Free Unlacing the Innocent Miss by Margaret McPhee Page A

just kept on walking at the same steady pace. ‘I prefer to walk, Mr Wolversley.’
    ‘No doubt you do, but I’ve a mind to reach our next stop before nightfall.’
    She glanced over at him then and he could see the wariness on her face. Her pace increased, her feet stepping out faster over the uneven surface of the road. ‘I can walk faster.’
    He edged his horse over to block her path. ‘You have walked enough this day.’
    ‘No.’ She backed away from him, the pink of her cheeks draining to leave her face pale. The look in her eyes was one of terror. Had he been so hard on the woman as to cause such a response of dread?
    ‘Miss Meadowfield,’ he said more gently.
    ‘No!’ And this time he could hear the under tone of panic in the word. ‘I wish to walk. I will not climb upon that horse. You cannot make me.’
    Up ahead, Campbell and Kempster had stopped and were watching their exchange with interest. Wolf knew that, but his attention did not waver from the woman standing before him.
    ‘We both know that I can,’ he said softly.
    ‘And do you mean to?’ she breathed, and her gaze held his with an intensity that seemed to shake all of his convictions. She was trying desperately to hide her fear and failing miserably. His horse gave a whinny and turned his head in her direction.
    Miss Meadowfield jumped, her face washed powder-white, and his suspicion was confirmed. It seemed that forcing her back on to the mare after her fright yesterday had not prevented her fear running out of hand. Forcing her on to horseback now would only make things worse.
    A subtle shake of his head. ‘No.’
    ‘You will allow me to continue walking?’ He could see the suspicion in her clear hazel eyes as if she did not quite believe him.
    ‘For today,’ he said.
    She gave a cautious nod.
    He slipped from his horse and walked towards her, seeing the way she tensed ready to run. ‘Your cloak.’ He stopped short of reaching her, and held out his hand.
    And beneath the suspicion he saw surprise.
    She hesitated, and her eyes raised to his as if in question as she handed him the cloak. ‘Thank you.’
    He rolled the cloak to a ball and fitted it into his saddlebags.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and Wolf knew that her gratitude was not because of the cloak.
    ‘Start walking,’ he said in a harsh voice, lest she think that he was softening.
    He took the horse’s reins in his hand and leading the animal behind him, he began to walk by her side.
    She stopped suddenly, stared at him with wide wary eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Ensuring you keep to the pace,’ he lied.
    She looked uncertain, as if she was not sure whether to believe him or not. ‘Can you not do so equally well on horse back?’
    ‘No.’ He did not elaborate the untruth.
    She swallowed down what retort she would have given, and nodded cautiously.
    They walked on in silence, side by side.
     
    Rosalind was acutely conscious of Wolf’s proximity, of his tall frame and long muscular legs. She knew without looking how easy his stride was, how relaxed and how unchallenged his breathing; clearly he was used to walking, unlike herself. She wondered why he was walking with her rather than riding behind. She should resent it, she thought, but she could not for she knew how easily he could have taken her up on his great grey stallion. Why he had chosen not to was a mystery.
    She risked a subtle glance across at him. His face was just as hard and just as handsome in profile. He faced forward, his focus trained some distance ahead. Beneath the battered leather of his hat, feathers of fair hair fluttered in the breeze. She scanned the straight line of his nose, the angle of his cheekbone, and the scar that sat upon it. Her eyes traced the strong line of his jaw, up to his lips that for once were not pressed firm and hard together, and found herself wondering what he would look like if he were to smile, properly smile a smile of happiness instead of the cynical curve