Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns Read Free

in annoyance. Fabric rustled. He imagined how she might look beneath her wet gown. Her pink-laced corset. A sheer, damp shift clinging to her curves. The darker V between her legs. The shape of her waist. Sweat broke out over his skin.
    He wandered a few steps away, to the open clearing, and studied the location of the holes she had dug. A better use for his thoughts. No, not better, but less torturous. A moment later, he heard her approach.
    “I am not your sweetheart, nor your darling,” she grumbled from behind him. “Nor your honey.”
    Roane turned to find her dressed in the same wet, muddy gown with the bodice securely in place. Over that, she wore an emerald green cloak of very fine wool with embroidery around the hood and sleeves. Her hair was tucked up in a silk bonnet, and ruined gloves finished her unlikely ensemble. Her outfit, though stained and torn, was elegantly tailored and obviously expensive.
    In an instant, he knew who she was. “What is your name?”
    She narrowed her eyes—her blue eyes, he could now tell in the brighter light. Ah, well, this would make sense. “Why?”
    “Are you a Gladstone, perchance?”
    She drew back, startled.
    His comment had hit the mark. “You have the look of James.”
    Keeping her expression blank, she considered her response. He wondered what reaction she would choose. In the end, curiosity won out. She tried to peek under the wide brim of his hat. “You knew James?”
    “Yes. And you would be his…sister?”
    “In what manner were you acquainted with him?” she asked, evading him with her own question.
    “Forgive me.” He swiped his hat from his head and made an elegant bow. “Roane Grantham, at your service. James Gladstone and I were friends. I just recently learned of his passing and was sorry for it.”
    And he was truly sorry. James had been a raucous companion with a loyal heart. One did not find many friends better.
    “But…” She swallowed back the rest of her words and swept her gaze over his muddy attire.
    “Don’t say he never mentioned me.” Roane pretended amused affront. “Not once? Nothing of my horse? James always coveted the beast.”
    Her angry eyes flashed to his. “James had many friends. Most of whom boasted an unsavory nature.”
    “Surely you cannot refer to myself.”
    “Surely I could.”
    Roane ignored the insult. “Yes, I think his sister.” He studied her. “You have the same inflection, did you know?”
    She looked away from him, kept her gaze trained out over the meadow where sixteen thousand pounds lay buried in the earth.
    Roane tried to remember what he knew of the Gladstone’s. They were an old, aristocratic family with a reputation for fast living. James never talked of his mother, and Roane had assumed she’d passed away years ago. When the old earl had died in his mistress’s bed, James had mourned quietly; then he’d thrown a wild party and insisted everyone call him “The Earl of Girls.” On a few occasions, Roane had met the younger brother, Harry, who was just as wild as James. But he knew nothing of any sisters. “It seems there is a bit of a misunderstanding. I fear you may be disappointed, my lady.” And she would be that, a lady . Daughter of an earl.
    She planted her hands on her hips and gave him her best glare. She was obviously used to holding her own. With brothers like hers, she’d need to be. “And why, exactly, will I be disappointed?”
    “Half the money is mine.”
    “And why should I believe you?” she scoffed.
    “You don’t need to believe me. I believe it enough for both of us.”
    She looked him up and down again, from his scuffed, muddy boots to the top of his wet hair. He knew he was disheveled. He’d come straight from the docks in London to Nottinghamshire, a hard two days ride on a borrowed horse. When he’d discovered his sister Mazie and her family were on the Continent, he’d suffered a great disappointment. He was eager to see Mazie and meet his niece and nephew.