Free Texas Viscount by Shirl Henke

adding.
           He sighed. “Come on, Miss Edgewater. Let's get us both inside before we're frozen like that cussed statue in the fountain. I promise to behave.” He raised his hands in mock surrender and sketched a bow, urging her up the steps into the house.
           She could tell he did not believe her story about yesterday, did not even believe that she was a tutor. But the utter density of the oaf, to think that she was some light skirt! Still, she was freezing, and it was far too great a distance to walk home even if she had been dry and warm. But Sabrina had overcome far greater obstacles than this. Besides, she'd never give the Texas troglodyte the satisfaction of succumbing to his charm.
           Digging into her reticule, she extracted enough money for her fare home. “I believe you Americans have an adage, ‘Money speaks louder than words.’ ” With that, she turned and began walking down the street, holding aloft several coins as another hansom driver turned the corner of the fashionable square.
           Josh stood and watched her climb inside the coach. He started to scratch his head in bemusement but encountered the lump from his tumble into the fountain and winced. She was a damn fine-looking piece, but he was not altogether certain that bedding her would be worth the risk to life and limb.
     
    * * * *
     
           “Let's hope this ride doesn't finish what the edgy Miss Edgewater began,” Josh muttered to Comanche as he kicked the big bay into a brisk canter through the park. The pounding of his head had settled into a dull ache by the time he was scheduled to meet Michael Jamison. What he really wanted to do was lean into the stallion's neck and let him go full out, to blow away the frustrations of the past several days. And all thoughts of that maddening woman.
           Could Sabrina Edgewater possibly be a teacher? His mind kept returning to her like a tongue worrying a sore tooth. She certainly was in the wrong places yesterday, but perhaps her story about the sailing master was true, although he was inclined to doubt it. He was good at reading people, and she'd been, to use one of her ten-dollar words, “prevaricating” about that. Still, her clothing was demure and conservatively cut, if one ignored the open bodice after the altercation at the pier yesterday...and the soaking this morning, he mentally added with a chuckle.
           If she had been telling the truth about being summoned by the earl to tutor one of his shirttail cousins, then he'd acted like a perfect boor the way he had teased and flirted with her—to say nothing of grabbing her for that kiss. Yeah, that kiss...
           “I say, you do keep up a good pace. Splendid piece of horseflesh. American quarter horse mixed with Arab barb?” inquired a dark-haired man nattily decked out in riding breeches and a bottle-green velvet coat as he pulled up alongside Josh.
           “You know your horseflesh,” Josh replied, nodding as he eyed the splendid chestnut thoroughbred the Englishman was riding. “Not many Englishmen are familiar with our quarter horses.”
           “My paternal grandmother was from Georgia. I've had occasion to visit your country, although I confess I have not been to Texas.”
           “I reckon you're Jamison?”
           “Michael Derrick Jamison, at your service, my lord,” the man replied with a quick smile that revealed a set of perfect white teeth.
           “I'm not anybody's lord yet,” Josh said flatly. “Maybe never will have to be if we get this mess with the Russians and Japanese straightened out. My president was right anxious about it.”
           “Was Mr. Roosevelt really a cow smasher before he became president?” Jamison asked incredulously.
           Josh started, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You mean cowpuncher?”
           Jamison nodded. “I stand corrected. I've never