it was about time the viscount learned not to judge her only by her mistakes.
In the saddle, she was quite accomplished.
The path was easy to follow, and she slowed the horse to a walk when they came to the road, not wanting to tire her too quickly. Ashwood appeared around the bend, scowling. He drew up beside her.
They stopped.
“I already regret my decision to allow you to accompany me, but the mail coach is gone, and if I leave you behind, you’d only follow me anyway. Stubborn chit,” he groused. “If I was ever fool enough to marry you, I’d never have peace.”
“Oh, do not be grim,” Brenna replied, her smile steady under his glower. “I was only setting your mind at ease. As you see, I am a skilled rider. I’ll not whine, whimper, or complain even once, I assure you.”
He moved his gaze down her, from her cloak, to her odd trousers, to her boots, and back. “I suppose I owe it to your father to return you to him in perfect order. I cannot watch you if you are straggling along behind me. So keep close. The road can be treacherous.”
Not as treacherous as being with him, Brenna thought, if their kiss was the gauge on which to base her conclusion.
“So we are in agreement?” she asked, her tone hopeful. “We find your sister, and you marry me?”
“I agree to nothing. But I promise not to beat you. Youshould consider that proof that I have forgiven you for your intrusion into my life.”
Brenna scrunched up her face. “I do not like you.”
He shrugged. “Then a marriage between us may work.”
Not knowing how to read his moods, she took the comment, and the one about not beating her, as teasing, and left it at that. She was just pleased to be allowed to join his adventure. This would give her time to convince him to wed her.
If she returned to London without a spouse, it would not be for lack of trying.
Nudging his horse forward, he led on, and she fell in behind him. Taking advantage of the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she let her attention roam.
His hair was a sort of mix of brown and light, a bit long and unkempt. She wondered what he would look like under the care of a valet and dressed in well-made clothing. He’d likely cut a fine figure. And she knew from spending time locked against his chest that the man hadn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. He was a perfect male specimen.
A little tingle shivered through her as the kiss tugged at her mind. She wondered if, sometime during the next two or three days it would take to get to Gretna Green, they would share another kiss.
She certainly hoped so. If she were to marry the man, they’d share much more than that, even if their marriage was to be one of convenience, for his kiss was splendid, indeed.
The horses traveled onward for some time before Brenna’s attention began to wander. The pace was steady, and Ashwood made no attempts to engage her in conversation.
They were on Great North Road, heading for Scotland, like an eloping couple eagerly seeking marriage, hurrying to keep ahead of outraged relatives.
Brenna glanced behind them, expecting to see her father racing after them, her brother Simon on his heels. There was nothing but road. She turned back, and her mind drifted.
Certainly Mother and Father were worried. She hated the idea of distressing them. Still, she could not return now, without an engagement in place, or Father would make good his threats.
Her neck prickled. She turned around again; this timethere were three riders, though she was confident none were Father or Simon.
She nudged Brontes to quicken her pace, remembering Ashwood’s warning to stay close. A space had opened between them. The mare closed the gap, and Brenna took another glance behind her. The men had turned off. In their place, a large coach was visible in the distance and coming fast.
“Coach,” she said, feeling foolish for worrying. They moved to the side of the road. There would be many travelers on the road today. She should not
In the saddle, she was quite accomplished.
The path was easy to follow, and she slowed the horse to a walk when they came to the road, not wanting to tire her too quickly. Ashwood appeared around the bend, scowling. He drew up beside her.
They stopped.
“I already regret my decision to allow you to accompany me, but the mail coach is gone, and if I leave you behind, you’d only follow me anyway. Stubborn chit,” he groused. “If I was ever fool enough to marry you, I’d never have peace.”
“Oh, do not be grim,” Brenna replied, her smile steady under his glower. “I was only setting your mind at ease. As you see, I am a skilled rider. I’ll not whine, whimper, or complain even once, I assure you.”
He moved his gaze down her, from her cloak, to her odd trousers, to her boots, and back. “I suppose I owe it to your father to return you to him in perfect order. I cannot watch you if you are straggling along behind me. So keep close. The road can be treacherous.”
Not as treacherous as being with him, Brenna thought, if their kiss was the gauge on which to base her conclusion.
“So we are in agreement?” she asked, her tone hopeful. “We find your sister, and you marry me?”
“I agree to nothing. But I promise not to beat you. Youshould consider that proof that I have forgiven you for your intrusion into my life.”
Brenna scrunched up her face. “I do not like you.”
He shrugged. “Then a marriage between us may work.”
Not knowing how to read his moods, she took the comment, and the one about not beating her, as teasing, and left it at that. She was just pleased to be allowed to join his adventure. This would give her time to convince him to wed her.
If she returned to London without a spouse, it would not be for lack of trying.
Nudging his horse forward, he led on, and she fell in behind him. Taking advantage of the opportunity to observe him unnoticed, she let her attention roam.
His hair was a sort of mix of brown and light, a bit long and unkempt. She wondered what he would look like under the care of a valet and dressed in well-made clothing. He’d likely cut a fine figure. And she knew from spending time locked against his chest that the man hadn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. He was a perfect male specimen.
A little tingle shivered through her as the kiss tugged at her mind. She wondered if, sometime during the next two or three days it would take to get to Gretna Green, they would share another kiss.
She certainly hoped so. If she were to marry the man, they’d share much more than that, even if their marriage was to be one of convenience, for his kiss was splendid, indeed.
The horses traveled onward for some time before Brenna’s attention began to wander. The pace was steady, and Ashwood made no attempts to engage her in conversation.
They were on Great North Road, heading for Scotland, like an eloping couple eagerly seeking marriage, hurrying to keep ahead of outraged relatives.
Brenna glanced behind them, expecting to see her father racing after them, her brother Simon on his heels. There was nothing but road. She turned back, and her mind drifted.
Certainly Mother and Father were worried. She hated the idea of distressing them. Still, she could not return now, without an engagement in place, or Father would make good his threats.
Her neck prickled. She turned around again; this timethere were three riders, though she was confident none were Father or Simon.
She nudged Brontes to quicken her pace, remembering Ashwood’s warning to stay close. A space had opened between them. The mare closed the gap, and Brenna took another glance behind her. The men had turned off. In their place, a large coach was visible in the distance and coming fast.
“Coach,” she said, feeling foolish for worrying. They moved to the side of the road. There would be many travelers on the road today. She should not
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