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“You are lying!” He interpreted her bashfulness as insincerity, by the looks of it.
He caught her arm and brought her even closer. Her eyes flew to his. “I am not!”
A deriding side-smile drafted on that rugged face, his voice lowered. “You are a pleasure-loving creature.” His assessment appalled her; she was not a selfish person. “As a widow you must have your… urges.”
Ire surged in her with such force the impetus to punch him on that elegant Latin nose of his became almost uncontrollable. She jerked her arm from his hold and stepped away. If he only knew her urges had never had a chance to be… quenched!
“My urges are my own.” She sibilated with hot temper. “If I have a paramour or not is not your concern!”
Those murky depths became a stormy hazel, his jaw pulsated, and she he fisted his hands by his side. “It is my business, too, if you dally in my estate.” His murmur carried fury.
She held her stance even higher. “I will be sure to remember that, Your Grace!” His title came as a shard of ice. This time, when she opened the heavy door, he did not intercept her.
Romulus stood in the middle of the solar with a strange sense of emptiness at her departing. The feminine smell of her, though, remained teasing his nostrils.
He was going to thrash any man who dared to come near her! Romulus paced his solar, fuming. He did not even care that she dodged his questioning. But the idea she might have someone made his temper rise to exploding point. To hell if he had the right to do it or not!
She became a woman in full possession of herself. He never thought she would bloom to this fiery and self-confident person he met here. Maybe, he should let her go, and be done with it. Her presence made him restless, edgy. Aroused. The idea of her leaving caused him even more vexation. Damn her!
He must go do something or he would perish in madness. Wrestling would wear out his tensions, but he got no one to practice it with at the moment, his men of affairs all busy. So, he rang for the butler and told him to have his horse saddled. A ride would do him good.
* * *
After disentangling from the unnerving Duke’s questions, Annabel searched her coachman and found him in the stables. They found a deserted spot, and she talked to him.
“Do you think you could saddle a mare for me this afternoon without raising suspicion, Branson?”
The man took out his hat and scratched his head. “I can try, milady.”
“Good, Branson. I need you to take it to the east outer gate.” Her bonnet shaded her face. She still kept the key she had stolen from the gardener.
“Aye, milady.” He put on his hat back.
“Also, I need directions to the house of a tenant called Burns. Check if Peter has it. I asked him for it.”
“Very well. And, milady.” She turned to him as she started walking away. “Our carriage is nowhere to be seen. I heard the Duke had it taken to the village for mending, but I do not know where.”
This would not do, she thought. They must have the carriage at the ready if they needed to flee of a sudden. “Then I will need you or Peter to go to the village and find out. Make sure you pay for the fixing and have it at hand.”
Branson nodded, and she walked briskly to the keep.
* * *
From her window, she peered. Annabel waited for the Duke and Miller to set out on their horses. She had dressed a grey riding habit and would pretend a ride for revelry if things became, say, hectic. Even if she violated the unnerving man’s decree!
Hurrying to the east gate, relief took her as she saw that Branson stood there with a splendid white mare, side-saddled. The coachman gave her the mare as she mounted by herself and obtained his information about that Burns tenant.
The mare was a smart and pliable animal. Annabel kept her at a slow trot to allow distance between her and the Duke. She would find vital information in this meeting, for sure. He would not be so secretive of it if it was not so.
As she rode through the field, contentment took her. She loved riding, mostly astride, true, but still… The temperature kept comfortable though the sky became overcast since luncheon. Blackthorne lands proved to be neatly cared for and productive. To the west, she knew, his lands met the Atlantic. She would like to ride there once to enjoy it.
A rather easy task to spot Burn’s house, she dismounted and tied the mare a good distance from there and walked to the back of the place. No one stood outside, the windows and doors shut, she saw horses tied outside, including the Duke’s. She approached a window she deemed stood in the sitting area. The hushed murmurs proved her right.
“I know you find it odd we are running this operation from here.” She overheard the Duke. “But it is less suspicious than if I was in London.” Murmurs of agreement followed.
So, her superiors had been right, she thrilled and sharpened her ears even more.
“I will need volunteers to travel to Saint Helena. It is imperative we reach it before they discover us.”
