A Match of Wits by Jen Turano Page A

talking, and I’d also enjoy some time completely alone.”
    She waved that piece of nonsense away with a flick of her wrist. “You loathe being alone, and I’m getting tired of your surly attitude.” She nodded to the basket. “What exactly is that?”
    “If I explain what this is, will you leave me in peace?”
    “Probably not, and besides, I’m in need of a good story. I’ll bet my readers would love hearing how you’ve overcome you’re, er . . .” The rest of her words stuck in her throat when Zayne’s eyes turned glacial.
    “You will not write a story with me as the featured invalid.”
    “I wasn’t going to portray you as an—”
    “I have to get to work.”
    “But you haven’t explained what that is yet,” she said, pointing to the contraption in front of her.
    “It’s a basket attached to a pulley.”
    “Well, clearly, but . . . how did you come up with the idea and why?”
    “I would think that’s obvious. Necessity is a great motivator for coming up with ideas. I tried to climb up to the mine once but it didn’t work out very well for me, hence the pulley system.”
    “It’s ingenious.”
    “No, it isn’t, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You may sit down here and write to your heart’s content about pulleys, but don’t bother me.”
    “I’d be able to write a more fascinating account of your pulley system if you’d let me ride up the mountain with you. That way I’d be able to describe how it feels to hang over jutting rocks with only a cable saving me from certain death.”
    “Maybe acting wouldn’t be such a stretch for you after all, but tell me, do you really expect me, an invalid, to be able to pull not only myself but you as well up the mountain?”
    “I don’t really like it when you use that particular tone of voice with me.”
    “Then stop annoying me and I’ll stop using this tone.” With that, Zayne yanked on the door leading into the basket, stepped in, pulled the door shut, and began cranking a wheel, which caused the basket to slowly ascend up the steep slope.

4

    I nfuriating man,” Agatha grumbled as she watched Zayne make his way up the mountain without her.
    “He may be infuriating,” Drusilla said, coming to stand beside Agatha, “but I must say, even though he claims he’s an invalid, he looks to be in rather fine form to me.”
    Squinting against the glare of the sun, Agatha found she couldn’t disagree. Muscles strained against his shirt with every crank, causing her traitorous heart to beat a touch faster than was strictly necessary. It was unacceptable, this irritating reaction she had to the man, especially since he was being less than cooperative at the moment.
    Didn’t he remember that she hated being thwarted and that, when she was, she almost always resorted to something of a drastic nature?
    Did he really want to put himself smack in the midst of—
    “I find it somewhat distasteful, observing the two of you ogling the poor man.”
    Dragging her gaze away from Zayne and all his muscles, she felt her face heat when she turned and found Mr. Blackheartscowling back at her. Why he was scowling was beyond her. After all, she hadn’t been ogling him .
    “There’s no harm in ogling,” Drusilla proclaimed, sparing Agatha a response. “Why, a lady would have to be dead not to notice such an impressive display of muscles.”
    Mr. Blackheart turned his scowl on Drusilla. “Yes, well, Zayne’s muscles aside, we have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.”
    “Oh?” Drusilla asked.
    “Indeed, which is why I’m going to follow Zayne and have a bit of a gentlemanly chat with him. The two of you will stay down here.”
    “Why do we have to stay down here?” Agatha demanded. “And why do you have to have a ‘gentlemanly chat’ with him? What’s wrong with having a normal chat, one where ladies are included?”
    “Must you always be so difficult?”
    “It’s part of my charm.”
    A vein began to throb