Free Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns by Leigh LaValle Page B

saddle and offered her a winning smile. “Perhaps.”
    Her face was no longer pale but pinkened from the wind and sun. She looked alive and so damn beautiful he ached. Her silly bonnet, crushed from the day before, stood no chance against the wild elements, yet she clung to it and all it represented. He wanted to throw the thing under his horse’s hooves and stomp it into the mud.
    And then he wanted to kiss her. He couldn’t seem to get that off his mind.
    “Bastard,” she muttered.
    Roane bit back another smile. He should not enjoy baiting her so. “Such language for a lady.”
    “Oh, I’ve brothers. I can do better than that, you beslubbering, muddy-mettled arse.”
    “My goodness.” He raised both brows. “Just through that valley, there”—he pointed west—“there is a school for young ladies. Perhaps I should leave you in their care. They could teach you better manners.”
    Helen huffed behind him. “And what do you know about a school for young ladies?”
    “More than you would think.” Back in his wild youth, he’d snuck into that building more than once. “In fact, I do think this is a grand idea. I could leave you at the school, rather than take you to the coaching inn. They are your people, after all.”
    “My people?”
    “With the gowns and wrist bags and such.”
    “Yes, they would agree that a lady—”
    “ Never leaves the house without her ridicule. So you have said.”
    Helen treated him to stony silence for the next half mile as they crossed the high plateau. The trail skirted a broad pond that sparkled in the midday sun.
    Again, Helen slowed to a standstill. Roane smacked his hat against his thigh, exasperated. “Why must you keep stopping?”
    “’Tis not my fault, it is this mare. She keeps pulling up short.”
    “I do not think she likes your bag banging against her neck. What is in there, anyway?” He eyed the frivolous bit of silk.
    “My things.”
    Her things . “Your ridiculous fripperies,” he muttered.
    She exhaled. “I do not insult your belongings. These are important to me.”
    He pulled Zeus alongside the mare. “Might I help you with that?” She held out her wrist, presumably thinking he would secure the bag tighter. Instead, he slipped the damn strap over her hand, leaned back and tossed the bag as far as he could. It landed with a quiet splash in the middle of the pond.
    “What?” she shrieked. Both horses skittered sideways at the ear-piercing sound of her dismay. “What have you done?”
    “I have done you a favor. You may thank me.”
    “ Thank you? The map was in there.”
    Now it was his turn to draw back in surprise. “You…I…”
    She crossed her arms and raised her brows. Roane didn’t waste time looking in his bag to see if she spoke the truth. He jumped down from his mount and ran into the pond, frantically searching for her sinking bag in the muck. He dove under the surface of the water but it was useless. He could see nothing.
    He straightened, wiping grime and God only knew what off his face, and the sound of Helen’s laughter drew him up short. He whirled toward her and slipped in the mud.
    Water plants clung to him and muck sucked at his boots. He was not amused. “Where. Is. The. Map?”
    She shrugged one shoulder. “In your bag, I presume. I have not touched it.”
    Roane tossed his wet hair out of his eyes and slogged out of the pond. Helen continued to laugh, a high feminine sound that he could not properly appreciate under the circumstances. “You think it so amusing that I am wet?”
    She could only nod, her laughter stealing her words.
    He should have realized the map would never have fit in her tiny little bag, but he’d always been one to act first and think later.
    “You will regret this.” He grabbed his hat from where it had fallen in the weeds and climbed atop his mount. She was not going to like this. “I suspect your skirts are damp as well.”
    Her smile turned to a look of puzzlement. “How could they be