Free Rebel Marquess by Amy Sandas

for her insult.
    This was something else. Something dangerous and unwanted.
    “Blast it.” With stiff movements, he released her arms and stepped back. He looked down and saw her notebook had fallen to the ground and he quickly retrieved it. As soon as he handed it to her, she drew it into her chest and folded her arms over the book. Then she promptly turned away from him and continued walking.
    He drew up beside her. “I owe you another apology,” he admitted, hoping she did not detect the raw note of lust still present in his tone.
    There was lengthy pause before she replied. “Probably.”
    Neither of them said anything more, and after a while the silence wasn’t so glaring. There remained, however, a fine thread of new awareness that could not be eliminated.
    Every now and then the bleat of sheep from an adjacent meadow and the sudden rustle of ground fowl as they took flight from their nests interrupted the stony silence. The path widened and took them near an old and crumbling stone wall, damp and black with age, before circling back to the house. Once the grand structure could be seen rising from behind the trees, they both stopped as if on a silent cue.
    She spoke first. “Thank you for your escort, my lord. We cannot risk getting any closer to the party while still in each other’s company. If you would wait several minutes, or better yet find an alternate route, I shall continue from here on my own.”
    There was tension in her demeanor that had not been present at the start of their walk. He felt a clenching of guilt in his gut, knowing he had been the cause of it.
    “Miss Terribury—”
    “No need to say anything.” She tossed him an easy grin. He didn’t have a chance to argue the interruption before she started away from him then turned and added over her shoulder, “As before, we never saw each other today. This lovely little walk never happened.”

Chapter Seven
    “This mask is deuced uncomfortable,” Grimm grumbled as he tugged on the offending swath of black crepe that covered his face minus two holes cut for visibility.
    “Leave it,” Rutherford ordered in an exaggerated baritone, adjusting his own mask. “Until we finish this stunt and get safely away, that strip of fabric does not move from your face. And remember to alter your voice.”
    “Th’ wretch can barely recall why we’re out ’ere. He drank hisself into a stupor las’ night.”
    Rutherford winced at Whitely’s heavy accent coupled with an effeminate lisp.
    “I know blasted well why we are out here,” Grimm retorted. “I cannot forget, can I, when it is my head on the chopping block?”
    “All of our ’eads now, ungrateful sop, since we agreed t’ help ya,” Whitely reminded him.
    Grimm’s shoulders slumped. “Right. Sorry. Just nervous.”
    “I still think Blackbourne should be ’ere. I’d feel much better with a foursome.”
    “No names,” Rutherford growled. “You know he could not get away without telling his wife something. That woman is far too clever.” He leaned forward in his saddle to scan down the darkened stretch of highway. “Now we need to stay sharp and alert if we are to make it successfully through the night.” Looking back pointedly at Grimm, he added. “It would be best if you said nothing at all. Even if you disguise your voice, there is risk of your lady friend recognizing you. Stay in front and keep your focus on the driver. We will handle the passengers.”
    As he finished his speech, Rutherford heard the distant approach of a carriage. His mount shifted uneasily as if sensing his anxiety.
    “On the ready,” he murmured.
    Pulling his pistol from the folds of his oversized cloak, he checked to ensure it was ready. The other men’s pistols were unloaded since they carried them for intimidation rather than use. His own was loaded to fire the warning shot that would halt the carriage and give the required level of fear. He was counting on the fact that most drivers were instructed