Observational train of thought musings? Blayne reckoned it was a while since he’d heard such a load of absolute horse shite. Did she think he was daft? Here was a woman who’d scared the bejesus out of a lecherous scoundrel two days ago with her pistol, and now she expected him to believe she was publishing something that lacked one ounce of excitement? If she’d been serious about her other hobbies, he rather suspected her writing to be edgy and possibly even improper. That would certainly match the character of a woman who’d hastily turned him into a fake fiancé in order to thwart her parents’ attempts at matchmaking.
Keeping this thought to himself, Blayne stayed quiet for the remainder of the journey while Miss Russell prattled on about ribbons and beads and lord knew what else. Whatever she was up to, it wasn’t his business. She’d merely hired him to protect her, even if the terms of their initial agreement might have been stretched a bit further than planned since their first encounter. Still, she was entitled to her privacy.
Except, damn it all, she’d piqued his curiosity like nothing else ever had, and now he wanted to figure her out. He wanted to know how good a markswoman she truly was, and he definitely wanted to know what she’d really written. After all, she’d confessed to reading and likingThe Earl’s Secret Escapades. Surely her own writing would reflect the penchant she clearly had for adventure. It had to. Didn’t it?
The carriage rolled to a halt and Blayne glanced out. The buildings on this side of town were more squat and dilapidated than the ones Mayfair had to offer. In fact, he’d think he was back in St. Giles if it weren’t for them having a touch more color. And to think Miss Russell had come here alone did not sit well with him in the least.
An uncomfortable notion sprang to mind. “Why did ye suddenly feel the need to hire protection, Miss Russell?” When she didn’t respond, he swung his gaze toward her and caught her fidgeting with the oiled umbrella she’d brought along. “Something happened. Didn’t it?”
She raised her chin, affecting an arrogant air so ill-suited to her he almost laughed. “It was nothing.”
“It was enough to give ye a fright,” he countered.
A frustrated sigh escaped her. “If you really must know, the carriage I’d hired to take me here last time didn’t wait, so when I left, I was forced to walk for a while. A man followed me and… Well, the truth of it is I was robbed.”
“Bloody hell.” Every muscle inside Blayne tightened, the very idea of Miss Russell in danger twisting his gut with unexpected force. He turned to Daisy. “And where were ye while this was happening?”
“Running an errand on behalf of the viscountess,” the maid said in a small voice. “Her own lady’s maid was indisposed that day, so she turned to me for assistance.”
“Leaving yer mistress without any, it would seem.” Blayne jerked his gaze back to Miss Russell. “Why in God’s name would ye not postpone yer meeting? Surely it wasnae worth risking yer safety over.”
“Hindsight does make one more susceptible to judgment.” Miss Russell looked him squarely in the eye. “Since I’d been here before without incident, I didn’t imagine I’d be in danger as long as I went by carriage. Naturally, it never occurred to me that the driver would choose not to wait.”
“And yer pistol?”
“If you really must know, I did not have the chance to use it until it was too late.”
He considered her for a moment, then asked, “Did the thief threaten ye with a weapon?”
She gave a curt nod. “He had a knife.”
Blayne had no choice but to gape at her while this information sank in. So this was where she’d gotten the inspiration for the story she’d told her parents about how they’d met. Of course, the problem was he’d not minded the tale when he’d thought it a work of fiction. Now, aware of the danger she’d been in, he was almost tempted to shake her.
“And yet ye have no compunction about coming back here?” he ground out.
“I’ve taken precautions this time by hiring you.”
He blinked. While he appreciated her faith in his ability to fight off a thug, he was starting to worry she might be deranged. “We shouldnae be here. It clearly isnae safe, and risking yer wellbeing for a chance to publish whatever scribblings ye’ve produced would be the utmost of stupidity. Surely there must be a Mayfair publisher ye can use instead?”
Miss Russell’s face tightened. Her mouth, which had been pleasantly soft mere seconds ago, transformed into a hard line. A dark red hue tinged her cheeks while the green of her eyes glowed bright with displeasure. “You are welcome to stay here and wait for my return if you wish. I’m sure Daisy would value the company since I’ll be leaving her here to make sure the carriage waits this time. I, however, have an appointment to keep.”
Miss Russell leapt out into the pouring rain before Blayne could stop her, and in her haste, she’d forgotten her umbrella.
“Devil take it,” Blayne muttered. With a hastily spoken apology directed at the maid, he grabbed Miss Russell’s umbrella and stormed after her. The rain hadn’t eased one bit. It pelted down and almost rendered him blind. Swiping the water from his eyes, he marched forward and grabbed the front door of the nearest building before it managed to swing shut. “Miss Russell!”
She didn’t stop to wait for him. Hell, he barely caught a glimpse of her retreating back before she vanished around a corner. Biting back yet another curse, he went in pursuit. His longer strides ate up the distance between them until he was able to grab her elbow and pull her to a swift halt.
“What’s wrong with ye?” he growled.
She gave her arm a hard yank and he released her. “You are in my employ, Mr. MacNeil. I’m not paying you to offer an opinion on my writing. Least of all when you haven’t read it.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Forgive me. I know I can be a touch brash at times. My intention was merely to point out the risk ye’re taking and to try and make ye see reason. If ye were robbed in this part of town, it makes sense not to come back, wouldnae ye say?” When she continued to glare at him he sighed. “I’m sorry I referred to yer work as scribblings.”
“I put a lot of time and effort into my writing. It’s not just a hobby to me.”
The seriousness with which she spoke suggested her work was part of who she was and that taking it from her would somehow lead to her downfall. The notion was so odd he struggled to grasp it. And yet in a way it made perfect sense. Miss Russell had found a purpose. Whatever it was, it mattered enough to risk her reputation and safety. And that was without pondering what in God’s name she’d told her parents she was up to.
“May I see it?”
