“Who the he—” Edward broke off, staring. “Good lord! It’s Ravensfell, isn’t it? I saw your brother the other day. He mentioned you were back.” He approached Lord Ashton, holding out his hand. “Traveling on the Continent, weren’t you?”
Lord Ashton merely stared down his nose, and Edward took an involuntary step back. He recovered, waving his hand at Maddy with a conspiratorial smile for Lord Ashton. “Just a little cousinly spat. You know how it is with women. I’m forever telling her she ought not to jaunter about alone, but will the silly chit listen to me?”
Lord Ashton turned to Maddy. “Miss Kirkby?”
She said simply, “My cousin desired some private conversation. Since I have nothing to say to him, and no desire to hear anything he may wish to say that cannot be said in public, I declined.” And she deliberately rubbed her arm where Edward had gripped it.
Lord Ashton’s eyes seemed to settle there and narrow to dangerous slits.
“That would appear to settle it, Montfort,” he said in a voice that might have been chipped off an iceberg. “The lady refused. In my book that always ends the matter.” A hint of scorn laced his tones.
Edward scowled. “See here, Ravensfell, you’ve no call to interfere. If my cousin and I—”
“Leave me out of it, Edward,” said Maddy. “I’ve no desire to speak to you. Unless, of course, you wish to discuss a settlement for Cally Whitfield. She’s expecting your child in a few months.”
Edward’s mouth opened and closed, and Lord Ashton’s chill-gray eyes widened slightly.
Maddy watched Edward, contemptuously. “No, cousin? I thought not.”
She turned away from him. “Thank you, Lord Ashton.”
He inclined his head. “Not at all. Are you returning home now?”
Maddy’s mind whirled. She’d intended to have Bunty put to and drive straight home. It was after midday. If she didn’t hurry, darkness would catch her before she reached Haydon. She cast a glance at the sky. It was bright and clear, and last night’s sunset had been brilliant. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. And there would be a moon if she needed it...
“Not quite at once, sir.” Her heart pounded at the sheer impropriety of what she was about to do, but she had no further doubts. “There is one piece of business I need to conclude.”
He nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Edward. “I cannot see that you have anything further to do here, Montfort. Unless your horses are here? No? Then, good day.”
Lord Ashton didn’t move. There was nothing overtly threatening in his appearance or voice. But something about the cold, gray eyes and his stance radiated a warning, and Maddy stared as her cousin, his eyes hard, turned on his heel and stalked out of the yard.
One of the lingering stablemen muttered, “An’ a good riddance, too.”
* * *
Five minutes later Maddy was ensconced in a private parlor with pen and paper provided by a very curious landlord. Her stomach still churned at what she was doing, not to mention the confrontation with Edward, and she fought to keep her hand steady enough to produce the perfect copperplate her governess had drilled into her.
It took her half an hour and several sheets of paper to say what she needed to say. Resisting the urge to read it over yet again, Maddy folded up her letter, wrote the direction upon it and affixed the wafer. She had made it as businesslike as she could.
Nothing venture, nothing win. And she had absolutely nothing to lose. She sent word for her horse to be put to, and sallied back out to the yard.
To find that Lord Ashton was waiting for her by the gig, his horse saddled.
* * *
“You’re escorting me home?”
Maddy Kirkby stared at him, her face crimson.
Ash resisted the temptation to touch a finger lightly to her cheek and find out if the blush really was scorching. Or if her skin was as silken as it looked. Instead, he held out his hand to assist her up into the gig. “Yes.” Her hand was gloved. That ought to be safe enough, even if the shock of seeing her again in Blakiston’s office had reduced him to inanities.
If anything her blush deepened. “There’s no need for that!”
He said nothing, just raised one eyebrow. Judging by her expression, that still annoyed her as much as ever.
“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” she said, sounding as though her back teeth were clenched together.
He nodded. “I am.”
Silence sizzled between them for a moment. There was something about her. About the tilt of her chin and the narrowing of her green eyes that told him she was as stubborn a woman as she had been a child. He’d never realized how attractive stubborn could be.
With a snort, she accepted his hand and stepped into the gig. “Thank you,” she said. “Even though it isn’t necessary!”
“Thank you,” he said, fighting a wholly unexpected urge to grin. Stubborn, but definitely not stupid.
“For what?” she asked in a suspicious voice.
“For not wasting time and breath with an argument you weren’t going to win,” he said, watching as she tucked a fur rug about her legs. He’d be damned if he’d let her drive home alone. He swung into the saddle and followed her out of the yard.
There was too much traffic in the town to ride beside the gig, let alone converse, but once they were clear and out on the Corbridge road, he brought his mare up alongside. By then he’d noted that she was an excellent whip. Sure and steady, keeping the little mare well up to her bit. He wouldn’t have minded being driven by her. He also knew that his decision to escort Maddy home had been well-founded.
“Look, for what it’s worth, Maddy—Miss Kirkby, I mean—I have no doubt that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”
She let out a breath. “You always used to call me Maddy. When you weren’t calling me a nuisancy brat.”
“You aren’t a brat anymore,” he pointed out. God help him, she was a woman. He knew that happened, of course he did, but—he swallowed, trying not to think about the stray, tawny curl that flirted beside her temple. “Are you saying I may still call you Maddy?” Something in him tensed. Maddy. It sounded so damn intimate. Last time he’d seen her she’d been about fifteen with a mass of springy, curly hair tied back in a ponytail he’d occasionally pulled. Now he ached to twist that stray curl around his finger, brush it back.
“Yes. If you wish.”
She was an old friend, he reminded himself. That was all.
“Then you had better drop the Lord Ashton rubbish,” he said. “It’s still Ash.” That was how it should be between friends.
“You thought Edward might waylay me, didn’t you?” she said.
And she was still as quick of thought as she had ever been.
For a moment Ash hesitated. “He thought about it,” he said. “He changed his mind when he saw I was with you.”
“What?”
He’d thought she hadn’t noticed Montfort lurking near the edge of the town as they drove out. She’d needed all her concentration on her driving to clear a dray.
She muttered something under her breath, and paled.
She feared Montfort?
“Who is Cally?” he asked.
Her mouth tightened. “A dairymaid. Who didn’t have anyone around to defend her when she