The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(13)

Aggravating chit. “Just where do you think you are going, my lady?”

“Back to Town,” she threw over her shoulder. “We should have been there long before now.”

Bloody, bloody, hell. “I got . . . misdirected. We will be at my mother’s house soon.” She mumbled something he could not make out. “Do you even know the way?”

“No.” She raised the nicely rounded chin he had admired earlier. “But there was an inn about a mile or so back. They might not be serviced by a mail coach, but I am sure they will help me arrange transportation to Mayfair.”

Make that ignorant, aggravating chit. Leave it to Worthington to keep his sister so close she did not even suspect the scandal she was courting.

He jumped down from his carriage, turned the rig around, and followed her as she marched her way toward the village, inn, and certain ruin. “Do you have any money?”

“Of course not,” she shot back in an irritated tone. “Why, pray tell, would I need my reticule to walk across the square to Worthington House?”

Con wanted to turn her over his knee. “Then please explain to me,” he said with excruciating calm, “how you plan to pay for your passage to Town.”

This time she stopped, her back as straight as a poker. “I do not know how that is any business of yours, my lord.” He could practically hear her teeth grinding. “I shall merely hand them my card, and explain that I have been stranded. Surely they will understand that my family will reimburse them for any of my expenses. If they will not assist me, I shall apply to the local vicar.”

“Why me?” He covered his eyes with one hand, and mumbled to himself, “Why was I the only one riding by when this termagant was abducted?”

“Did you say something?” Her tone was as haughty as his eldest sister’s.

This did not bode well for him. “No.”

“Good.” She swept him a curtsey worthy of a ballroom. “In that case, I shall wish you a good day, my lord. I do not wish to be seen with you. It might ruin my reputation.”

What had he ever done for fate to hand him such a yoke? Merely entering an inn without her maid, luggage, or a visible form of transportation would ruin her.

Perdition. This was the first time he had ever wished for a younger sister. At least then he might know how to talk sense into Lady Charlotte.

What was it his German tutor had always said when Kenilworth was having difficulty? Ah, yes, Schritt für Schritt. Step by step. Somehow, he would have to lead Lady Charlotte to understand the danger in which she was placing herself. “You do know that a well-bred lady does not wander around by herself, do you not?”

“Yes, of course I do. That is the reason I normally have a footman with me. However, the curs failed to abduct him when they abducted me.”

Con was certain his elder sister would not approve of sarcasm. “Do you have any idea what the landlord will think of a young lady appearing at his inn with no luggage or maid? Hmm?”

Her step faltered for a moment. When she continued, her tone was not nearly as confident as before. “Mr. Brown was very kind to my sister when she was stranded by the weather, and she did not have her maid with her.”

Con’s back teeth began to hurt. “And did the estimable Mr. Brown happen to know your sister previously?”

“Naturally. My family has known him for years.”

“I can guarantee you that whoever this innkeeper is, he will not be as welcoming.”

Pivoting on her heel, she glared at him. “And why should he not be?” The hand that was not holding her basket went to her hips, and he was able to see how small her waist really was.

Not only that, but her breasts were heaving up and down, and the memory of their softness played havoc with his cock.

“What do you think you are looking at?” Her blue eyes reminded him of ice chips.

At least she forgot to add my lord this time. “Nothing.”

Turning back, she strode off. “I do not know why I must explain anything to you. You are a rake after all. How would you know anything about how a respectable lady should be treated?”

“First of all, I do have sisters and a mother. And secondly, I am not a rake.”

“Really?” she said, drawing the word out in the most derisive voice he had heard lately.

This was the reason a man had a mistress. A mistress never spoke to him in such a tone. A mistress never defied him. A mistress did exactly as she was told.

“Yes, really.” If only he had some way of tying Lady Charlotte up and taking her back to Town. “A rake preys on innocents. I most assuredly do not.” Mainly because they bored him to death—or had. No one could accuse Lady Charlotte of being boring—and he valued his life.

“Harrumph.”

She fell silent, and he thought he’d give the voice of reason another try. “What will you do on the off chance the landlord does not believe you?”

“As I previously mentioned, I shall seek out the vicar and have him send a letter to Worthington.”

Dratted female. She had an answer for everything, except how to get out of the bumble broth into which they had both been catapulted. If he could catch Miss Betsy, he’d strangle the blasted bawd’s scrawny neck and damn the consequences. He was tempted to throttle Lady Charlotte as well, but she truly did not realize how tenuous her position was. As if the ton or even the landlord would not immediately think the worst of a young lady wandering around the countryside by herself.