Page 22 of Road Trip With a Rogue
“Perhaps I’ll call you brat,” he murmured. “Or whelp.”
“Perhaps I’ll stab you in your sleep,” she countered sweetly.
He smirked. “As I said, you’re welcome to try.”
She bit into one of Mrs. Ward’s delicious apple puffs to avoid answering him, but the damned thing was so flaky that several pieces dropped to her plate and several more clung to her lips. She wiped them away self-consciously with her fingers, and glanced up to find him watching her with an intense expression that sent a shivery little thrill through her. She licked her lower lip, testing with her tongue to be sure she hadn’t missed any bits, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
He put down his coffee cup with slightly too much force. “I’ll see you outside.”
Daisy finished her breakfast, then went to say goodbye to the staff. Mrs. Ward and Mrs. Jennings, who were sisters, both came into the hall to wave her off.
“You take care now, Miss Hamilton,” Mrs. Ward said with a stern look in her eye. “I’ve had Betsy pack you a hamper of food. And Lawrence has already put your bag in the coach.”
“Thank you,” Daisy smiled. “And would you please send this to Her Grace as soon as possible?” She pulled the letter she’d penned to Tess from her jacket pocket. She and Ellie were probably worrying themselves sick about where she might be. They would have been expecting her back at Lincoln’s Inn Fields with Violet and Peregrine in tow yesterday.
As was usual when they corresponded, Daisy had given only the briefest details of the situation:
First attempt unsuccessful. Have engaged the services of a mutual acquaintance and expect to arrive at the Blacksmith’s before the undesired event takes place.
Tess and Ellie would understand the reference to the fact that most Gretna Green marriages took place over an anvil, presided over by the local blacksmith, rather than officiated by any member of the clergy. Daisy had debated whether to mention Vaughan by name, or at least by allusion, as the scandal sheets did,the D—of C—,but decided against it.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she kept the information to herself. Perhaps it was for the same reason she’d never actually told Tess and Ellie about the night Vaughan had kissed her. Which was odd, now she came to think about it. The three of them had discussed almost everything else, including details of far more graphic and scandalousexperiences, but she’d always kept the dark, shameful secret of that evening locked deep inside.
Finch sent her a look that was neither friendly nor unfriendly as she stalked out to the carriage, and she supposed he was trying to decide whether she’d turn out to be trouble for his master. She rather imagined it would be the other way around.
A clatter of hooves revealed Vaughan mounted on a handsome black horse she recognized as Apollo, a slightly skittish gelding from Justin’s stables.
“I would have liked to ride,” she said crossly.
He glanced down at her, his brows drawn in a line. “You can’t ride sidesaddle dressed like that. You’d reveal yourself as a girl.”
“I can ride astride,” she countered. “It’s much easier than with a stupid sidesaddle.”
She sent him a challenging stare, just daring him to say something obnoxious about women riding like men, but he merely calmed the circling horse with an effortless move.
“I didn’t think of that. I apologize. If you still want to ride at the next stop, I’ll arrange it for you.”
He urged Apollo forward, leaving her open-mouthed. She watched him for a moment longer, begrudgingly appreciating the natural grace of him in the saddle—she supposed he’d ridden for days at a time during the war—before she climbed up into the coach.
She refused to long for his company. As they rejoined the road, she took the chance to make a thorough search of the interior and discovered not only that the two wall-mounted pistols had been reloaded, but also a stack of books stashed in a compartment under the seat next to the wicker basket of food Mrs. Ward had provided.
It was an intriguing glimpse into Vaughan’s interests,several of which coincided with her own. Some were predictable: a well-thumbed copy of Homer’sIliad—no surprise that the subject of warfare should feature in his reading matter. She snorted in amusement at the translation ofThe Princeby Machiavelli, ignored a two-week-old copy ofThe Times, and raised her brows at the copy of Byron’sCorsair. More intriguing was the cloth-bound copy ofSense and Sensibilityby A Lady; Daisy would bet fifty pounds Vaughan had never looked inside. Perhaps it had been left by a previous female inhabitant. A mistress? A tiny pang of envy pierced her.
She finally settled on a book on fencing by the great master Domenico Angelo and sat back to read. Vaughan’s broad-shouldered figure would occasionally come level with the window, but she did her best to ignore him. She most certainly wasnotlooking at the way his strong thighs flexed as he controlled the powerful horse, or how his black-leather-gloved hands rested so easily on the reins.
No indeed.
At the next stop he dismounted and came to the window. “Do you wish to ride?”
She shook her head. The sky was looking rather gray, promising rain. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He shrugged, and after instructing that Apollo be returned to Wansford Hall, he joined her in the carriage.
The space immediately felt suffocatingly crowded. He gestured to the book she’d abandoned on the seat. “Dreaming of new ways to skewer me?”
“Just giving myself a little refresher. I’ve read it before. In fact, I’ve taken lessons from his son, Henry Charles, at Soho House.”
To his credit, Vaughan didn’t sneer at the idea of a woman learning to fence, but Daisy had the loweringthought that the graceful, precise movements she’d learned in the practice room would be of little use in a real battle, like those in which he’d been involved.