While the lamb slept, the human occupants of the carriage were careful to avoid any motion that might possibly be conceived as an acknowledgement of the other. They hadn’t spoken a word since boarding the growler, which was just fine with Evie. After the way Weston had treated her at the tavern, she did not have anything to say to him. At least nothing of a complimentary nature.
Thus they traveled the remainder of the way in brittle silence, each lost to their own brooding thoughts as the road sloped down and then up again in a winding path that carried them over a clear babbling brook and along a stone wall covered in moss.
Despite the tight knot of tension in the middle of her chest, Evie couldn’t help but be charmed by the natural beauty unraveling in all directions like a spool of ribbon let undone. The landscape reminded her of the fields at home, all soft and green and glistening with raindrops that had since given way to clear blue skies and sunshine. There were more forests in Somerville; the land wasn’t nearly as developed as this. But there was something undeniably magical to be found in the hills and valleys of England’s sprawling countryside.
If only she could say the same of her traveling companion.
Tongue darting between her lips, Evie dared a sideways glance at the earl. And was startled to discover him looking straight her, heavy brows drawn in an expression of vague perplexity, as if he were studying at a puzzle whose last piece was proving elusive.
“What?” she said, self-consciously brushing a curl behind her ear. She knew that between her braid and the wool dress, she held all the appeal of a peasant. But Weston didn’t have to point it out bystaring. “Do I’ve something on my face?”
He shook his head. “We’ve been on the grounds of the estate for the past mile. Before we reach the manor, I think it wise that we discuss our behavior these past two days, and how we might conduct ourselves going forward.”
Evie’s eyes widened in surprise. Everything surrounding them–the meadows, the brook, the stone wall–was Weston’s? There must have been thousands of acres. It was nearly unfathomable that one man could lay claim to such an enormous expanse of land. But even in a plain, ill-fitting jacket and sans vest or cravat, there was no mistaking the earl for a commoner. He wore his nobility like a second skin. No matter what clothes were on his person, he could not change the regal composition of his countenance or the bold assurance with which he carried himself.
Ofcourseall of this belonged to him.
Evie had seen the noblemen who felt the need to prove their superiority with checkered trousers and neck cloths of flamboyant green and swallowtail coats that cinched at the waist. Rather like male cardinals showing off their feathery red plumage.
But Lord Hawkridge was not some twittering songbird.
He was a hawk.
Fierce and imposing.
“What more would you like to discuss?” she asked, tempering her tone to reveal none of the anger or the raw, restless attraction she felt for the man seated beside her. “I believe you made your opinion quite clear before we left the tavern. A she-devil just waiting to sink her claws into someone, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t even have the good grace to look away, but instead met her accusatory stare without blinking and said, “I never called you a she-devil.”
She gave a derisive flick of her wrist. “I am sure you’ve thought it.”
“Yes. I have.” Now he sat back and directed his gaze to the passing scenery outside his square window partially obscured by a drape steeped in dust. “You’re a difficult woman, Miss Thorncroft. In any manner of ways. I say that as a compliment,” he added when her nostrils flared. “Not an insult. The ladies I am acquainted with do not have nearly so many…layers as you do. You’re like an onion.”
“An onion,” she repeated. “And you arenottrying to insult me?”
“Onions are strong, solid stock. They can be used in any variety of soups, broths, and salads. They’re excellent sautéed in garlic and served alongside liver.” He glanced at her, saw her expression, and frowned. “I can see I am not making myself clear.”
“Oh, as clear as liver,” she said sweetly.
“What I am trying to say, Miss Thorncroft, is that you…you are much more than what you appear on the surface. Like an onion–”
“I believe this would go better for all parties involved if you stopped comparing me to a root vegetable.”
A wry grin settled upon his lips, like the first layer of snow falling on the ground. The sort that made you look twice, because you couldn’t believe it was really there. “You’re probably right, Miss Thorncroft. I…what?” Now he was the one who ran his fingers through his hair. “Do I’ve something on my face?”
“No, it’s just…I finally understand why you scowl with such frequency,” she said in a choked little voice, her gaze transfixed by the roguish tilt of his mouth.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because you are absolutely devastating when you smile.” Her eyes rose. “It’s unfair, really. That such a grumpy, cantankerous man should be in possession of such a mesmerizing grin.”
“Grumpy and cantankerous?”
“You called me an onion and said I’d pair well with liver,” she reminded him.
The earl winced. “Not my best attempt at flattery.”
“Isthatwhat you were trying to do?” Her head tilted in amusement. “Pray tell, do you tell Lady Martha Smethwick she has hair like carrots and eyes that look like broccoli florets?”
