abducted? He sat across from me, and the carriage jerked forward before I had my skirts smoothed down around my ankles. So much for escape.
“You’re titled?” I asked, straightening my plain, straw bonnet.
He seemed amused by my question. Perhaps he thought I might be interested in his indecent offer if I knew he was important. Maybe I would.
It was dark, romantic almost in the carriage that smelled like him. My gut tightened in an altogether pleasant way. That wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all. Why did he stir feelings inside of me when McKinnon didn’t? When no other man did?
“Yes, I’m titled.”
I folded my gloved hands primly in my lap, acting the lady when I felt an utter fraud. “Not one of those lofty lords, lazy with gambling and drinking?”
The question was brash, but I found myself wondering how far I could push this man. How much I could taunt him before he’d snap. That elegant façade, that perfect control…I wanted to ruffle his feathers, even as I knew I should tread carefully around him. Very, very carefully.
“No. I am not.”
“And I suppose you think of it as a benefit to be titled?”
There was the quickest quirk of a smile, a flash of softness that caught me by surprise, and stirred something warm in my belly. “Most women, yes, would see it as a benefit for their protector to be important.”
He seemed so very large in the carriage. Large and domineering in a way that intrigued me. Perhaps I felt so little for McKinnon because he had controlled my livelihood. There would have been an extreme unbalance in power, were we to have a dalliance while I worked for him. “We’re back to that again?”
He was sure I would relent. It was a game we played. I realized we were flirting. Even worse, I was enjoying myself. I decided then and there to relax. What could he do to me in a carriage? If he tried anything, I’d kick him in the bollocks and dash out of the door. I’d dealt with worse men than him.
As I thought the words, I remembered the way he’d known he was being pickpocketed even before I’d noticed. The way he’d looked at Mr. McKinnon as if he knew without a doubt, he could beat him in a brawl. The thoughts were troubling. Had I misjudged him?
“Who was that man?”
I shrugged. “Which man?”
“You know. I don’t appreciate women playing coy.”
I had to resist the urge to smooth my hands over the velvet pillows in the corner and marvel at the texture. I’d never felt anything so lovely. “Perhaps not playing coy, just uncomfortable with your line of conversation.”
Those sinewy hands curled on his thighs. Muscled thighs that pressed at the fine material of his trousers. “Who was he to you?”
“I don’t have to answer, you know.”
“Of course you do.” He stretched out his long legs, trapping my booted feet between his. “Answer me and I’ll drop you off a block from the house, so no one will know you were with me. Don’t, and I’ll drop you off at the front gate where everyone will see you. You’ll be dismissed before you step foot on the stoop.”
My anger boiled. I’d underestimated the lengths he’d go. And here I thought I’d chosen the safer man. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to go to hell. “Then I’ll get a position at the factory with Mr. McKinnon.”
That square jaw went taut. “Then I’ll shut down the bleedin factory.”
Life was so easy for him. A rich, spoiled gent. I studied his handsome, irritated features. “I doubt you have the power.”
He smiled a wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. This time there was nothing soft about his grin. “Oh, but I do.”
His words made me uneasy. Surely he exaggerated. Just what sort of title did he hold? He leaned forward. I slumped back into the cushioned seat. Not far enough away. Slowly, he reached out, grasping my chin as he had in the Landcaster library. “Who is Mr. McKinnon to you?”
I forced myself to swallow over the lump of outrage clogging my throat. “My former employer.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “In what way?”
“How very dastardly of you! In a very innocent way, my lord. He owns the factory where I worked.”
He was quiet for a moment, mulling over my response. I dared to push aside his hand, but he wasn’t finished with our conversation. “How many women worked in that