Chapter Four

T heodosia never thought her pride could throb more than her ankle while being carried like a monkey on this man's back. How mortifying. The only reason she'd allowed that travesty was because her ankle stung. That was all. Her ankle hurt and it was welcome relief from pain.

But her head spun with questions. How could things have gone so horribly wrong? How could there not be a person in sight? How could there be a forsaken village? Were there more servants like Nancy and the driver in their household? If her mother decided to travel to Brighton tomorrow, would she also fall prey to the Black Knight? All these worries churned in her mind, transferring the throb of pain from her ankle to her temples.

She plopped down on a patch of grass and inspected her foot again. Still no swelling. A relief.

Her gaze shifted to Saville, stretching out his limbs.

Would she ever be free of this man?

Strangely, he cut a rather dashing figure with his jacket flung aside, wearing nothing but a shirt, beeches, and dust-covered pair of Hessian boots. How maddening. She wanted him gone, yet her eyes quite enjoyed the sight.

It made no sense, these feelings mired in opposition. It made even less sense that she could still feel her front pressed against his hard back. Carrying her all this way had been a truly impressive feat.

The man infuriated her like no other. And she'd already had her fair share of infuriation with all the blind matchups her mother had subjected her to over the past weeks. Yet she couldn't help but be glad—a tiny , extremely small bit glad—that she hadn't been alone when robbed by her own servants. Once again, she had been used for others' benefit and disregarded when she had nothing to offer anymore. She absolutely loathed the feeling.

Only this fool hadn't left her.

He turned to her, and their gazes locked. A little shock shot through her spine, and she promptly averted her gaze. The crunch of boots on the ground made her ears twitch. A moment later, he dropped down beside her.

Well, for better or worse, there was no escaping him now. She had done her best in London—she had left London. Yet here he was, in all his rogue glory, and she was stuck with him. The fact settled into her bones.

The Earl of Saville.

A man that kept popping back up near her no matter how many times she tried to root him out. Weedy indeed. Should I just stop plucking already?

A shadow suddenly cast over her as he leaned toward her, closer, too close. He gestured to her foot. "Does it still hurt?"

Theodosia wiggled her ankle. "Just a little bit. The pain has almost subsided."

"That's good. I don't think it's sprained." He reached for her ankle, and Theodosia swatted his hand away.

"Don't you dare poke my foot."

His hand snapped back, and he cleared his throat. "My apologies."

"It was just a slight misstep—of course it's not sprained." She inched her trouser leg down. "The brief respite from walking helped." Thank you , she silently sent his way, though there was no way she would voice those two words aloud.

"So long as I don't have to carry you anymore."

Her gaze swung to his. "What exactly are you implying with such a disgruntled tone?"

"You are mistaken if you take offense. I am merely saying my feet hurt." He peeked her way. "And I'd hate to see you perish, after all."

Theodosia snorted and pulled a face at him. The man must always have the last word. However vexing it was, though, it didn't irk her like, say, the bumble and bluster of all her blind matches. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she raked him with her gaze from head to boot. How would he compare in other ways?

She held out her arm. "Kiss my hand, Saville."

He eyed darted at her with shock and suspicion. "Whatever for?"

She shook her wrist impatiently. "I want to test something."

"Do I really have to?"

She stared at him.

"Fine," he muttered, clasping her hand in his with great reluctance. "If I must."

"Yes, you must."

He said nothing, just raising them to her mouth, placing his lips against her gloved hand. Softly. Gently. Barely.

Then he dropped her hand like a hot iron poker.

"There. Done."

She shook her hand. Rude man. However, the kiss hadn't annoyed her as Lord Chance's lingering touch had.

Odd.

Theodosia scrunched her brows and rose to her feet, dusting off her backside. She surveyed the old houses. None looked occupied, and none looked fit to be occupied, quite frankly. "What should we do now? Should we continue on? I doubt those brigands would be hiding here."

"No," he agreed, then angled his head to the sky and cursed. "It's going to rain soon."

"I suppose we could shelter here. An abandoned roof is better than no roof at all." The temperature would drop as well. "We can make a fire."

"Yes," he drawled with a razor-sharp edge to his tone. Theodosia tensed. Here comes a blurt of sarcasm . "We can make a fire in a half-crumbled fireplace. And burn what's left of this village down to the ground."

Urgh. "It will be raining."

"And yet I'm not confident it could rain hard enough or long enough to prevent such a fire from setting the town aflame."

Must he always be so snippy? It was merely a suggestion. "I'm happy with that if you burn along with it."

"I'm sure you would love to see me burn." He plucked at an odd-looking plant. "Like the weed I am."

She huffed out a breath. This again.

A raindrop landed on her cheek. Theodosia followed its trail up to the sky. "Well, we must find shelter anyhow. Perhaps we can ferret out something to eat as well." She rubbed her belly. "Can you go hunt us a rabbit?"

He rose as well. "With what exactly do you want me to hunt a rabbit?"

Her gaze dropped to his hands.

"Do I look like I grew up on rural farmland?"

She arched a brow. "At the moment, you do sort of resemble a farmhand." At his stormy look, she lifted her hands in surrender. "I know, I know. No fire and no cooked rabbit."

"Can you even roast a rabbit?" he shot back. "I certainly can't."

Before she could retort, a shout drew their attention to a distant field. Theodosia was pulled by a strong urge and she hurried as quickly as she could go to the nearest dwelling to hide. Saville followed her.

"The highwaymen?" Theodosia asked in a low whisper once they'd rounded the house. Her heart started to pound in her breast.

"I'm not sure." He peeked around the corner. A soft curse. "Not highwaymen, thank God. There seems to be a farm over yonder."

"So farmers?"

"They don't look like any farmers I've ever met."

"Really?" Theodosia murmured, suddenly interested. "Then what do they look like?"

"Suspicious." He cut her a look "And don't sound so damn intrigued."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"These people could be dangerous. They may not be highwaymen, but the Black Knight and his gang seemed quite comfortable around here. These people could easily be in league with them. And your intrigue sets my teeth on edge."

She peeked over his shoulder to get a look of the group of men in the field a short distance away from a simple farmhouse. To the side of it, there was a stable, too. True, it all appeared big and somewhat rough looking—structures and people alike—but nothing that unusual. There was even an older man and woman among them. "How can you say they look suspicious? They look like ordinary people of the countryside to me."

He shook his head. "Then why did I catch a glimpse of a pistol tucked into one of the men's trousers?"

"Given that there is an infamous band of brigands in the area, is that truly so shocking?"

"Then if this is a normal farm, where are the livestock? I don't see any. It's suspect."

"Dear Lord, have you always been this suspicious of people? Perhaps they don't farm with animals."

"Then where are the crops?" Stormy eyes met hers. "And when there is a female in the mix, then yes, I'm careful."

It was clear he wasn't referring to the gray-haired woman in the field. So he was being cautious because of her? It shouldn't have set her pulse aflutter, but it did. "Oh, well, even if they are suspicious characters, we don't have anything to steal. Perhaps they can even offer us—"

"Don't even think about approaching them," he cut off her sentence. "We don't know who they are, which makes the entire situation too unpredictable, which makes it dangerous."

"Because they seem suspicious?"

"No," Saville said. "Because I can't protect you if they are not good people. I'd much rather we keep you out of sight lest you get stolen."

"That will never—"

A finger pressed on her lips. "Do you really wish to take the chance, Lady Theodosia? What will happen if you are harmed in any way? How am I going to explain that to your brothers? They might as well kill me."

It's true they had been remarkably lucky with the highwaymen. "What about food? They have food."

"Short bursts of hunger are a good thing for the body."

"Speak for yourself," Theodosia grumbled. As her belly emptied, her annoyance levels rose. And her belly was now very empty indeed. Her gaze caught on a tree in the near distance. She stabbed a finger toward it. "That's an apple tree, is it not?"

His gaze flicked between the farmhouse, the people busy on the property, and the tree. "No."

"It's going to rain soon, and we need to eat. Who knows how long we will be stuck here." She looked at him. "We can't make fire, and we won't be eating rabbit. Apples seem to be our only option. If you get us some apples, I shall obediently wait for you inside this house." She patted the wooden wall.

He cast her a look that was rife with suspicion. "Why don't I believe you?"

She fluttered her lashes at him. "I promise."

He clenched his jaw while his eyes lit up with one unspoken curse after the other. "Fine, I'll go pick apples." He motioned to the door. " After you go inside and stay out of sight."

"Very well. And get a few, all right?" Theodosia didn't tarry any longer, and entered the house.

Dust covered every surface, and the smell of dirt tickled her nose, but there was a roof that would provide a shield from the rain. She padded over to the window—really just a hole in the wall—and peeked through. She immediately found Saville's tall figure and he strode, upright and confident, to the tree.

The people on the farm had noticed him, but for a few brief glances, paid him no mind.

See, they don't seem to be rabble-rousers.

Not dangerous at all.

Her gaze returned to Saville. He had his jacket laid out on the ground and dropped apples onto it one by one. Something fluttered in her heart, and her eyes narrowed on the broad-shouldered man.

He was the true danger.

*

Saville didn't know what had possessed him to leave London, a vague thought that now exploded to the surface with a vengeance. He'd never picked a damn apple in his life. Now he was picking apples for a chit who would probably bemoan that he hadn't picked more, or that he hadn't picked fast enough Or, God forbid, that he hadn't plucked each one gently enough.

Where to even put all the apples?

He tossed his jacket on the grass and dropped the apples there. Six should be enough, shouldn't they? He wouldn't eat more than two. Even though his stomach clamored for food, there were only so many apples a man could eat.

He nodded at his handiwork.

Gathering the jacket-wrapped apples into his arms, he cast a glance at the farmland. It made him uneasy. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said they didn't look like any farmers or farmhands he'd ever seen. It looked more like they were patrolling the property than anything else, and given what fate had already tossed at them as well as the proximity of the house, it would be best if they made their way quickly to the next town. The only problem with that was that Field didn't know where the hell they were. Was there even a next town? Unless they returned the way they came, he had lost all sense of direction.

He angled his face to the clouds as scattered drops of rain finally turned to a soft drizzle.

No, leaving was not an option.

This was what he got for trying to be helpful. Trying to do the right thing.

Come on man, following the woman was not the right thing.

Fine. He was just a man with flaws. Deep flaws. He couldn't make sense of it either.

Field had, by all reason and by all madness, been questioning his choices ever since this season had begun all the way up to now where he found himself alone and defenseless with Lady Theodosia on the road somewhere between London and Brighton. He couldn't deny the pettiness of some of his actions. And others had been driven by pure selfishness. Though most had been out of a sense of duty and protection.

But following Lady Theodosia to demand she tell him why she'd helped his sister cut up his waistcoats and color his eyes black? Was that duty and protection?

No.

If he had to reflect on the why of his choices—why he had to hunt her down to demand answers—the first thought, his first defense, was that he had nothing else to do and he could not take watching his best friend and his sister flaunt their improper relationship.

Yes, that was right.

It had nothing to do with Lady Theodosia herself. She served as a mere excuse to escape his household which had turned into a den of scandal. An excuse, he was well aware, that lacked in substance, since he himself failed to fully understand his profound urge to question her about her little deeds. He could only describe it as madness.

Unexplainable madness.

Not a pleasant thing. It made frustration wrap around him like vines twisting up the rail of a balcony. Though he supposed that was nothing new. The emotion had settled into his life like property tax. He could not rid himself of it. He could only manage it and hope he managed it effectively.

With one last glance at the farm, he hurried back to the dwelling, relieved to see the minx had stayed true to her word. Yet this same compliance made him suspicious. "Since when are you this obedient?"

She glanced over to him. "What you mistake for obedience is preservation of energy while waiting for my food."

He placed the jacket with apples before her feet, retrieving one for himself. "Apples are not food."

"They are better than nothing."

His belly agreed. Field bit into his apple and promptly made a face.

Sour .

He curled his lip. But like she said, an apple was better than nothing, so a sour apple was better than no apple at all. And she didn't complain either as she bit into hers. She also didn't comment on his reaction.

Very suspicious.

And Saints preserve him! Did all women look so enticing biting into an apple? Her tongue darted out to lap up the juice of the apple. Field grimaced and wrenched his gaze away from her. He moved his eyes over the walls, the ceiling, inspecting each corner of the room to escape that disturbing sight.

Then he caught on another sight that brought him up short.

The window.

With a clear view of the farm.

He pulled up the corner of his lip, but didn't comment, because the window and farm weren't exactly what had caught his attention.

It was a highwayman.

A particularly familiar one.

The Black Knight. Alone. On a horse. His horse. Dream. Speaking to one of the farmhands.

Before Field could block Lady Theodosia's view, the crunch of her apple signaled that she had drawn nearer, and she peeked out the window to the scene outside. Her eyes flew to him. "So, we are on the right trail! This is wonderful! Wait, is this our chance?"

Field summoned a deep breath, holding it in for three seconds before slowly exhaling. Chasing after highwaymen was already too dangerous in his book. Now they had found them, and suddenly he wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to alert the Duke of Mortimer about the book and be done with it. "I don't think this band is part of his gang. But they are clearly friendly."

"What do you think they are doing?"

"He is selling his horse by the looks of it." Field snarled at the second horse the bandit had brought along. He instantly recognized it as the one the man had been on when they were robbed.

A crunch of apple. "Why would he sell his horse?"

"Because he"—that blackguard—"is on mine."

Her chewing paused. She said nothing, but Field could feel her stare. As though she sensed that one word, one small thing would be enough for his temper to erupt.

It was.

He speared her with a glare as her chewing continued. "Are you chewing on glass and bone?" Field snapped, clenching his own apple in his hand.

A layer of frost covered her face instantly, and she skewered him with an unflinching look as she took another deliberate bite from her apple.

I deserved that.

He looked away, trying to block her out. Christ, even in this moment, vengefully piercing her apple, his faculties scattered into a thousand pieces.

Field should have kept his mouth shut.

She jabbed a finger into his ribs. "We will get your horse back, so don't yell at me."

"I'm sorry." In the grand scheme, Field wasn't so attached to his horse that he would give his life for the thoroughbred. However, the thought of Dream in that arrogant man's possession set his teeth on edge.

He couldn't accept it. Refused to accept it.

"Apology accepted," Lady Theodosia said. "The rain shouldn't last long. It's barely a drizzle."

Field nodded. They couldn't keep traveling on foot. Not while it appeared they were stuck between a suspicious farm—growing more suspect with each passing second—and a group of bandits. He glared at the Black Knight, and a newfound resolution stiffened his spine. The highwayman handed the reins of his horse over to the man he spoke to and left, his direction pointing them in the way they would need to travel to find him and his gang.

"Why are you not saying anything?" The minx jabbed at his ribs again. Mistrust outlined her tone. "It's unlike you not to bellow, grunt, or snap."

"What? Is my silence that unnerving?"

"Quite frankly, yes."

"If you must know, I'm considering a plan."

She tossed her apple core out the window. Finally. The tension in his shoulders partly relaxed. Not all of it, but some. Enough to have a bit of blood flow to his head, clearing some of the fog in his brain.

"For food?"

"To follow that highwayman."

"I thought we were following him."

"Not fast enough." Another quick glance at the sky. It should darken soon. And once evening set upon them, that would be their chance.

"What are you thinking?" The complete distrust in that one question made the corner of his lips quirk.

"I'm scheming."

"Scheming what exactly? Since we are a duo, you must let me in on each and every one of your ploys."

Field stilled. "Since when have we been a duo?"

"Since the moment you poked your head in my carriage and we became stuck together without a penny to our names."

"I wish I could argue that point, but I can't."

Her eyes widened. "Now that is something truly miraculous!"

"That I can't argue with you? Is that so bloody astonishing?"

"That you have no argument, yes. How lovely!"

Field sneered. "I have plenty of arguments, my lady, just none I wish to voice."

"Why? I welcome you to voice them all."

If he voiced them all, they would not sleep tonight, neither would they accomplish anything. They'd be bickering back and forth, too distracted with the other's next retort to worry about anything else. This , he had become clear about. They needed to focus if they were going to succeed with the half-cocked plan that was currently forming in his mind.

"So?" she pressed.

"No arguments, only plans" Field said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "We are going to borrow," he motioned to the horse they were securing on a branch of a nearby tree, "that horse."

"Borrow?"

Yes. But not just that. "It's our way out of hell."