family in Radford? I recall you left Town to reside with a relation.”
“I lived with my aunt and uncle for a time, yes.” She offered only the briefest answer to his sister’s question.
The familiar gleam of stubborn curiosity brightened his sister’s eyes. She looked up at him, expecting further answers. Specifically, how was it that Mazie was in his stableyard with a rough-looking man—who would be Harrington’s brute—hanging about? Catherine would figure out the truth eventually. He had no need to keep secrets from his sister. But he would let her do the interrogating for a while. Maybe she would have better luck than he.
She eyed Mazie from head to toe. “Have you married?”
“No.”
“Are you…are you a guest at Giltbrook Hall?” A small line of concern formed between her brows.
“A guest? Well…in a way, I suppose.” Mazie shifted on her feet and again glanced over her shoulder toward the estate. She kept her body angled away this time, as if she would leave at any moment.
“And you are here with…” Cat prodded.
Trent held back a snort. They were hardly worried about chaperones and propriety. She was his prisoner, for heaven’s sake.
“I have taken care of myself for years.” Mazie’s words were sharp though her tone was soft. “I haven’t the need nor the luxury of a companion.”
Cat smiled overbrightly. “Well, in that case, I am glad to be here and renew our acquaintance.”
Trent would like to renew his acquaintance with Lady Margaret as well. He would start by shaking the truth out of her.
“If you will excuse me, I was on my way to rest.” Mazie’s voice was thin as if the effort to converse had taxed the last of her strength. “I find I did not sleep well last night.”
“I will look forward to visiting with you at a later time, then.” His sister was incorrigible in her quest for information.
Mazie smiled weakly at her before she turned toward the house. She did not so much as glance in his direction. Ignored him really. He burned at the slight.
“Lady Margaret.” The words were like chipped ice in his mouth.
She had the good sense to freeze in place. Squared her shoulders before she faced him. Her chin lifted in pride and determination and there was nothing left of her earlier distress. Again, he swallowed the urge to yell at her, to relieve the burning of his anger by showering it over her like meteors. But he did flaunt his power, made her wait in the pulsing heat until he nodded—a firm motion of authority granting her permission to walk away. Her guard trailed behind.
Trent watched the gentle sway of her hips and silently muttered every curse word that came to mind, many he had not used since his youth.
What in the world was he going to do with her? A lady.
She had fooled him, but never again. He would know every single thing about this woman. Everything. She would have nothing left to hide.
An image of her—naked, begging, legs spread open—flashed to mind. With a sharp inhale, he forced the thought away, forced his eyes from her swaying backside. He was a reasonable man, objective and moderate, and executing a well-conceived plan. He would do well to remember that.
“Trent.” Catherine’s hand clapped down in his arm. “What in the world is going on here?”
Ah, yes, his sister. How could he forget? He placed his hand on hers and addressed a stable boy.
“Lad, run and tell the cook I will take my nuncheon as a picnic. She may deliver the basket to me in the gardens.”
“Yes, milord.” The boy hurried off.
He turned back to Cat with what he hoped was a charming smile. It made the scratch on his face burn. “Would you care to wait with me in the gardens?”
“Yes, of course.” She was in no hurry to leave Giltbrook Hall when there were such dramatics to uncover.
They walked out of the bright stableyard and into the shade of the oak-lined path. He felt a surprising gladness at having his sister by his side. He had missed her more
“I lived with my aunt and uncle for a time, yes.” She offered only the briefest answer to his sister’s question.
The familiar gleam of stubborn curiosity brightened his sister’s eyes. She looked up at him, expecting further answers. Specifically, how was it that Mazie was in his stableyard with a rough-looking man—who would be Harrington’s brute—hanging about? Catherine would figure out the truth eventually. He had no need to keep secrets from his sister. But he would let her do the interrogating for a while. Maybe she would have better luck than he.
She eyed Mazie from head to toe. “Have you married?”
“No.”
“Are you…are you a guest at Giltbrook Hall?” A small line of concern formed between her brows.
“A guest? Well…in a way, I suppose.” Mazie shifted on her feet and again glanced over her shoulder toward the estate. She kept her body angled away this time, as if she would leave at any moment.
“And you are here with…” Cat prodded.
Trent held back a snort. They were hardly worried about chaperones and propriety. She was his prisoner, for heaven’s sake.
“I have taken care of myself for years.” Mazie’s words were sharp though her tone was soft. “I haven’t the need nor the luxury of a companion.”
Cat smiled overbrightly. “Well, in that case, I am glad to be here and renew our acquaintance.”
Trent would like to renew his acquaintance with Lady Margaret as well. He would start by shaking the truth out of her.
“If you will excuse me, I was on my way to rest.” Mazie’s voice was thin as if the effort to converse had taxed the last of her strength. “I find I did not sleep well last night.”
“I will look forward to visiting with you at a later time, then.” His sister was incorrigible in her quest for information.
Mazie smiled weakly at her before she turned toward the house. She did not so much as glance in his direction. Ignored him really. He burned at the slight.
“Lady Margaret.” The words were like chipped ice in his mouth.
She had the good sense to freeze in place. Squared her shoulders before she faced him. Her chin lifted in pride and determination and there was nothing left of her earlier distress. Again, he swallowed the urge to yell at her, to relieve the burning of his anger by showering it over her like meteors. But he did flaunt his power, made her wait in the pulsing heat until he nodded—a firm motion of authority granting her permission to walk away. Her guard trailed behind.
Trent watched the gentle sway of her hips and silently muttered every curse word that came to mind, many he had not used since his youth.
What in the world was he going to do with her? A lady.
She had fooled him, but never again. He would know every single thing about this woman. Everything. She would have nothing left to hide.
An image of her—naked, begging, legs spread open—flashed to mind. With a sharp inhale, he forced the thought away, forced his eyes from her swaying backside. He was a reasonable man, objective and moderate, and executing a well-conceived plan. He would do well to remember that.
“Trent.” Catherine’s hand clapped down in his arm. “What in the world is going on here?”
Ah, yes, his sister. How could he forget? He placed his hand on hers and addressed a stable boy.
“Lad, run and tell the cook I will take my nuncheon as a picnic. She may deliver the basket to me in the gardens.”
“Yes, milord.” The boy hurried off.
He turned back to Cat with what he hoped was a charming smile. It made the scratch on his face burn. “Would you care to wait with me in the gardens?”
“Yes, of course.” She was in no hurry to leave Giltbrook Hall when there were such dramatics to uncover.
They walked out of the bright stableyard and into the shade of the oak-lined path. He felt a surprising gladness at having his sister by his side. He had missed her more
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