“Now?”
He lifted the candle. “Your carriage awaits. I paid the landlord last night.”
“What about your carriage?”
“I rode.”
Aghast, she stared at him. “Through the snow?”
“Through the snow.” He paused. “You’ve put me to a deal of trouble, Pen.”
Her lips tightened even as guilt pricked her. It had been a horrific winter. He’d faced weeks of peril on her behalf. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
“Perhaps not, but set aside your stubbornness and admit that you’ll be better off with a man to ease your way.”
Patronizing swine. She left the bedroom and gingerly descended the insecure staircase, careful not to grip the makeshift banister too hard. “What a typically male thing to say.”
“Which makes it no less true.” His voice warmed a fraction. She wished to heaven she wasn’t so attuned to every nuance. She wished to heaven she’d never met him again.
On the ground floor she faced Cam, illuminated in candlelight at the top of the stairs. God save her, could he look any more appealing? She bit back a bitter laugh.
If he’d suborned her coachman, she didn’t have much choice about going with him. Still, she didn’t like to admit defeat any more than His Grace, the Duke of Sedgemoor. “We need to set some rules.”
He cocked his eyebrow with familiar mockery as he descended, carrying her bag. “That’s not like you, Pen. You usually prefer everything free and easy.”
Ouch. “Just because I didn’t settle into middle age before I hit twenty doesn’t make me a complete flibbertigibbet. I’ve traveled for years without major problems.”
“Yesterday was a close call.”
She wished he hadn’t arrived to find her at such a disadvantage. On the other hand, without his intervention, she doubted that she’d be here this morning. “Are you going to dine out on that rescue all the way to England?”
“You’ve got a nasty tongue, my girl.” He sounded like he appreciated her barbed responses.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. They weren’t falling into the habit of private little messages. They weren’t going to act like intimate friends. She glared. “I’ve developed many unfortunate habits,” she said flatly. “Are we going?”
“Your eagerness for my company fills my heart with elation.”
“Give yourself a day or so in a carriage with me and see if you feel the same,” she snapped and flounced outside to where the perfidious Giuseppe waited in the driver’s seat. A high-bred bay gelding was tied to the back of the coach. The snow might have stopped, but it was bitterly cold. Pen hoped Giuseppe froze.
When Cam entered the vehicle, she was bundled under fur throws with Maria beside her. The lamps inside were lit. He settled with his back toward the horses. Again, the perfect gentleman.
He banged on the ceiling to tell Giuseppe to go. Pen bit back a snide comment about him taking charge. Even as a small boy, Cam had been inclined to command. Seven years as Duke of Sedgemoor had only fortified his dictatorial tendencies. If she bridled at every order, she’d be a wreck before they reached the foot of this mountain, let alone England.
Maria curled into the corner and closed her eyes. Cam shot the girl a disapproving glance. Servants at Fentonwyck displaying such lèse-majesté would be dismissed without a character. Pen stifled the impulse to justify herself. In Maria’s defense, Pen saw little point making the girl sit up when she had nothing constructive to do.
Already Cam threatened to become a tyrant. If he was hers, she’d bring him down a few pegs. But to her everlasting regret, he’d never be hers.
“Does your maid speak English?” he asked once they were on their way.
“No.” The mountain road was bumpy. Pen grabbed the leather strap against the jolting.
“Good.” He extended his closed hand. “Here.”
Automatically she reached for what he offered. He dropped something small and round and warm onto her palm. She looked down. It was the Sedgemoor signet ring, carved with two rearing unicorns, their horns crossed to make an X.
Shocked, she looked up. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a loan.”
Her fingers closed around the ring. For centuries, it had been the tangible symbol of Rothermere power. “Why?”
To her surprise, he looked uncomfortable. He hadn’t looked at all awkward when he’d pushed her around. “Wear it on your ring finger. I don’t imagine anyone will recognize us and we’ll use false names. But we’ll attract less attention if people think we’re married.”
Feeling sick, she stared at the gold ring gleaming in the lamplight. It taunted her with the cruel reality that she’d never be his bride. “How … practical.”
He heard her implied criticism. His lips tightened. “You know the consequences if we’re discovered.” His tone bit. “It’s not as if you want to marry me.”
She sighed, depressed that he held a grudge when they both knew she’d done him a favor by refusing him. “Cam, you can’t still be angry about the proposal. That makes no sense. Especially when now we’ve met again, you must see that I’d make the worst wife in the world.”
His jaw hardened. “Don’t flatter yourself, Pen. I got over any youthful pique years ago.”
She wasn’t convinced, although it seemed out of character for Cam to be such a poor loser. Mostly he’d won their various games, but if he hadn’t, he’d taken defeat in good spirit.
“Well, stop harking back to it,” she snapped.
“I’m offering you a ring. I’m inevitably reminded of the last time I did that.”
Her heart lurched with futile longing. If he’d offered love along with the ring, they’d have been married nearly a decade. Gracelessly she shoved the ring onto her finger. “Life was easier when I traveled alone.”
“Stow it, Pen. We’re together until we reach home soil. You’re always cranky when you lose.” He settled into his seat, folding his arms across his powerful chest. His black superfine coat was so beautifully cut, it didn’t strain against the movement. The boy she’d known had been quick and strong, but nine years had turned Cam into a man ready to take on the world and win.
“I haven’t lost,” she said coolly. “I’ve retired to regroup.”
More displeasure blasted her way. He’d perfected the crushing effect of his stare since their last meeting. “Don’t cross me on this, Pen. I promised Peter I’d get you to England.”
She strove to remain uncrushed. “What happens when we arrive? Will you dog my footsteps until I perish of old age? Or irritation, which is more likely.”
His smile held no amusement. “Once you’re safely home, as far as I’m concerned, you can go to the devil.”
Chetwell House, London, February 1828
Harry marked the moment that Sophie slipped from the crowded ballroom. Hardly surprising when he’d observed her every move.
All week, he’d waited impatiently to catch her alone. The burning need to speak about something more significant than the weather