He fought his chuckle. He had to wonder if she’d ever had brandy before. Probably not. “I assure you, it’s not poison. On the contrary, a duke gave me this brandy. It’s quite rare.”
“Rare and tasty are two different things,” she mumbled under her breath, making Ewan smile again. How long would she keep up the charade that she was a boy? He wanted to find out.
“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been trying to steal my horse?” he ventured.
“I was not stealing!” she insisted before taking another larger swig of brandy. She winced again, wrinkled up her nose and shook her head.
“Then why are you sneaking into my stables at night?” Ewan continued.
His question was met with defiant silence.
Ewan watched her carefully as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He’d taken a seat across from her in a large dark blue upholstered chair that sat at right angles across from the sofa.
She squirmed under his regard and clenched her jaw. He could only imagine the pain she was in. He regretted that he’d scared her enough to cause her to injure herself, but it was frankly one of the kindest things that could have happened to her. Far better than being shot by his stablemaster. And perhaps her leg being broken would put an end to her midnight escapades.
“What is your name?” he ventured.
She swallowed and lowered her chin. But she didn’t say a word. He could barely see the shadow of her face. The dark cap was still pulled so far down over her eyes that he couldn’t see her features. He took in the rest of her clothing in the light. In addition to her dark breeches, her dark shirt was wrinkled, but both items of clothing looked new and all of it was far too clean to be on the back of an underaged male thief.
Ewan took another sip of brandy. “If you won’t tell me your name, will you tell the doctor when he arrives? I have to send you back home somewhere.”
She struggled against the sofa and pushed herself up on her hands as if to stand. “I don’t need a surgeon. I intend ta leave.” She made it all the way up to a standing position, bracing herself on her good leg, and hopping a bit, but the moment she attempted even one step onto her right leg, she collapsed.
Ewan lunged from his seat and caught her before she hit the floor. He carefully laid her back onto the sofa and repositioned her hurt leg with the pillow again. “I hope you’ll see the reason in not attempting that again. You may as well stay and get your leg examined by the doctor,” he said, keeping up the ruse. “Besides, I fear you have little choice.”
“I will not stay here,” she said, attempting to stand yet again.
That was it. Ewan needed to put an end to this little charade before she hurt herself even worse. The chit was more stubborn that anyone he’d ever met, and given the men he’d faced in Parliament over the years, that was saying something. “I think you have a much more pressing concern,” Ewan told her.
She lifted her chin and for the first time he saw her bright gray eyes flash in the candlelight. “Wot’s that?”
“How in the world you intend to convince a doctor that you’re a lad, Lady Theodora.” And with that, Ewan reached down and plucked the cap off her head. Dark brown hair tumbled over her shoulders.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
How in the devil had he known it was her? Thea’s skin flashed hot and cold. The room spun. She clutched the only thing she had in her hands, which was the glass of brandy Lord Clayton had given her. She lifted it to her lips and downed the entire contents in one gulp, sputtering and choking as the liquid burned its way down her throat.
Viscount Clayton’s laughter filled the air. “Now that was the first clever thing you’ve done all evening,” he said as he reached out and took the empty glass from her.
“What do you want from me?” Thea asked, as she tried to put her breathing back to rights. She abandoned the pretense of changing her voice to sound like a lad.
Lord Clayton cocked his head to the side and regarded her while taking a sip from his still full brandy glass. “You’ve got it wrong. The question is, what doyouwant fromme? I’m not the one who’s been trying to stealyourhorse.”
“No,” she grumbled, “you already stole him.”
Lord Clayton’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon. I purchased that horse fairly at auction and we both know it. I’m sorry that you were disappointed, but—”
She plunked her hands on her hips. “Are you sorry that you caused me to break my leg?”
His brows shot up. “If you weren’t trying to steal my horse, your leg wouldn’t be broken.”
“I was not trying to steal anything,” she insisted.
Lord Clayton cocked his head to the side. “What were you doing in the stables then? Just visiting?”
“Yes, actually.”
That stopped him. For the first time since he’d been in her presence, he was at a loss for words. “You cannot be serious,” he finally managed.
