Page 16 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Lady Hennessy’s mouth parted. “Why, that’s more than double what you gave me only moments ago.

“I gotta charge a markup to stay in business, don’t I?”

“That’s highway robbery,” Lady Margaret snapped.

The woman shrugged. “Don’t have to buy it, do you?”

Lady Hennessy turned to Connor again and produced an enchanting smile that probably worked on most men. “I’ll reimburse you once we reach London.”

He let out a caustic laugh. “I don’t carry that kind of money.”

Her shoulders slumped. She took a last long look at the bracelet winking at her from the case, her expression crumpling. She wasn’t going to cry, was she? All that fuss for a bauble. It was ridiculous. Fine ladies like her had twisted priorities.

Quietly, she said, “I suppose it can’t be helped.” In the blink of an eye, she became all business. “Very well. Where to, now?” She looked up at him.

He’d half expected her to pout and complain the rest of the day. Perhaps she wasn’t as ridiculous as he’d first thought. He guided her out of the pawnshop and onto the street. “Posting inn.”

She glanced at him. “We’re buying passage on the stagecoach?”

“Later. Right now, we’re getting some food for you.”

She blinked.

He allowed himself a small smile. “You said you were hungry. And I can hear your stomach growling.”

“I thought you didn’t have money.”

He bristled. “I have money for coach fare and food—just not for expensive baubles.”

She snapped her mouth shut and turned away, the sulky little wench. Connor marched toward the posting inn, almost not caring if his troublesome quarry followed.

Inside the inn, Connor purchased passage on the morning stage, reserved a bedchamber for the night, and secured a private sitting room for them to use for dining and relaxing—not to coddle to the Amesburys’ sister in the manner in which she assumed was her right by birth, but so he could more easily keep an eye on her. It would also help prevent those seeking the reward from spotting her.

While night fell outside, they ate dinner. Throughout the meal, he watched her, gauging her mood and intentions by her posture. Though she ate with all the manners of a high-born lady, her posture relaxed more and more as she ate. With her whole focus appearing to be on her meal, she managed to consume almost as much as he did. She did not appear to have escape on her mind. Perhaps he’d gained her trust enough that she wouldn’t give him any trouble. Perhaps horses would grow wings.

When she finished and leaned back, she let out a contented sigh.

“Had enough?” he drawled.

She almost smiled, and the expression softened her features. “I don’t believe I have ever enjoyed a meal quite so much.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t up to your usual fare,” he said.

She shrugged. “One doesn’t need a great deal of pomp to consume a meal. At my country residence, I often eat simply.”

That sounded completely out of character for someone of her social standing.

She put a hand over her abdomen. “I have a new sympathy for all those who go hungry on a regular basis.”

“So, this experience has been good for your humility, then.” Why he’d said such an inane comment, he could not guess. For some reason, he wanted to ruffle her feathers. She was just so… regal, so self-possessed, even as a hungry fugitive.

She lifted a brow, almost looking amused. “Probably not for my humility, but certainly for my compassion. My sister Rachel is much better at that sort of thing.”

Connor poured her another glass of wine as he slipped a special ingredient into her glass. “Tell me more about her.”

She sipped her wine. “She’s unerringly kind and remarkably independent. Intelligent. She has been studying plants for years. She wrote and illustrated a book about plants that grow in northern England and southern Scotland—using a man’s pseudonym, of course, since no lady could do something as shocking as publish a book.” She smiled and took another sip. “Between you and me, she probably wouldn’t be so passionate about botany if she hadn’t been looking for an excuse to hide away while she tried to forget her heartbreak.” Her words had started to slur.

“Heartbreak?” he asked, just to keep her talking. “What happened?” He sipped his own glass in a subtle encouragement for her to do so as well. It worked.