Read Online The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online Page A

soft, showing no signs of labor. Her speech was too cultured, not to speak of her knowledge of Society—after all, she knew exactly who he was.
    The question was, who was she?
    Her clothes certainly didn’t indicate she came from a high born family. But then again, he thought with an ironic smile, dress didn’t always indicate pedigree.  It could also be a disguise. If she were fleeing someone, she would no doubt seek to obscure her background. His lips compressed in a tight line. He didn’t have the time or energy for such gothic melodramas. He meant to have the truth out of her this morning and that was that. Then he could get her out of his life.
    But could he truly hand her over to someone who had darkened her face in such a brutish manner?
    He swore under his breath as he dried his stubbled chin. A grimace came over his features as the towel scraped over the thin line of scar tissue. His fingers came up to rub absently along the ridge of his cheekbone. Why did it always ache like the devil when he was tired and agitated? Lord, he needed some fresh air. A gallop on Nero would do him good, despite the early hour. Surely he would think of something by the time he returned.
    It was barely light as he made his way towards he stable. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost missed the flicker of movement in the interior shadows. He stopped short, his grip instinctively tightening around his crop. His dark brows came together—something was amiss. Then it struck him. The doors shouldn’t be ajar like that. Higgins wouldn’t be up and about his duties for a good while yet—nothing short of Gabriel sounding the final awakening would induce the old man out of his bed until it was absolutely necessary.
    Davenport started forward again, slowly, quietly, every muscle tensed. At that moment, a lad of no more than fifteen or sixteen years emerged from the murky depths of the building, leading a fully saddled Nero. The earl’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
    The scamp was stealing his horse!
    “You there! Stand where you are!” he bellowed as he broke into a run.
    The lad’s head came up with a start. He appeared frozen for a second but then moved with astonishing quickness. Thrusting a boot into the shortening stirrups, he vaulted into the saddle and jammed his heels into the stallion’s flanks. Nero tossed his head wildly and shied to one side, but the boy handled the reins with skill. His heels came down again, urging the animal forward. Davenport’s outstretched hand missed the bridle by inches.
    “Damnation!” he roared as he skittered to a stop and watched them gallop out across the field.
    But luck was with him. As the horse came to the edge of the woods, the boy chose the cart path to the right. The earl still had a chance to catch them. He turned and ran into the stable. Cursing roundly as he barked his shins more than once in the darkness, he found the other saddle and bridle and hurried to the stall of his other horse. The animal had no chance of catching a prime goer like Nero, but he didn’t have to. Davenport finished tightening the girth and mounted, an ominous expression on his face. He set his own mount off at a good clip. Unless the lad had an intimate knowledge of the area, he would stick to the beaten path.
    Well, if he did, he was going to run into a little surprise.
    Davenport guided his mount through an adjoining field. They cleared a tumbled stone wall and skirted the edges of a newly planted field of wheat. In the middle of a large copse of beeches, the earl guided his horse onto a narrow trail, barely wide enough to pass through without the branches slapping at his boots and breeches. They emerged at right angles to a wider path, whose ruts and ridges gave evidence of frequent cart travel. Davenport smiled in grim satisfaction and reined his horse to a halt. It appeared they were in time. In the distance, he could hear the muffled rhythm of pounding hooves.
    A dark shape rounded the