What was he picturing, she wondered.
Something grim? Someone precious?
But she knew what those pursed lips meant. She’d paid attention during the waltz. They bore the strain of plotting revenge. The tightness that came when one denied themselves pleasure while in pursuit of a cause.
He was both a victim and a perpetrator. The hero of his mother’s tale, the villain of hers. So why should comforting him be a priority?
She wasn’t here to soothe his conscience.
Her own was trouble enough.
“We got what we came for,” he finally said, but the nonchalant comment told her that was not what plagued his thoughts. “She agreed to speak to the Moseley brothers.”
She seized the moment to probe further.
“Mr Ramsey said you’ve always lived at Shadowmere. Why would your mother send you to stay with Mrs Haggert?”
He glanced at her, and she could almost hear his feral growl. She wasn’t afraid of fangs. The beast she’d lived with had torn strips off her while wearing a feigned smile.
“Ramsey should rein in his loose tongue. I’ll remind him where his loyalties lie when we return to Kingston.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
She smiled to herself as she imagined rummaging through a box of munitions and picking the one most likely to secure his surrender.
“We could barter. The name of my suitor in exchange for the reason you went to live with a known criminal.”
His head shot up. “Why should I care who offered a king’s ransom to bed you?”
Oh, he cared.
He’d asked three times on the journey to town.
She shrugged. “Because he may have killed my father and tossed him over Blackfriars Bridge. He’s desperate enough to drive to Shadowmere and kidnap me in the middle of the night.”
“He’ll be dead before he reaches the gate.”
“I didn’t know you slept with one eye open.” She pushed her fingers firmly into her gloves, quickly banishing the image of him in bed. “And the dratted lock on the cottage door is broken again.”
He braced his foot on the seat beside her, half caging her in. “Then I’ll have it replaced. And shoot the next man who tests it.”
She pictured him shooting his own foot, considering how often he lingered nearby.
“Would it be easy to smuggle a woman aboard a ship?” It was a genuine question. A scenario she needed to prepare for. “I don’t suppose my suitor will care about the law. Not when he planned to whisk me away to Bengal.”
His foot brushed her thigh, accidentally, perhaps. “No one is taking you from Shadowmere. They wouldn’t get as far as Wandsworth, let alone Bengal.”
She offered an uncertain smile. “As long as you’re sure. I’ve spent sleepless nights worrying about the lengths he might go to.”
It wasn’t a lie.
She’d woken in a cold sweat last night, heart hammering like a warning bell as she tried to shake the nightmare. Mr Irving’s breath had been hot against her neck, his fingers plucking the pearl buttons of her gown with clinical patience.
“You promised your father,” he murmured, slipping a wedding ring onto her finger—a band of cold iron that burned her skin.
She’d looked into the mirror and found no reflection.
