Kate Moore Read Online Free

course. She was Margaret, being carried through the dark wood farther and farther from the hall and those who would care what became of her. With her favorite mount gone her parents would probably believe she had run away. Her absence during the evening, indeed, her withdrawal from her mother ever since they had arrived at Haddon, would lend credence to the idea. She straightened and leaned forward, achieving a slight distance between them. She had to think.
    “Cold?” he asked.
    “No,” she lied and thought he laughed.
    “So you do know how to lie,” he said amicably. “If it makes you less rare, it is, nevertheless, a useful accomplishment.”
    “It must be in your line of work,” she replied, annoyed at being seen through again. The pause before he answered her was the tiniest bit too long, she thought.
    “Oh, yes,” he agreed, “but the trick is in knowing what to lie about. You, it seems, know the London lie—that is, you know how to deny what is perfectly obvious to your companion in order that both may be saved from embarrassment.” He paused, and in a changed voice said, “My Lord Leadfeet, nothing would please me more than to dance with you, but the room is so warm, do you think you might bring me some refreshment first? Lady Loosetongue, so good to see you again.”
    Margaret had to laugh at his mimicry, but it confused her too, for he was talking as if they were partners in a ballroom. She could not reconcile his light words with his acts. Her mother had certainly never advised her on the subject of polite discourse with a kidnapper.
    She shook herself, not deigning to answer him, and stared ahead. At the very next opening she would slip from the horse. Though her pale gown must show against the black brush and tree trunks, this time she was sure she could lose her abductor. Then she would simply climb a tree and wait for dawn. At first light she would find her way back to the hall. Then she would show the earl the drawer that had been opened. However angered the thief might be at her escape, he was unlikely to pursue her for long, because he had miles to go to keep the appointment the red-haired groom had mentioned. She tensed for the effort she must make.
    Just as she saw a widening in the path ahead, he encircled her ribs with one strong arm and pulled her firmly against him.
    “Oh,” she exclaimed. Once again he had anticipated her actions and thwarted her. What was she to do?
    “You know,” he said, “I am inclined to think that my removing you from the hall should be considered a rescue rather than an abduction.”
    “A rescue?” She could not think as clearly as she wished to, conscious as she was of his fingers over her ribs and the way the horse’s easy movement caused her bare arm to slide up and down against the silk of his waistcoat. “Did you think I was a prisoner there?”
    “What else could explain it? A pretty girl, immured in a library in the country when there must be three balls and a Venetian breakfast to attend in London. Confess, I did rescue you—from boredom.”
    “No,” she said, momentarily disconcerted by his phrase “pretty girl.” He was offering Spanish coin, of course. “No, not from boredom, from my own thoughts perhaps.”
    He laughed at that, and his breath stirred her hair. “You are an honest girl, Meg Somerley.”
    “Miss Somerley to you,” she said.
    “Never Meg?”
    “Never.”
    “But tonight you must be Meg, for you are having the adventure Margaret Somerley merely dreams of.”
    It was a conjecture so accurate and penetrating that she wondered if he had seen the little book in her lap, had guessed her dreams.
    They had come to the edge of the wood, and the horse lunged up a short embankment to a road bathed in the light of a quarter moon rising to their left. The horse pranced and sidled, but her companion stilled the powerful animal and held him lightly in check.
    “Now, Miss Somerley,” he said, the playfulness gone from his voice,