She lifted her chin. “A lady should not share a horse with a gentleman.”
“You shared other things with me,” he growled.
“Well, I will not share that horse with you.” She stalked onward.
“We have to talk.” He cantered beside her again. She ignored him. Thunder rumbled and lightning brightened the sky far off. Pog danced sideways, nervous. And Aedan lost his patience. “Christina Blackburn, come up here, you wee fool.” Stepping the horse close, he leaned down to grasp her shoulder.
That stopped her. She scowled at him, then held up her hand in resignation. Taking her firmly by the arm, he waited as she set her foot on his in the stirrup. Then he pulled her up into his lap. Seated sideways, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
Tilting the brim of her bonnet, he looked into her bespectacled, beautiful eyes. Tears pooled there, and something more. Hurt. Anger. What the devil had happened while he was away? He had to find out yet avoid compounding whatever had upset her so.
“Christina—”God, I love you.It burned in him. “You’re wet as a frog.”
She made a face, and he laughed softly. He just wanted to bend her over his arm and kiss her endlessly back to joy, despite rain, thunder, and her fuming temper.
“Mrs. Blackburn,” he began.Courage.“I love you fiercely.” There. His heart thumped.
She stared at him. “What?”
“Most fiercely, and I—damn, what is that?” He turned, hearing insistent shouts.
“Halloo! Mrs. Blackburn!”
Aedan looked behind them to see a closed carriage approaching along the old road not yet connected to the new. A man waved from a narrow window. Then a top hat showed, and a long, slickly handsome face he did not want to see.
“Blast it,” he muttered. “Dear Edgar is here.”
Christina gasped, looked that way. “Edgar!”
“Wait! Christina!” Neaves shouted.
“He calls you Christina?” Aedan growled.
The vehicle, a hired chaise by the shabby look of it, rattled over the moorland toward the horse, lurched, and stopped. Aedan drew Pog’s head around, patting the horse; usually calm, she seemed restive. She sensed his dislike of Edgar, Aedan realized.
The top hat withdrew from the window, the door opened, and Neaves exited, smartly dressed, gloved hand on a decorative cane as he stepped into mud, sank a bit, and stepped back to the carriage step.
“Christina!”
With a sigh, Aedan guided Pog closer. The hackney driver sat high in the rain, staring at misty blue-gray hills, probably trying not to listen to his passenger’s complaints.
“Christina my dear, why are you out in this weather?” Neaves called.
Aedan glanced down. “‘My dear?’ Rather familiar.”
“So are you,” she retorted. “Sir Edgar, you are here early!” she called, as if she stood in a candlelit ballroom instead of clinging to a man on horseback in pouring rain.
“My dear girl! What is this? Have you had an accident?”
“I am fine. I was just caught out in the rain.”
“Is this your rescuer?” Edgar fixed Aedan with icy-cool blue eyes, his long, perfect features set in a disdainful frown. “Are you Dundrennan’s factor? I hardly think you should ride so with the lady, even if she was out in the rain. I shall have a word with the laird of Dundrennan about this behavior.”
“Then have that word with me, Sir Edgar.” Aedan removed his bowler hat. Rain dripped from its brim.
“Great heavens, Sir Aedan MacBride! I did not recognize you at first! We met briefly once or twice when I visited your father. I took you for a farmer or a laborer in that Highland costume and bowler hat. And that… jacket.” He curled his lip.
“Nothing wrong with serviceable brown tweed,” Aedan said. “I do some work about the estate.” He jerked a thumb toward the hill. “And on the road over there.”
