Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns Read Free Page B

shall take my chances and protect my half of the gold.”
    She was a blaze of stubborn determination. A blaze he did not need. Roane tried another tactic. “You would be much more comfortable in town. With your things.”
    “I would be much more comfortable with my eight thousand pounds. Here is my shovel.” She shoved the spade into the earth by his feet, nearly taking out his big toe. “I’ll wait right here while you dig.”
     

Chapter Three

     
    G OOD LORD, HE WAS HERE ALREADY. Helen stared at the man in the darkening meadow, her heart pounding in fretful waves. Roane Grantham had come to claim the gold for himself, just like his letter said. But he was not to arrive for another fortnight, after she’d safely deposited her half of the fortune in a strongbox in London.
    Panic bit into her, hot and sharp like the teeth of a wild animal. She curled her toes in her wet boots, refusing to scurry back to Cromford like a scared mouse. She had to believe Grantham would not harm her—James might befriend gamblers and rogues, but never a man who would hurt a woman. Besides, she was wet. And angry. And done, done , with charming men playing loose with her future, including her own brothers.
    Not that Grantham seemed to care she was putting herself in his way. He ignored the shovel she’d planted at his feet and walked away toward his huge black horse.
    It would be lovely if he simply left, but of course he wouldn’t. Helen drew in a deep breath, willing her heart to settle, and waited to see what he would do next. This wasn’t the first scrape she’d been in, trying to clean up her brother’s messes.
    “Are you hungry, buttercup?” he asked without looking at her. He rummaged through his saddlebag and his mount stepped sideways, impatient. The beast was huge, surely ridden out of the bowels of hell, and could crush her with one stamp of his hoofs.
    Helen edged back a step. Grantham might be more bark than bite, but that wild horse just might trample her to death. “I am not your buttercup.”
    “I still do not know your name.” He turned toward her and brushed his shaggy blond hair back from his forehead. Without the large hat shadowing his face, he appeared quite harmless. In fact, his warm eyes, sharp cheekbones, and full lips were rather handsome. Even the scruff along his sharp jaw was appealing.
    “My name is Helen.” She yanked her skirt free from the low bush she’d backed into. “Helen Gladstone, as you surmised.”
    “Are you hungry, Helen?”
    “Lady Helen.”
    His lips tilted into a rather devastating smile. A dimple appeared on his right cheek and his teeth flashed white against the tanned skin of his face. Her heart tumbled, just a touch. Just enough to remind her that he was not completely safe. Not to any woman with eyes. “Are you hungry, Lady Helen ?”
    “I suppose I am, yes.”
    “Perfect. You can prepare a meal while I see to my mount. I have need of refreshment before I set to digging.”
    It was on the tip of her tongue to protest. When had she ever prepared a meal? But her stomach growled, reminding her she’d not eaten since breakfast.
    Grantham tossed a coarse sack in her direction, and it smacked against her left arm. Rendered speechless, she stared at the bag where it lay on the ground beside her shovel. One did not toss items at a lady. Not even her brothers dared something so boorish.
    Of all the things James had said about his good friend Roane Grantham, she had expected the man to have better manners.
    “You will find a cold repast,” he said, drawing her gaze up to his. Mirth twinkled in his eyes as he noted her reaction. “I’ve not much to eat, but enough for now. I don’t suppose you have a knife?”
    Helen picked up the sack, determined to withstand his teasing with her dignity intact. “A lady has no need of a knife.”
    With a long-suffering sigh, he removed a knife from his boot, then crossed the clearing to hand it to her. Thankfully, he didn’t throw the