Page 42 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“In a race on a horse you do not know and in the snow. You could have been injured.”

When he put it like that, it did not sound as much fun. Necessary but, very well, possibly reckless, even for her. Not that she would ever admit to it. Certainly not to him. “But I wasn’t injured.”

“You could have injured my horse.”

She sucked in a breath, truly offended for the first time. “I would never.”

He studied her for a long moment before frowning. It was much frownier than the one he used for her fake swooning and horse racing and general havoc. “You’re cold.” It was downright accusatory.

“It’s winter.” She studied him for a moment. He did not look cold at all. Only cross. And something else she could not decipher. “I did not take you for the type to frequent a gaming hell until dawn.”

“And here I took you entirely for that type.”

Was that an insult? A compliment?

She would jump naked into the Thames before asking.

“What were you doing, Sybil?”

“Hush!” She poked him hard.

“Everyone is dispersing. There’s no one near enough to hear me.”

He was right. She hadn’t noticed. It was hard to notice anything but him.

Which was embarrassing, really. After all this time.

The others were indeed huddling back into the warmth of their waiting carriages, exchanging winnings. Chiswick was being helped discreetly off his horse. He looked sore. Ha. Served him right.

She considered running and tackling him to the ground. Challenging him to that duel. Pushing him into the Serpentine. But she had done all that she could do. Now she could only trust that the others had spirited Miss Maddox away already. She was due for her marriage ceremony in an hour.

Keir sighed when he realized that not only was Sybil not going to give him an explanation but was already distracted by something else. His mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile, but his tone was dry as dust. “Horse thievery is a hanging offense.”

“Only if you’re caught.”

“I caught you.”

She nearly asked him what he planned to do with her now that he had caught her, but bit her tongue instead. They did not talk about that. Ever.

Proof she could control herself. Make rational decisions.

Which was about as diverting as resting.

She grimaced inwardly and tried to take the reasonable route after one steals a horse, wins a race, and is caught in the snow in borrowed breeches.

Retreat.

“Thank you for your assistance, Lord Blackburn.” She bowed sharply, more than a little tauntingly. She had to bite her back teeth down as she fought a full-body shiver. The snow was hitting the back of her neck again and also seeping into her shoes. She needed to get home and get warm. Now. “Goodnight.”

His fingers closed over her wrist. “I think the hell not.”

Her eyes widened. “Such language, Lord Blackburn.”

“Get in the carriage, Miss Taunton.”

“I can walk home.”

He did not move, did not release her wrist. Did not blink as he studied her. “No.”