Free The Care and Taming of a Rogue by Suzanne Enoch Page A

covered her mouth with one hand. “I knew from your books that you would be very witty.”
    “What did you think of me after you read Langley’s book?” It took some effort not to sneer as he said those two words.
    Her smile faded. “Everyone has their own opinion of everyone else.”
    “That’s diplomatic of you. What happened to the chit who informed me where the high flyers could be found?”
    For a moment he thought he’d embarrassed her into muteness—which would be a damned shame. Then she sighed, a sound that he instantly memorized, and one that he wanted to hear again. Repeatedly. “I do know what’s proper and what isn’t,” she finally said. “Olivia says I assume most people are more intelligent than they are, and that when I speak to them that way they find me odd and incomprehensible.”
    “I find you to be neither.”
    “Then you must be one of the truly intelligent ones.” She smiled again, more shyly.
    “Which is why I realize that you didn’t answer my question. Did Langley’s book alter your very high opinion of me?”
    “In all honesty, and only because you asked me, I found Captain Langley’s book a bit one-sided.”
    He slowed, moving closer to her before he’d even realized that he’d done so. “How so?”
    “I read in the newspaper that you were the leader of the expedition,” she returned, gesturing with her hands as she spoke, “and yet Captain Langley seemed to do everything. He chose the path, organized the porters, decided where to camp, was the better shot, the better fighter, and the better tactician.”
    Bennett clenched his jaw. “And?” he prompted.
    “Captain Langley wrote the book.” She shrugged. “I imagine if you wrote one concerning the same adventure, it would be a bit more balanced.”
    “What if it simply tipped in the other direction?” he asked, feeling somewhat mollified.
    “Ah, but I’ve read your other books, remember? You, Captain Wolfe, give credit where credit is due. In my estimation, anyway.”
    As they reach the twisted old oak tree, Bennett held up his arm, and Kero hopped down from the tree limb where she’d perched and sat on his shoulder. Over the past three years, and for all twenty-six before that, he’d made his way in the world by assessing swiftly and accurately the character of those he encountered.
    In this instance his sentiments were likely influenced by the fact that he found Phillipa Eddison damned fascinating and he wanted her, but she also had good instincts. He wanted to trust her, and he wanted to tell her that most of Langley’s book was actually his words, twisted to make David the hero and to make his heroism more important than any of the myriad discoveries they’d made along the way.
    At the moment he had no proof, and he knew what a braggart he would sound like because of it. And if she told anyone else what he’d said, he would sound like a disgruntled and incompetent explorer angry at a better man for pointing out his shortcomings.
    “You avoided one of my questions as well, you know,” she said, shaking him out of his thoughts.
    “Did I?”
    “Lord Fennington. Why didn’t you want to talk about how he greeted you when he learned you weren’t dead?”
    He gazed at her levelly. “I haven’t been to see him yet.”
    “What? Why not? He’s your family.”
    “I haven’t set eyes on him since I was twelve years old.”
    She put a hand on his arm, her touch light, but he felt as though he’d been permanently marked. “But he wrote so warmly about you in the foreword of Across the Continent ,” she protested. “He seemed to know you quite well.”
    “Perhaps he’s read my books.” Abruptly he realized that his hand was halfway up to touch her cheek, and he swiftly lowered it again.
    “You should go see him, Captain,” she urged.
    He did need to visit Fennington, though not to play the prodigal son returning to the family’s bosom. He needed to know how complicit the marquis was in the theft