Rebel Marquess by Amy Sandas Page A

natural state of a woman to yearn for wedded bliss?” he challenged, already guessing what her reaction would be.
    She gave another snort of derision, this one not so delicate. “Not this woman.”
    “Why?” he pressed, finding himself curious to know why she failed to fit the pattern he had come to expect of young women making their debut.
    “For a thousand trivial reasons and one that really matters,” she muttered in a voice shadowed with dejection yet firm with resolve.
    Rutherford scowled. He had never been one to enjoy riddles.
    Having left the circle of trees at the top of the hill, they were now traversing down a gentle but uneven slope through an ancient forest grown thin except for the wizened trees that spread out in a random pattern across the side of the hill. They were not following any kind of path and the grass was a thick carpet beneath their feet. In the near distance, sheep wandered about in the sparse rays of sunlight, their low bleats blending softly with the pastoral scene.
    Though Rutherford had slowed to take in the details their surroundings, his companion did not. She continued out ahead of him, her booted strides confident and comfortable in the rolling grass. Her attention was directed all about her much as it had been last night at the dance, as if she wished to soak up as much of her surroundings as she could.
    “Do you know where you are going, Miss Terribury?” he queried, coming to a halt.
    She turned to throw a jaunty smile over her shoulder without slowing her steps. “Of course not. This would not be much of an exploration if I did.”
    “I have no desire to get lost in the dangerous Essex countryside,” he drawled, intentionally restating her earlier description.
    She stopped then and turned to him with an impertinent gleam in her eye. “Do not worry, my lord. I have an excellent sense of direction. We shall not get lost.”
    They were several paces apart, alone in the middle of the quaint country scene except for the distant sheep. Their gazes met in the shared moment of humor and he felt something strange pass between them. A silent, barely noticeable breath of accord.
    As if she also sensed it, she drew in a heavy inhalation, tightening her arms around the notebook. Her easy smile faltered and she tilted her head as if she were trying to detect something in his expression or demeanor.
    He was not accustomed to being studied so blatantly. He did not realize how relaxed he had become until he stiffened against the intent focus her gaze.
    “Can I tell you something?” she asked suddenly. “Something that must remain just between us?”
    “I would rather you didn’t,” he countered in as dry a tone as he could manage. He resumed his long stride, assuming the issue closed. But as he passed by her, he saw she was smiling as if she had expected such a reply.
    She easily fell into step beside him. “I believe I shall tell you anyway. Though I do not doubt you would argue it is a simply lack of interest on your part, your manner implies a firm air of personal discretion.” She paused before continuing thoughtfully, “Considering we only just met and could consider ourselves adversaries, I admit it is odd that I feel compelled to disclose something so vital to me. But I feel like I can trust you not to take advantage of the information.”
    He kept his focus straight ahead as they reached the bottom of the hill and met up with a narrow but well-trod path leading gently onward. He felt her sliding glance and suspected she was waiting for him to acknowledge her words or argue against them. In truth, he should bring a swift end to the current course of their conversation. Instead, he found himself holding silent.
    Seeming to accept his silence as an agreement, she proudly stated, “I am going to be a published novelist.”
    It was not what he’d expected to hear, and in his surprise he found he had nothing to say.
    She turned her head to look at him fully. “What? No chortle