Vanity Read Free Page B

property without further delay. She slipped her hand inside her cloak, sliding her fingers into the slit in her gown, intending to extract the watch from the pouch. Then she realized that he was watching her every movement, a sardonic spark in his eyes.
    She let her hand fall to her side and smiled nonchalantly. She didn’t like the look in those slate-gray eyes, and this was far too public a spot for an unsolicited admission of guilt, even to a fellow pirate.
    The rushing mob was diminishing now, the cries and screams fading into the distance.
    “Come,” Lord Nick said. “I think it’s safe to leave now.”
    “You go your way and I’ll go mine, sir,” she said, stepping out of the doorway. There was no sign now of a sedan chair; the chairmen would have made off to safety as soon as the cry of “press gang” had gone up—they were strong, well-muscled men, perfect candidates for His Majesty’s Navy.
    “You seem remarkably obtuse for someone who I’m convinced has a sharp head on her shoulders,” her companion remarked in a tone of mild exasperation. “We have yet to have our little discussion, if you recall.” He looked round, getting his bearings. “My horse is at the Rose and Crown … this way, I believe.”
    Their “little discussion” was obviously unavoidable. But at least there would be relative privacy at an inn. Resigned, Octavia allowed herself to be guided through the littered but now quiet streets to the Rose and Crown.
    However, instead of entering the inn, they went round to the stableyard. “Do you prefer to ride pillion or before me?” Lord Nick asked with casual courtesy as he gestured to an ostler.
    “Neither,” Octavia said. “What are you talking about?” Every time she thought she understood what was happening, this man shuffled the pieces on the board.
    He sighed. “I’m not usually considered inarticulate…. Bring my horse, lad…. We have about fivemiles to ride, Miss Morgan. So …” He turned his hands palm up as if the rest were self-explanatory.
    A hot tide of anger chased guilt, resignation, and apprehension into the mists. She’d allowed him to call the tune thus far because of the guilty weight of the pouch beneath her skirts, but he’d taken sufficient advantage of her disadvantage.
    “I’m not coming with you,” Octavia said quietly, her anger visible only in her snapping eyes and her increased pallor. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but if you attempt to abduct me, I’ll scream so loudly it’ll bring every constable in the area.”
    He appeared not to have heard her, his attention directed toward the lad bringing his horse, a big-shouldered roan who looked easily capable of carrying two riders.
    “Now, Miss Morgan … pillion or in front of me?” He turned back to her. “Either will be perfectly comfortable, I assure you. Peter is as steady as a rock.”
    “Are you perhaps hard of hearing?” Octavia asked, her voice low and fierce. “I bid you good day.” She spun on her heel and stalked out of the yard, her back prickling as she waited for the arresting hand on her shoulder. But nothing happened. She walked unmolested out of the yard of the Rose and Crown and into the narrow cobbled lane.
    The cobbles were slippery with wet snow, and she shivered, but with the dull fatigue of anticlimax as much as with the cold. A church clock chimed nine. It seemed extraordinary that it should still be so early after all the excitements and the dramas of the morning. Her father would be deep in his texts by now, unaware of the time or the weather, probably unaware of her absence. If she didn’t answer his call, Mistress Forster would.
    Mistress Forster was owed two weeks’ rent.
    Octavia’s step lengthened at the thought. She could look after that now.
    The pounding of hooves behind her at first didn’t intrude on her reverie. When they did, they were almost upon her. She was hurrying down the center of the lane, avoiding the filthy water and refuse in