Page 47

Ian reached over, tugged her knotted hands loose, then raised one to his lips. “You were absolutely marvelous.” He kissed the back of her hand before turning it over to place a hot, lingering kiss on her palm. He caressed the inside of her wrist with his thumb, causing her pulse to frolic alarmingly. Or mayhap, the smoldering glint in his eyes caused her heart’s cavorting.

“Uh hum!” Malcolm noisily cleared his throat once more, this time sounding as if he gargled glass.

“Aye, milady. I ain’t ne’er seen a lady o’ quality willin’ to dirty ’er ’ands afore.” Gifford offered this compliment from the open doorway, bobbing his head all the while. He gingerly placed her clean dagger on the seat. All evidence of the knife’s recent resting place had been erased.

“Me either, yer ladyship. Thank ye. It’s grateful I be.” Malcolm made this pronouncement while gingerly exiting the coach.

Vangie beamed, delighted with their approval, and more importantly, their acceptance of her Romani heritage. “Thank you, gentlemen.” Noting the coachman’s sudden pallor, concern gripped her. “Malcolm, you don’t mean to drive?”

“Nay, milady.” He jogged his chin toward Gifford. “I jus’ needs to be next to this goosecap. He’d ’ave us lost inside of five minutes.”

“Wouldna,” Gifford objected indignantly.

“Aye, lad, ye would,” Malcom said, closing the door behind him.

Still arguing, the two climbed aboard the outer seat, and with a yell and the crack of a whip, the coach lurched forward and continued on its way.

“Ian, what about…those men?” Vangie sliced a glance at the shadows outside and shuddered, gooseflesh prickling her neck and shoulders.

He followed the direction of her gaze. “Gifford pulled their bodies to the side of the road. I’ll send for a magistrate when we stop for the night a few miles farther along. He will deal with them.”

She gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose that will have to do.”

“Sweeting…?” Ian hesitated, looking like a confused schoolboy rather than a commanding lord. “Did your grandmother truly teach you to use a knife?”

She curved her lips at the corners. She’d wager her pin money, if she had any that was, he’d been burning to ask the question since she’d disposed of the robber. Guilt and remorse washed over her once more stealing her smile with it.

Declaring the opposite seat required the blood cleansed before it was usable again, Ian had claimed a spot beside her when they’d resumed their journey. Coatless, he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow and unfastened the shirt’s top buttons. A dark claret-colored stain marred the collar.

Thoroughly unnerved by his close proximity and his state of undress, Vangie was unable to concentrate on anything but the muscular leg pressing intimately against her thigh. Or the hand and forearm smattered with fine dark hair, which rested inches from her leg.

“Vangie?”

She raised her eyes to his.

He regarded her expectantly.

“Hmm? Did you say something, Ian?”

“Grandmother? Knife?” He held her dagger and dipped it up and down.

“Ah, yes.” She accepted it from him, turning it over in her palm. “I’m quite skilled with blades. Puri Daj was adamant I be, so she and Yoska taught me the art.”

“Yoska?”

“The bandolier. The leader of our clan.” She slid her dagger into the medicine basket. “It isn’t unusual to have unfriendly or unwelcome visitors at the encampment. Assault is not common, but it does happen on occasion. Roma women do what we must to protect ourselves.”

“I had no idea,” he murmured.

Vangie scrutinized his face. Her disclosure didn’t appear to have disturbed him. This might though. She grinned. “Uncle Gideon insisted Yvette and I be trained in weaponry. Whenever I visited, he’d give me lessons. I’m proficient with firearms too.”

Ian’s brows climbed to his hairline.

An unwelcome thought snaked its way into her mind where it coiled menacingly. The robber had known she didn’t travel alone. “Ian, why did the highwayman ask where you were? How did he know there was a gentleman traveling with me?”

Though Ian was loath to admit it to Vangie, the same thought troubled him. If he counted the vagrant attempting to waylay him on his journey to London, this was the third time in as many weeks he’d been set upon by ruffians. Plus, there’d also been the incident with the curricle’s wheel.

He finally settled on the most plausible and least alarming explanation. “It would be most unusual for a female to travel alone,” he reassured her. “Naturally, since you’d no companion, he assumed a male accompanied you.”