Page 110 of The Boxing Baroness

There was one thing Guy had said that Marianne now knew was wrong: It was already too late to end things without getting hurt. Far too late.

Chapter 27

Sin couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the fact that they’d all slept so much when they first arrived. Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t forget how Marianne had looked today, her skirt pulled up between her legs and tucked in her bodice—her pale, muscular legs bare and slick in the water.

He groaned and turned over.

“Bloody hell,” Guy mumbled sleepily from the other bunk. “Go for a walk or a ride or a drink,” he muttered, turning over and tucking his head beneath his pillow.

Sin swung his feet to the floor and slid them into his boots, not bothering to lace them up until he was outside. He plucked his coat off the hook and reached into Guy’s pocket for the silver flask his friend kept filled.

It was a cool night, but not nearly as chilly as it had been. It had been an exceptionally warm sunny day—more early summer than spring.

He sat on the step on the back of the caravan and laced up his boots.

Sometimes, usually when he was engaged in a mundane task like dressing, he’d stop and marvel: He was dressing himself without a valet, shaving himself—well, not really—making tea on occasion, and even doing laundry. He stood up, smiling at that last item— Cecile had called him less than useless when he’d handed her the product of his labor earlier today.

And that was another thing that was different—the people around him, especially these women—didn’t simper and flatter and pursue him. They didn’t give a rap who he was. In this life, what you could do was far more important than what your name was.

Movement in the women’s caravan caught his attention—a flicker of light—and Sin instinctively hid himself from view as the door opened and he heard the murmur of female voices.

“I will,” Marianne said, her tone the mildly aggrieved one she adopted whenever somebody gave her advice or instructions she didn’t want.

She climbed down and closed the door, her arms full of something. A garment? No, a towel. She was dressed in her breeches and boots but hadn’t bothered with a vest or neckerchief.

And she was headed toward the stream.

Sin frowned. The blasted woman was going to have a bath at—he fished his watch out of his pocket and squinted—almost one o’clock in the morning. By herself.

Didn’t she realize the land was crawling with people—mostly men—on the move? Today three ragged-looking men had approached their caravans. Barnabas had given them some food and sent them on their way. Sin suspected they would not always be so fortunate.

Marianne might be a well-trained boxer, but she was no match for desperate men with knives or guns.

“Stubborn, foolish woman,” he muttered, pocketing his watch and heading off after her.

Because you are not a danger to her person. Or virtue. Are you, Sin?

He scowled at the unwanted thought.

It was light enough to see as he made his way through the narrow band of forest that had been left to grow along the banks of the river.

She went to the same spot they’d washed clothing earlier, where a sandy-bottomed pool was kept fresh by a constant infusion of water. The river had warmed slightly in the sun but it would be frigidly cold—Sin knew that from experience since he’d bathed after the women had returned to the caravans.

She was lifting off her shirt as he emerged from the trees.

“Marianne.”

She yelped and spun around. “What are you doing lurking out here at this time of night?”

“I couldn’t sleep and spotted you wandering off—alone. You saw those men today—they won’t be the only ones.”

“So far the only thing I’ve had to worry about is a lurking duke.”

“Very droll.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Naked? In the water?”