Read Online A Difficult Disguise by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online Page A

in telling me the truth, even if I did have to listen to that whopping crammer about George and his ladylove before you decided to make a clean breast of things.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Billy mumbled humbly, feeling rather proud of herself.
    “However,” Fletcher added warningly, rising so that he, whether he knew it or not, had the upper hand on her once more, “I would very much appreciate it if you would tell me your real name. Master Smith is much too ordinary an appellation for a quick-witted fellow like yourself.”
    Billy bent to retrieve the blanket, shaking it free of crumbs and refolding it carefully so that it would fit behind her saddle. She had done it! He had actually believed her! She could afford to be magnanimous. Holding the folded blanket against her breast, she sniffed once more, for effect, and said quietly, “It’s Belchem. William Belchem. My father was a teacher near Keswick.”
    “Keswick,” Fletcher repeated conversationally, heading for his mount. “Lovely place. Near Ullswater, isn’t it?”
    “Keswick is several miles from Ullswater. You mean Derwent Water, don’t you, sir? But then there are so many lakes, aren’t there?” Billy corrected politely, although she longed to box his ears. It was depressing to think that Fletcher could be so obvious, as she had begun to hope for better from him. Really, did he think he would be able to catch her out so easily?
    “Do I? Oh, yes, of course I do,” Fletcher said reflectively, mounting Pagan, who danced about, eager to be on the move once more. “I have been away too long. Silly mistake. My apologies, Master Belchem. Are you ready to ride?”
    Billy bent to retrieve her hat, slamming it down over her ears as she approached She-Devil, not at all mollified by his apology for having doubted her. If he wasn’t going to show a little more curiosity, keep her on her toes, as it were, this could prove to be a depressingly boring excursion. “I’m always ready to ride, Mr. Belden.”

    They cantered into the dusty yard of the Stag’s Head in Bowness-on-Windemere while it was still light, Fletcher ordering Billy to leave the horses in the care of an ostler so that the groom could accompany him into the coffee room.
    Billy’s gaze moved apprehensively about the foul-smelling, low-ceilinged room. It was heavily populated with loud, boisterous men who would have laughed had anyone addressed them as gentlemen. She asked Fletcher, “Aren’t you going to ask for a private dining parlor, sir?”
    Fletcher looked down at his groom in amusement as he stripped off his riding gloves, for he had been noticing all day the odd squeamishness Billy seemed to exhibit at the silliest things. Take the stop they had made among a stand of trees when Fletcher had felt nature’s call, for instance. Billy had all but run into the privacy of the woods to relieve himself, his temper flaring hotly when Fletcher had accused him of being missish.
    “If you have something I haven’t seen anywhere in my travels from here to the Peninsula and beyond,” Fletcher had teased, “I should feel sorely deprived if you won’t share a peek with me,” earning himself a darkling look and, he was sure, a muffled curse, for his pains.
    “You have something against downing your mutton in the company of strangers, hafling?” Fletcher asked now, seeing the innkeeper approaching. “Damned stuffy for a snotty-nosed runaway adventurer, ain’t you?”
    “It’s not that,” Billy told him peevishly. “It’s just that I never before ate in a private parlor, and I should like to see one. And my nose isn’t snotty,” she added in an undertone. “It only runs when I cry.”
    “It does? How silly of me not to notice. I stand corrected,” Fletcher said quietly before turning his attention to the innkeeper, who, having completed his mental totting up of Fletcher’s person and deciding his latest customer was one of the quality, was busily bowing and scraping and touting the