After the Kiss by Suzanne Enoch

for the house. Having to time her departure around the circling Zephyr left her looking alittle less stately than she would have preferred, but she kept her chin up and marched.
    Once she made it through the kitchen door she closed the hard oak and leaned back against it, fanning her hand in front of her face. That had gone nothing like she’d imagined. Their encounter was supposed to be harder on him than on her, but he didn’t look as though she’d ruffled a single blasted horse-breeding feather. Men smiled at her and agreed with her, barely requiring any mental effort at all on her part. Who did this blasted fellow think he was?
    A kitchen maid hurried up, curtsying. “May I fetch you something, my lady?”
    “A glass of lemonade, if you please.” It was a pity that ladies didn’t drink whiskey at nine o’clock in the morning, because she felt in need of some.
     
    Sullivan kept his eyes on the mare, but most of his attention remained on the young lady disappearing into Chalsey House. He hadn’t precisely intimidated her into keeping her silence, but he supposed he had an excuse of sorts. Threatening women under any circumstances didn’t sit well with him. And he couldn’t justify righting the wrongs done to one woman by wronging another. Particularly one who, other than being a member of a family who’d acquired a painting, had nothing to do with this.
    Yes, she had a sharp tongue—God, she had a sharp tongue—and she seemed perfectly content to use her knowledge to turn him into little better than her slave. At the same time, he’d begun to think that she had no intention of sharing his secret with anyone, much less the authorities. Why she’d decided to keep her silence, he had no idea, except that she seemed to enjoy holding her knowledge over him. Giventhat nothing was as changeable as the mind of a female, the wisest thing to do would seem to be to exit her so-called service while he had the chance. If any gossip about his involvement in the thefts began, Bram would hear of it and give him enough time to leave London.
    He halted Zephyr again and turned her in the opposite direction. His plan to make himself scarce from Chalsey House meant that he wouldn’t be available to continue the mare’s training. In itself that was nothing, but all he had these days was his reputation. If he abandoned the training, Phipps or someone would finish it, and probably would do it entirely adequately. But word would get out that he’d been paid for something and he hadn’t delivered. A small thing, yes, but he knew better than anyone that small things could add up to very large ones.
    “Damnation,” he muttered, and Zephyr flicked her ears in his direction. Why in God’s name had he kissed Isabel Chalsey in the first place? Idiocy. Pure idiocy. And he needed to leave here before he ended up dangling at the end of a hangman’s noose. He motioned for one of the grooms to approach. “That’s enough for this morning,” he decided, handing the lead line and whip over.
    “That’s hardly worth twenty pounds,” Lady Isabel’s cool voice came from behind him.
    Sullivan stopped. “You, what’s your name?” he asked the groom.
    The man actually blushed. “Delvin, Mr. Waring, sir.”
    “Delvin, hand me the lead back, will you?”
    Once he had Zephyr back in hand, he patted the gray mare on the nose and then walked her toward Lady Isabel. “Here,” he said, offering her the lead.
    She backed away as she had before. “If you’re trying totell me that she’s been saddle-trained in twenty minutes, I shall call you a liar to your face,” she said, half her attention on the horse.
    Though the words sounded defiant enough, Sullivan heard the quaver in her voice. He tilted his head at her. “You are afraid of horses, aren’t you?” he asked more quietly. “It’s not just an affectation.”
    “I’m wary of them,” she countered.
    “Given your wariness, then,” he continued, wondering what, precisely was