He’d closed the curtain tohiswindow before he even sat down, leading her to assume that he intended to sleep for the duration of their journey. After attempting to engage him in a mild conversation about the weather which he replied to in a series of grunts and glares, she’d decided to let Weston sulk while she enjoyed the luxury of traveling across England in the most magnificent coach she’d ever seen, let alone had the pleasure of riding in.
Marked with the Earl of Hawkridge’s insignia in gold on the outside, it was upholstered with rich emerald green velvet within. Wood trim gleamed in the subdued light, and silk tassels hung from the canopied ceiling. The seats were large and roomy, and the carriage’s suspension was well sprung for she’d felt nary a jolt on their trip thus far. If not for Weston’s unpleasant demeanor, the trip would have been downright heavenly.
“Stop what?” she asked, bemused by the request.
Scowling, he leaned forward ever-so-slightly. “Making that noise.”
“Whatnoise?”
His scowl deepening, he gestured at her mouth. “That noise. That–that sucking noise.”
“Suckingnoise? I don’t…I…oh, you meanthis.” She stuck out of her tongue, revealing what remained of the peppermint, before tucking it into the side of her cheek. “I wasn’t aware I was being unduly loud. Ididoffer you one, you know.”
“I don’t want a mint,” he said in a strangled voice. “I want you to not do that again.”
“Not dowhatagain?”
“Thatthingyou just did with your tongue.”
“I was showing you the peppermint.”
His ebony brows pulled inward to form a line of disapproval. “As an uncivilized American, you most likely aren’t aware of this, but British ladies do not go around sticking theirtonguesout of their mouths. If you are to be a guest at my estate, I expect amodicumof common decency and good manners.”
“If you don’t like it, then look the other direction,” she suggested before she resumed staring out the window…and slid the peppermint to the roof of her mouth with a loudpopof suction.
“That does it,” Weston snarled. “Give it to me.”
She flicked a disdainful glance at the arm he was holding out to her, his palm raised flat. He’d worn gloves when he’d entered the coach but had removed them sometime after they’d set off, exposing his hand to her gaze.
In her (admittedly limited) experience, Evie found that men of leisure often had the soft, lily-white hands of a lady. Unsurprising, given the most vigorous physical activity required of them on any given day was pouring themselves a glass of scotch. And even then, they had a footman at their beck and call if the task proved to be too arduous an undertaking.
But with some interest, she saw that Weston’s hand was neither soft nor the same shade as a fish’s underbelly. Instead, his fingertips were marred with rough calluses and his skin was a warm brushed gold, indicating that he often saw fit to discard his gloves.
A wicked part of her wondered at the rest of his body that shecouldn’tsee. Were his gloves the only article of clothing he went without? Or was he in the habit of roaming his private estate sans a waistcoat and cravat with his shirt partially unbuttoned?
It was an intriguing image, to be sure.
One she might have allowed herself to imagine a bit further if he wasn’t currently looking at her as if he wanted to yank open the door and toss her out.
“What is it you wantnow?” she asked with a sigh.
“I want you to give me that cursed tin,” he gritted.
“What tin?”
“The tin with the mints!”
“Why?”
It was evident by the way his eyes flashed that he wasn’t accustomed to having his orders questioned. “Because I’m going to throw it out the window.”
That was better, she supposed, than throwingherout the window. But still not preferable, as it was her last batch of peppermints and she hadn’t the money to purchase another. Truth be told, she hadn’tanymoney. None of the Thorncrofts did, and that was why their mother’s ring was of such importance. Why they’d made the painful decision to sell it. Why they’d gone to Boston to have it appraised. And the ring was why she was here right now, sitting across from an earl who, by all outward appearances, despised the very sight of her.
Of course, if he hadn’t paid off every jeweler in Boston and its surrounding areas to alert his detectives when the ring surfaced and then have themstealit, she and Joanna wouldn’t have had to come to London in the first place.
It was Weston’s fault, really.
Everything.
