Page 23 of Road Trip With a Rogue

They trundled through several more villages, until the silence became unendurable. She tilted her chin at the swinging sign of an inn.

“Tess, Ellie, and I always play games whenever we’re on a long journey together.”

His brows rose in partial interest. “Like what?”

“Well, we try to see how many different animals we can collect from all the different pub signs we pass. I swear, sometimes you can make a whole menagerie. We’ve already passed The Old Bull, The Red Lion, The Eagle, The Bay Horse, and The Fox and Hounds.”

She realized she was babbling, and flushed. He’d doubtless think such games incredibly childish. He probably spenthisjourneys debauching his female companions and calculating the extent of his ducal holdings to the nearest hundred thousand pounds.

“I can’t say I’ve ever played that game,” he said mildly.

Infuriating man. Still, she’d promised to provide him with interesting conversation during the journey, and she would do just that. Even if it killed her.

She cast around for another subject. “Did you know that this stretch of the Old North Road is particularly famous for its highwaymen?”

His lips twitched. “Here? Not the woods just north of Hampstead Heath?”

She ignored the taunt. “Dick Turpin is said to have galloped along here on Black Bess on his way to York.”

“And every inn between here and Harrogate claims he stopped for a pint.” His tone was gently sardonic. “If that were true, he’d have taken considerably longer than his famed fifteen hours.”

Daisy bit back a smile. She’d always thought the same thing. “Some people say it wasn’t Turpin who made the ride at all, but a man called Swift Nick, fifty years before, to establish an alibi. But everyone loves a good tale. Especially if it involves a bit of romance.”

Vaughan’s brows rose in astonishment. “Romance?There’s nothing remotelyromanticabout almost being shot dead in the road, Hamilton.”

“Of course there isn’t. But people never focus on the unpleasant realities. Just look at the legend of Claude Duval.”

“A Frenchman,” Vaughan snorted.

“People romanticize him because he rarely used violence and because of the tale that he once changed his mind about robbing someone when the lady agreed to dance acourantewith him.”

“They still hanged him, though, didn’t they? And that knave they called Sixteen String Jack.”

Daisy sighed. “They did.”

She worried her lip with her teeth. The man she’d shot might not swing on the gallows, but he might still end up dead, like his two companions, if his wound became infected.

“Stop thinking about it,” Vaughan said harshly.

“What?”

“That bastard you shot. Hechosethat profession. And he would have killed Geordie. In fact, you probably saved his miserable life, because Finch or I wouldn’t have spared him.”

She nodded, knowing he was right—but slightly disturbed by the fact he always seemed to know what she was thinking.

The rain that had been threatening finally arrived, tapping against the windows and making the inside of thecarriage seem even cozier and more private than before. Vaughan leaned back negligently in his seat.

“You promised to keep me entertained with conversation, and as fascinating as I find the subject of highway robbery, there’s another topic I’d prefer to discuss.”

Daisy eyed him warily. The silky, drawling tone of his voice immediately put her on guard. “And what’s that?”

“I’d like to dispute a comment you made yesterday. You said you’d never use the wordnobleto describe me. And while that may be true for the most part, I believe there was one occasion, five years ago, when I acted with almost breathtaking nobility and restraint.”

Her stomach somersaulted as she caught his meaning. Oh, God, were they really going to discuss this? Now? When she couldn’t escape?

The man truly was a fiend.

Chapter Eleven