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my way.” The masculine scents of leather and shaving balm wafted around her. She remembered meeting the arrogant nephew on the island, but she had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her again. “I am no deserter looking for a place to hide out.” She pushed past him. Her tone was dismissive, but he still followed at her heels like a puppy. “Truly, Mr. Hunt, I do not need your assistance. Good day to you.”
    Spying her new chestnut mare, his attention focused on the horse. “What a beauty! What’s her name?” He ran his hand down the shiny flank.
    “Miss Kitty. She was a gift from Dr. and Mrs. Bennington.” Emily tugged the reins loose from the branch, wishing it wasn’t her first time on the new Morgan. Though an experienced horsewoman, she always rode astride as a girl and was uncomfortable with the new sidesaddle. She didn’t need this mule of a man seeing her fall on her backside.
    “Why such a lavish gift? Did you serve some of your culinary delights at their dinner table?” He winked impishly.
    “Must you continue to refer to one accident as though no other thoughts ramble through your mind?” Her breath left her lungs in a huff. “Mrs. Bennington was pleased I agreed to accompany them east, despite the fact their daughters left for Europe.”
    “With the girls gone, why would my aunt still need a governess?”
    “She wishes me to remain in her employ as her personal assistant. Now, as I’ve answered your questions, you may continue on your way.”
    He grasped Miss Kitty’s bridle. “Humor me with one more, Miss Harrison. How will you mount without a hitching block?”
    “Not all women are helpless belles, Mr. Hunt.” Emily lifted her foot into the stirrup, grabbed the saddle and a fistful of mane, and hauled herself up. Unfortunately, she revealed an expanse of dainty petticoat lace and quite of bit of stocking above her shoe. She tugged down her skirt, but not before his eyes practically bugged from his head.
    “I would feel much better if I rode with you, Miss Harrison,” he said, shifting his gaze from her leg to her face. “May I see you safely back to my uncle’s home?”
    “You may not. Now, please let go of my horse, sir.”
    “A woman shouldn’t be out here alone,” he insisted.
    With a glare Emily leaned forward in the saddle. “And why not, may I ask?” Her voice dripped with scorn; her jaw set with determination.
    “These are dangerous times. Aren’t you afraid of running into the Gray Wraith? Rumor has it these woods are his usual haunt.”
    “I’m not afraid of any ghost , Mr. Hunt. I would simply shoot him with my hidden derringer.” She quickly straightened her back as the saddle shifted precariously.
    “My word, you ride around the county unchaperoned carrying a hidden pistol?” The smirk on his face belied her assertion. “What, may I ask, are you doing here?” He hooked a thumb toward the barn. “You’re a long way from…Martinsburg. I believe that’s where my uncle moved his practice.”
    Emily released an exasperated sigh. “I was out riding on this pleasant day and grew fatigued. I spotted this old barn and decided to rest inside.”
    “I see.” Again his tone indicated little belief in her story. “You chose a mice-infested, cobweb-shrouded barn for your afternoon repose? Perhaps bales of moldy old straw for your chaise?” He grinned, revealing white teeth to contrast his tanned, ruddy face. A two- or three-day beard, along with his long hair loose around his shoulders, gave him a feral look.
    “You forget, Mr. Hunt, that I’m a simple farm girl, unaccustomed to tapestry-covered sofas. The hay smelled fresh and I saw no mice.” Emily picked leaves from Miss Kitty’s mane to keep her focus off his well-cut jacket and white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. A bit of skin showed where his shirt gaped open. Just for a moment she stared at his muscular chest. Then she swallowed hard and forced her gaze upward. Meeting his eye, her stomach