Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (10 page)

He must have seen something on her face, for he backed his mount away.

“And that is not the worst of it,” she continued, louder now. “You”—she jabbed a finger in his direction—“are trying to scare me, with these cliff-edge walks, as if climbing atop my dreadful mount wasn’t enough. And James, the fool, should have left us our eight thousand rather than plan this ridiculous treasure hunt. And Harry should be here, not I. My brothers find death more appealing than living. Our tenants are
hungry
. The estate manager did not protect the lower fields from the spring rain, and the doctor moved away. Not to mention my
suitors
, if one can call them that, are waiting for my ultimate ruin so they can
buy
me, simply because I refuse to be owned.
Argh
. I am sick to death of men.”

“Er, I’ll just give you a moment, shall I?” Roane didn’t await her answer but rode ahead a few yards. She didn’t know if he was wise or a coward. Why didn’t he gloat? Why didn’t he tell her she hadn’t the strength for this adventure?

He was probably just biding his time, waiting to be rid of her in Bakewell.

Well, she wouldn’t be left so easily. She sat up straighter and tried to find relief in the pop of her low spine. The wind blew sand in her face.

She blinked her eyes and, rather than seeing dirt, she saw inspiration. The hillside was covered in rock and grit. No green grasses or pretty flowers here. Shale, dust, stone. She would be like the landscape.

She took a deep breath. Somewhere in her, there was grit. A mettle she had relied on in the past. She simple needed call it up for the next few days, until the gold was found.

She would be firm and unwavering, like the stone. Harsh and strong, like the wind.

She could do this. She could survive this. She’d already come so far.

Then, when she returned to London, she would call on the apothecary for oils and ointments and take the longest bath of her life.

And she would refuse, absolutely refuse, to let Harry touch one shilling of the fortune. Certainly he’d be too lazy to fight her, as long as he was fed and clothed. And the money would be hers. Her
future
would be hers.

She spurred her mount ahead, regally nodding at Roane as she caught up to him.

“Better?”

“Much.” She lifted her chin, the Queen of Grit. The Princess of Dirt.

But Roane didn’t move on. He drew his mount closer, settling the horses with his voice so he could get near enough to touch her.

“You’ve something right here.” He rubbed his thumb against her temple, and she refused to consider what manner of muck was on her person. Instead, she thanked him, as if he’d told her she was the loveliest woman in the ballroom.

Satisfied, he drew back, looked her over from head to toe, and gave her a dazzling smile. “My fierce beauty rides on.”

“She does.”

He nodded, and she could have sworn, in that moment, he looked proud of her.

W
HAT
MAY HAVE BEEN AN HOUR
felt more like an eternity. Finally, they rode down into Bakewell, with its stone buildings and church spires rising to the sky. They crossed yet another sheep meadow and approached an arched medieval bridge.

Roane pulled his mount to a stop beneath a thick copse of trees. Helen was beyond relieved to finally rest. Above them, a weeping willow dipped her long hair into the water by the bridge and provided a good hiding place.

Roane jumped down and left Zeus free to munch the green grass. “I need to go into town to get supplies before I head into the deeper hills. I will enquire about coaches to London.”

“Why ever for?” Were they back to this again? She’d thought they’d come to some sort of an agreement out on the hillside, Queen of Grit and all.

He blew out a breath. “For you. To go home.”

She sat up straighter and winced. She really was terribly sore. “Must we go through this again?”

Roane came to her side and lifted his arms to her. She nearly fell into him, she was that tired. He steadied her as she found her wobbly legs, and she
may
have pressed herself against his chest, just to remember exactly what he felt like. Hard. Warm. Powerful.

He gave her a little squeeze on the arms before he let her go, then plucked off her bonnet and stepped back so he could look her in the eyes. His amber gaze was serious. More serious than a rogue’s ought to be. “Yes, we must. It is only going to get worse from here, buttercup. The terrain will be rocky and difficult; we’ll need to keep a faster pace. There is little comfort to be found sleeping on the hard ground, and there will be no baths. No elegant meals. No change of clothes. Just a hard press onward.”

Her stomach dropped with each word, but she refused to look intimidated. “I understand.”

He shook his head. “You are either admirably determined or idiotically stubborn. I am not yet sure which.”

“I vote admirably determined.”

“You are not up to this, princess.”

Her brows lowered. “I say I am.”

He smashed his lips into a firm line and she found herself staring at them. Such elegant lips for a man who slept in caves. “Don’t forget the danger you face. Not just from the hilly terrain and the exposed elements, but the men pursuing us as well.”

She nodded, not really wanting to think about
that
.

“And me.” He leaned toward her, his gaze dropping to her lips. His hand slid around her hip, and he tugged her closer. “Do not be so foolish as to think you will be safe with me.”

“I will be certain not to be foolish.” She stumbled back, away from his touch, sounding as shaky as she felt.

“You are as stubborn as James.” Roane walked her horse to a nearby tree and tied Starlight with a long rope, allowing her to graze but not run away. Helen followed on unsteady legs, hoping he didn’t notice how shaky she was.

“You think you are sore now,” he said over his shoulder. “It will only hurt worse. The third day can be excruciating.”

She did waver then. Just for a moment. A coach back to London certainly sounded preferable to pain and deprivation. “Thank you for your concern, but I am staying.”

He looked off into the distance, saying nothing. He was planning ways to be rid of her.

Desperation grabbed Helen’s throat with cold fingers. If she went home now, there was no hope. She tried to take a full breath. Everywhere there was death. Ruin. Chaos. “If you leave me, I will go straight to the magistrate.”

She hated to threaten him, but sometimes a woman had to throw her punches to get a man to listen.

He turned back to her, anger marking his features. “Tell me this, at least. What bad fortune brought you and me to the clearing on the same day?”

He had asked her this before. Helen supposed the answer could not hurt now. “Ah, the irony of it. ’Twas your own letter to James that sent me on this journey. Since Harry has proven to be as negligent an earl as James and my father, I have begun opening the mail. Your letter made it clear to me the gold truly does exist. I had always thought it a rather impractical tale, but the facts could not be denied.”

“My own letter.” He chewed on that thought in frustrated silence. “Wait here. You’ll be safe as long as no one sees you. I’ll be quick with my errands.”

She sunk to the earth, only too happy to rest behind the green curtain of the willow. The ground felt lovely. Too lovely. She pushed up against gravity, which seemed to have grown stronger. “Leave the map with me.”

“No.”

She frowned. “How can I be certain you will not disappear?”

“For one, the map is
mine
. Left for
me
. And, second, I cannot go anywhere without Zeus, now, can I?”

“You could find a different horse.”

His jaw slackened and he stared at her as if she were daft. “Your ignorance of horseflesh grows more appalling each moment.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

She was left staring at the swaying willow branches, not wanting to investigate all the reasons she hoped he would return.

R
OANE HURRIED BACK TO THE BRIDGE
in less than thirty minutes, supplies in hand. Helen lay in the shade beneath the tree, grass and willow fronds spreading around her in all directions. The tree was a haven of peace and he felt inordinately welcomed as he stepped inside its branches.

He gazed down at Helen dozing in the wavering green light, and his heart listed to the side. It felt
right,
her waiting for him. And it felt like there never had been a question of her continuing on, not truly.

This was her quest as much as it was his. Who was he to decide what she could and could not do? He’d fought the world when it tried to press him into a corner; he would honor her freedom. Already she had faced countless obstacles and demanded to continue on.

Not to mention she seemed to understand the clues on the map better than he did.

She must have felt him beside her, for she sat up. Her hair was mussed and adorable, her eyes blinking in the dappled light. “I fell asleep,” she murmured, her voice husky.

Roane grunted, not trusting his voice. He didn’t want to betray his pleasure at seeing her. He didn’t want to tell her he’d hurried through town, his thoughts distracted with worry for her safety. Or that the sight of her made his chest feel full as a bucket of cool water and spacious as the sky at once.

She came to her feet and, bending at the waist, brushed grass and leaves from her skirts. Her breasts slipped up toward the top of her gown, and her skirts framed her arse.

Roane took it all in, enjoying the view.

She was trouble, and he’d vowed to avoid trouble, had already seen enough to last a lifetime. Not to mention she was slowing him down, making him more vulnerable, and causing him more work.

But he couldn’t bring himself to be suitably upset. That was his problem, always had been. He could claim trouble found him, followed him, but in truth he enjoyed it. He
wanted
her to come along.

“Did you get everything we need?” she asked, straightening.

“Yes.” He pulled a bundle of cloth from his saddlebag and handed it to her. If she was to continue on with him, he’d have to teach her to ride. “These are for you.”

She examined the bundle. “Breeches? Why ever would I need these?”

“To protect your legs from the saddle.” He imagined the tops of her legs, the soft flesh above her garters, and swiped his hat off his head.

She made a sound of distaste and offered the garment back to him. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“You must.”

“I—”

“You cannot ride without them, Helen. If you trust me on nothing else, trust me on this. Your skin will be ripped to shreds by the end of tomorrow.”

She shifted uncomfortably, weighing his words. “I suppose I could wear them under my dress. No one need see them.”

“Smart girl. I’ll await you by the horses.” He swept the willow fronds aside and smashed his hat back on his head, imagining her bending over and lifting her skirts to pull on the soft buckskin.

The horses were grazing in the meadow and nickered when he approached. Zeus nudged his pocket, and Roane offered the gelding a carrot from town. Helen’s mount blew air out of her nose. “I’ve one for you, too, missy,” he said, patting the mare.

He buckled the heavy saddlebags onto Zeus, who took the weight in stride, and checked the saddles on both mounts.

Finally, Helen reappeared, steadily avoiding his gaze.

Roane debated helping her atop her horse or letting her struggle up on her own. After watching her bend over and imagining her bare skin, he didn’t trust himself to touch her.

He wanted something from her. Something he should not want.

She was delicate and strong. Vulnerable and brave. Scared and fearless. He was in awe of her. Her determination pleased him. Her stubbornness pleased him. Her body sure as hell pleased him.

Too damn much about this woman pleased him.

And it would not do. She was a
lady
. A city chit, and not a woman for him.

Not to mention, if she knew the truth of his past, she’d run as far and fast as her tired legs could take her.

In the end, he did touch her. Of course he did. He was not a man to deny himself. He took his time handing her up onto the mare, sliding his palms over her legs and settling her feet in the stirrups. When he was done, she was blushing and breathing quickly—and he had her naked and crying out in his mind. With a sharp shake of his head, he climbed atop Zeus and led them into the beauty and danger of the mountains ahead.

He was a thousand kinds of fool, but he couldn’t seem to care.

***

F
INALLY
, THEY STOPPED FOR THE DAY.
They’d climbed out of town and spent the afternoon riding on a high moorland plateau. One was treated to such elegant scenery as Roman funeral pyres and wide swaths of peat hags that could swallow a horse whole. In all, Helen decided, a rather nightmarish scene.

As the sun hung over the western horizon, they descended into a valley sweetly scented with tall summer grass. Everything was green, green, green around them. A stream, silver in the early evening sunlight, trickled nearby. Roane found a patch of flat earth, hidden within a stand of poplars, and declared they would stop for the night.