contemptuous little snort. “Next, you’ll be lecturing me on how reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
He smiled, for that was precisely what he’d been about to say. “Stranger things have happened.”
Mrs. Tennant sighed and sank back against the velvet squab. “I don’t know why I waste my breath arguing with such an incorrigible romantic. You’re hopeless.”
“Because I believe in love?”
“Yes.”
“And you do not?”
“No, I do not.”
Her words shocked him. He’d spent most of his life in the pursuit of love and romance. He could not imagine such disdain for the most important aspect of one’s existence. Could she really be so cynical?
No, he did not believe her. She was simply too stubborn to give an inch. “And so you and Mr. Tennant—”
“It was an arranged marriage. Not a love match, I assure you.”
She had crossed her arms tightly over her chest and turned her face toward the window. Simon was not sure if she was hurt or angry, or both.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You need not be. It is the way of the world. The real world, not the make-believe romantic fantasy world you seem to live in.”
He ought to let it go, but the sentimentalist in him felt compelled to press on. “And there has never been anyone else? Someone you cared about? Someone you gave your heart to?”
The slightest stiffening of her shoulders warned him that he’d touched a nerve. “You go too far, Mr. Westover. I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you.”
There was no need for her to do so. It was clear to Simon that she had indeed cared for someone, once upon a time. But an arranged marriage got in the way, and she’d forgotten what it was like to be in love.
Poor woman. Poor beautiful, obstinate woman.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I had no right to ask. I was simply trying to help you understand that what you perceive as a tragedy for Belinda may in fact be a love story with a happy ending in store. You could be mistaken about Barkwith, you know.”
“Nonsense. I know exactly what he is up to.”
“All right. Let us suppose for the moment thatyou are correct. What happens if and when we catch up with them? What do you propose we do?”
“Rescue Belinda, of course.”
“And what if she does not want rescuing?”
She turned her fierce, determined gaze upon him, and she was once again Boadicea incarnate. “Then we shall have to kidnap her. Bind and gag her, if necessary. Drag her away kicking and screaming. Anything to get her out of the clutches of that villain.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Dear God, what had he got himself into?
Once he’d resigned himself to accompanying the lovely widow, Simon had decided he rather liked the idea of having her depend on him. He hoped he might have an opportunity to be her knight in shining armor after all, to be a hero in her eyes by finding her niece and bringing her home to safety.
It had never occurred to him that abduction and derring-do would enter into it.
He was a poet, and she wanted a swashbuckler.
What the devil was he to do?
Chapter 5
Neither absence nor distance nor hardship nor time can ever break those tender ties that bind two hearts in love.
The Busybody
“T here is nothing for it, I’m afraid. We’re going to have to stop for the night at St. Alban’s.”
Eleanor pressed her nose to the glass and watched the rain coming down hard outside. It pained her to admit it, but Mr. Westover was right. They would have to stop. Their progress had slowed as rain turned the road to mud. Throughout most of the journey they had been able to watch the actions of the postillions through the front window. But the window was now so splattered with mud it was difficult to see anything at all.
Even in such a well-built, beautifully appointed carriage the ride had become rough. For the last few miles, despite keeping a firm hold on the grip, she had been tossed hard against her long-legged companion more times than
He smiled, for that was precisely what he’d been about to say. “Stranger things have happened.”
Mrs. Tennant sighed and sank back against the velvet squab. “I don’t know why I waste my breath arguing with such an incorrigible romantic. You’re hopeless.”
“Because I believe in love?”
“Yes.”
“And you do not?”
“No, I do not.”
Her words shocked him. He’d spent most of his life in the pursuit of love and romance. He could not imagine such disdain for the most important aspect of one’s existence. Could she really be so cynical?
No, he did not believe her. She was simply too stubborn to give an inch. “And so you and Mr. Tennant—”
“It was an arranged marriage. Not a love match, I assure you.”
She had crossed her arms tightly over her chest and turned her face toward the window. Simon was not sure if she was hurt or angry, or both.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You need not be. It is the way of the world. The real world, not the make-believe romantic fantasy world you seem to live in.”
He ought to let it go, but the sentimentalist in him felt compelled to press on. “And there has never been anyone else? Someone you cared about? Someone you gave your heart to?”
The slightest stiffening of her shoulders warned him that he’d touched a nerve. “You go too far, Mr. Westover. I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you.”
There was no need for her to do so. It was clear to Simon that she had indeed cared for someone, once upon a time. But an arranged marriage got in the way, and she’d forgotten what it was like to be in love.
Poor woman. Poor beautiful, obstinate woman.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I had no right to ask. I was simply trying to help you understand that what you perceive as a tragedy for Belinda may in fact be a love story with a happy ending in store. You could be mistaken about Barkwith, you know.”
“Nonsense. I know exactly what he is up to.”
“All right. Let us suppose for the moment thatyou are correct. What happens if and when we catch up with them? What do you propose we do?”
“Rescue Belinda, of course.”
“And what if she does not want rescuing?”
She turned her fierce, determined gaze upon him, and she was once again Boadicea incarnate. “Then we shall have to kidnap her. Bind and gag her, if necessary. Drag her away kicking and screaming. Anything to get her out of the clutches of that villain.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Dear God, what had he got himself into?
Once he’d resigned himself to accompanying the lovely widow, Simon had decided he rather liked the idea of having her depend on him. He hoped he might have an opportunity to be her knight in shining armor after all, to be a hero in her eyes by finding her niece and bringing her home to safety.
It had never occurred to him that abduction and derring-do would enter into it.
He was a poet, and she wanted a swashbuckler.
What the devil was he to do?
Chapter 5
Neither absence nor distance nor hardship nor time can ever break those tender ties that bind two hearts in love.
The Busybody
“T here is nothing for it, I’m afraid. We’re going to have to stop for the night at St. Alban’s.”
Eleanor pressed her nose to the glass and watched the rain coming down hard outside. It pained her to admit it, but Mr. Westover was right. They would have to stop. Their progress had slowed as rain turned the road to mud. Throughout most of the journey they had been able to watch the actions of the postillions through the front window. But the window was now so splattered with mud it was difficult to see anything at all.
Even in such a well-built, beautifully appointed carriage the ride had become rough. For the last few miles, despite keeping a firm hold on the grip, she had been tossed hard against her long-legged companion more times than
Similar Books
