Her mouth rounded in shock. “Ye canna speak to me in such a way. I thought titled men of the upper echelons of society were well-mannered. Ye, sir, are the exact opposite.”
“Miss,” Mary whispered sharply. “Mind your words,” she warned.
“Me? Mary, please. Ye have heard how he’s spoken to me. He’s been rude since we first met.”
“With good reason.”
“Says who?”
And they’d circled back around to the reason they found themselves confined in this carriage. He was growing tired of the redundancy.
“I suggest we hold our tongues for some time and enjoy the ride.” He reached into his pocket and drew out some papers he had to review, effectively dismissing the lass.
Something she wasn’t happy about judging by the way she harrumphed and once again folded her arms on her chest. Every time she did so, she drew more attention to her bosom and he fought the urge to stare.
“I can see why ye arena married.” She broke the silence that had lasted for less than a minute.
Damn, the lass liked to yammer.
He said naught. Only looked at her as he waited for her to continue, which she surely would.
“Aye. Ye are crude and your demeanor is most unwelcoming. A woman wants to be loved, not regarded as a nuisance, which is most certainly how ye would treat her.” She sat back, glaring at him, with a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth.
She was purposely trying to rile him. He would not fall for her antics.
“Marriage isna always about love. More oft than no’ ’tis about business. Surely your parents must have explained this to ye. Unfortunately for ye, even coin canna save ye, which is why ye find yourself still on the marriage mart.”
“Ugh, ye are truly incorrigible. Has anyone e’er told ye that?”
He shrugged. “Mayhap a time or two. But I must note, that ye didna deny my assessment.”
She turned in her seat, facing the window, and doing her best to give him her back. Mary hid her smile behind her hand as she patted Miss Barclay’s shoulder.
“Mayhap ’tis a good idea to try to rest your eyes, Miss. We still have a long journey ahead before we stop.”
Malcolm listened for her answer, but Miss Barclay for once, remained silent.
He had thought that was what he wanted, but he found he missed her obstinance. He had enjoyed their banter. He found the way she refused to bow down to him refreshing.
It affected him in a most unexpected way. And he wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings that were running rampant through his head right now.
*
Lizzie abhorred longcarriage rides. It was why she usually passed the time in idle chitchat. Something the earl obviously did not find favor in.
He’d been reading the papers he’d plucked out of his pocket for what seemed like hours, the only sound was the carriage wheels as they bounced over the gravel of the road.
She hid a yawn behind her hand and wondered how much longer it would be before they stopped for a rest. The number of times she’d had to bite her lip to stop from talking were too many to count.
Unable to take the silence anymore, she spoke up. “My lord. Can we stop soon? I find my legs in need of a stretch.”
Lord Kennedy looked at her over the edge of his papers, his brow cocked up as he pondered her question.
“I suppose ye are right, Miss.” He knocked on the carriage wall, alerting the coachman to stop.
Once the carriage rocked to a halt, the door swung open.
“My lord?” the coachman asked.
