed quickly and struggled with her stays. At least her cream, wool pelisse hadn’t creased, nor her sage-green carriage gown, but her Italian straw hat was a little forlorn from being crammed into her bag, and she feared her hair was in danger of coming down. A lady’s maid certainly had her uses.
Another half hour passed with only monosyllabic replies from Harry to her questions. Erina suspected he was toying with her. She turned in the seat to view him better. He sat with one booted foot resting on the footboard, the reins held loosely in a gloved hand. “Harry?”
His dark eyebrows rose. Something unreadable was in his brown eyes. “Done with daydreaming?”
She glared at him. “I wasn’t daydreaming. I thought you didn’t wish to talk. Perhaps you prefer not to when you’re driving.”
“Remarkably, I’m able to do two things at once.”
She wasn’t sure why that sounded rather scandalous. Perhaps because the kiss was on her mind. It had hardly left her thoughts since it had happened. His kiss hadn’t repulsed her. In fact, she’d rather enjoyed it. She sighed, tugged at her French kid gloves, then smoothed her skirts. She was straightening her hat when he stared at her.
“You appear to be fidgeting. I hope you’re not too uncomfortable;we’ve a long journey ahead.”
She could hardly tell him her stays cut into her chest. Instead, the first thing she thought of popped out of her mouth. “Why did you kiss me?”
“Aah,” Harry said.
He could enrage her with one word. Not even a proper word, either. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes. Why?”
“Do you have a complaint?”
“Yes… No.” She huffed. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Was it too short a kiss? Not to your liking? Should I have…?”
“Stop!” She put a hand on her hot cheek, sure her face was as red as Cook’s pickled onion. “Just tell me why.”
Harry laughed. “It doesn’t require a great deal of explanation. It’s not an army maneuver, or a complicated dance step. A pretty woman in her nightgown stood before me, and I wanted to kiss her.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
He glanced at her and then turned back to the road. “I do.”
Erina was unaccountably pleased. She wondered whether he would like to kiss her again. But she doubted he would. It seemed to have put him in a bad humor. She abandoned that thought before it became too complicated. “Are we to stop for the night?”
“I’ll need to rest the horses. I remember a good coaching inn near Shrewsbury. We’ll get a decent dinner there, and the bedding is always clean.”
“I have only a little money, which I need to keep to pay for the boat. Once I’m in Ireland, I can sell my jewelry. I’ll send you the money.”
“No matter. We could economize.”
“How?”
“Share a room?”
“Oh!” Her chest swelled with indignation. “You’re not serious!”
