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Her chin tilted upward, the feathers bobbing. “Such an optimist. Are you always so cheerful, my lord?”
“Not always. On occasion I’m quite surly.” Handling the reins of the spirited horses, he slid a glance toward her and saw the faintest smile on her mouth.
“If that is indeed true, be so kind as not to inflict your presence upon me at those dismal moments of choler,” she replied with a coolness that belied her amusement. Colter smiled his appreciation of her retort.
“Your lack of tolerance is shocking, Miss St. Clair.”
“I doubt that. You don’t seem to be a man who is easily shocked.”
“I could tell you some tales—”
“I’m sure you could. Please spare me.”
She turned her head slightly, a glance from green eyes that could alter from warm to frigid in an instant. A
smile lingered at the corners of her mouth, a tempting curve that was inviting and rejecting at the same time.
Little baggage. He should kiss her again, if for no other reason than to prove to her how much she liked it. She may feign indifference but she hadn’t been indifferent the last time. And no damned ladies’ maid would keep him from it, so she needn’t have gone to the trouble of bringing one along.
The maid, a thin little thing with the look of a determined sparrow, clung to the sides of the curricle as if she feared being thrown out at any moment. He curbed a perverse impulse to increase his speed.
“Very well,” he said, handling the ribbons and horses with efficient ease as he deftly took a curve in the road. “Entertain me with lively tales of your own.”
“Really, I cannot imagine you would be interested in any tales I could tell, my lord.”
“I might surprise you. If you lack ideas, tell me about your home in Georgetown. You lived there for some time?”
“Yes.”
When she said nothing else, he glanced at her again. Her face was shadowed by the brim of her bonnet as she tilted her head downward, but her hands were tightly clenched around the velvet cords of the reticule she held in her lap. She vibrated with sudden tension.
“If you’d rather speak of something else, Miss St. Clair—”
Her head came up. “No. What would you like to know? And I was really born in Virginia. We moved to Georgetown when I was very small.”
“Then your parents are from Virginia, I presume.”
There was a brief hesitation before she said, “Yes. My father’s family owned land along the Chesapeake Bay.”
“So what brings you alone to England?”
She turned to stare at him, eyes boring into his face as if trying to decide what to say next. “How do you know I arrived alone, my lord? Because you saw me alone on the ship?”
“No, because your cousin hasn’t mentioned anyone else as a guest. A simple enough deduction, but I’m sure you’ll tell me if I’m wrong.”
“No, you aren’t wrong. My parents died some time ago, my father killed when his vessel was seized by a French warship. I’m the only member of my immediate family left.”
“I see.” There was no hint of emotion in her voice, only a calm recital of facts, yet her gaze on him was intent. He glanced back at the road. “And so you came to visit your mother’s relatives here. England has a lot to answer for, it seems, in colonizing America.”
When she shifted slightly, he caught a whiff of delicate scent. Verbena? He wasn’t certain. It was light, elusive, inviting—as alluring as her voice, a seductive blend of female innocence and wisdom borne in the husky, drawling tones of a Colonial. Enticing little chit.
“I bear no grudges. America won its independence in the end. A humiliating defeat for England, it seems.”
Amused, he said, “Perhaps just a concession instead of a victory. England has too many Colonies to waste far too much time on insurgents.”
“Yes, such as India, I presume. Yet oddly enough, it seems worth the expense, time and life to continue there.”
“India is proving to be more profitable and even less civilized, despite our best efforts.”
