Page 16

"Erm. . . ” She hesitated, tugging on one of her bonnet ribbons. The ribbons were bright cherry red, a striking contrast to her simple blue dress and gray cloak. Somehow that bit of color charmed him.

"I am sent to fetch my sister, Julia, home, and would be very glad for some company," he said. He had planned to call on her later anyway. He told himself it would save a trip to Brighampton to offer her a ride, even if she did stand there biting her lower lip in a way that caught his interest unlike anything John Stafford had ever charged him with.

Finally she smiled politely. "Thank you, that’s very kind.”

He jumped down and held out one hand, helping her up into the gig. She tucked her skirts around her as he circled the carriage and climbed up beside her. The seat was wide enough for both, but just barely. His arm brushed hers as he lifted the reins, and her skirts spilled over his boots. She sat very still and primly upright, eyes straight ahead and her hands wrapped around the handle of her basket. Alec inhaled as the horse started forward, and caught a whiff of chamomile.

Perhaps he’d made a mistake. He was far too aware of this woman to persuade himself it was mere courtesy or part of his job to take her up. He had an irrational fascination with the curve of her neck, and the color of her eyes, and the swell of her breasts, tantalizingly draped with that red ribbon.

“I hope the rain doesn’t come and ruin your trip into town,” he said, quelling his wayward thoughts.

She glanced at him warily. “I have my cloak. It was very kind of you to take me up.”

“It’s my pleasure. It’s quite a long walk into town from Brighampton.”

Her mouth compressed. “Not so very long. I’m fond of walking.”

It was at least four miles, and she would have to walk home with a heavy basket while clouds multiplied in the sky. The air was thick and humid, and rain would be welcome after the heat. Alec remembered the two sturdy horses in her stable, and wondered again about the Turner finances. “As am I,” he replied. “Although not in the rain.”

She said nothing, and they drove in silence for some time. Silence, Alec knew, could work wonders. More often than not, saying nothing was a good way to prompt someone to say something, especially women, especially when they had something on their minds. And Miss Turner did have something on her mind, from the way she kept rolling her lower lip between her teeth. The action left her lips deep pink and glistening. Tempting. His gaze seemed drawn to her mouth every time he looked at her.

He forced his gaze forward, silently cursing himself as a sad, lonely wretch. It had been a long time since a woman had attracted him this strongly. He was out of practice, dealing with it.

“Major Hayes,” she blurted suddenly, “I must apologize for the other day, when you first came to Brighampton. I reacted in haste and deeply regret my actions.”

“Which actions, Miss Turner?” he asked mildly.

She might be grinding her teeth, from the set of her jaw. “All of them,” she muttered.

The road made a sweeping turn to the west, following the River Lea. Alec didn’t slow the horse, and she almost leaned over the side of the gig to keep from swaying against him. He wondered if it was intense dislike, or something else, that made her do that, and then chastised himself for provoking her. “I took no offense."

“I had a fear of horse thieves,” she said. “But I wouldn’t have shot you.”

“Don’t point a gun unless you’re willing to fire it.”

“Of course I wouldn’t have fired it! I only meant to frighten you—or rather, a horse thief—away.”

“You didn’t cock the pistol and you stood close enough that I could have taken the pistol from you if I wanted to. A real thief wouldn't have been frightened.”

She was watching him from the corner of her eyes, looking surprised “You weren't alarmed at all?”

“No.” Her interest, even mixed with caution and suspicion, was intoxicating. Alec kept his eyes on the road, although he could feel her relax slightly.

“Do you have pistols pointed at you often?”

“I was in the cavalry, Miss Turner. Pistols, rifles, heavy artillery—and most of them firing at the time.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “I forgot.”

“Why should you have known?” He couldn’t resist glancing at her. She had cocked her head at an angle to see him. A fine line divided her brows, and wisps of golden brown hair drifted around the brim of her bonnet.

Alec knew he was being sized up. If she told him they didn’t want his help, he would have no more excuse to look at her or talk to her. Not that it would change his mission from Stafford to find the sergeant, but he would have to do it without the intriguing Miss Turner. The job would be more difficult, and far, far less interesting. That ought to be reason enough for him to stop prodding her, but instead he was behaving like a man gorging himself in anticipation of a coming famine.

She blinked and jerked her gaze away from his. “I didn’t know. I only knew your rank. I never thought officers cared much for being under fire.”

Alec smiled at the subtle insult. That was a regular soldier's view, and certainly true of some officers, but not of him. Perhaps it would improve Miss Turner's opinion of his character if he told her how many times he had led a charge directly into French fire. “May I ask why you were so quick to assume I was a horse thief?”

“Well. . . You were in the stable.”