was no tight corset here, though he couldn’t claim to know the layout of Miss Haversham’s waist yet. The ugly brown coat with its holes and frayed edges did little to flatter her figure but he suspected she would match up perfectly well to any pretty society lady.
She might even best them. Her porcelain skin and pale, pale hair would certainly be the envy of many a debutante, and now he thought about it, her eyes were rather attractive too, in an odd pale sort of way.
“Lord Huntingdon, what a surprise.”
He set her with a look. “Are you really resorting to following me again? I had thought we had put an end to this nonsense.”
“You might have thought that but I did not. And I’m not sure how missing women is nonsense.”
“How is The Brigadier?”
“He’s fine, thank you,” she said tightly. She glanced toward the duchess’s townhouse. “What were you visiting the Duchess of Newhampton for?”
“Good God, woman, hasn’t anyone ever told you women should never ask bold questions?”
“Plenty of times,” she replied archly. “But a reporter must ask bold questions. It’s their job.”
Well, that didn’t work. He expected her to march off again and leave him standing alone, staring at her back and hoping for her to turn around. Which was about the most preposterous thing he’d ever done. He didn’t like women. Didn’t need women. Most certainly did not want a certain female reporter in his life. All women spelled trouble.
He could even include his sister-in-law in that. What she knew about lock-picking and knife-wielding and God knows what else most certainly added up to trouble. Luckily, she was Russell’s problem.
Miss Haversham, however, was still his.
His problem, that was.
He didn’t own her or anything. Most certainly didn’t wish to claim any sort of ownership either. Why would he? He’d had enough troubles getting close to sweet women of the ton. Amelia had proved to him once and for all he was to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life and he’d made peace with that. The last thing he needed was a troublesome woman like Miss Haversham in his life.
Hell, she’d probably love to write about his…endowment issue in the gossip columns, so putting her off was vital really.
He should just strip naked here and now. That usually worked to frighten women off.
“I know you have no respect for my work, Lord Huntingdon, but I would rather you did not use that patronizing smile on me. It is really rather unbecoming.”
He straightened his lips. After all, he certainly could not admit the sardonic smile came from him imagining her reaction to his humiliation.
She smothered a yawn with the back of a gloved hand, and he narrowed his gaze at her. Though the shadows around her eyes were usually dark, they were more defined today, and her eyes a little red. When he followed the movement of her, he noted she trembled.
“Surely you have better things to do than follow me? I should imagine the paper does not pay you handsomely for leaping into bushes.”
“The paper will not pay me at all until there is a story—and that is only if they like it.”
“So you are standing around, in the cold, utterly exhausted, voluntarily?” He shook his head. “You are completely mad, Miss Haversham.”
“I am perfectly sane, and I am not exhaust—” The words were cut off by a yawn.
Jaw tight, he shook his head again and gripped her arm.
“What are you—?”
He led her over to the wrought-iron bench near the entrance of the gardens and forcibly eased her onto it. When she tried to rise, he thrust a finger at her. “Stay.”
“But—”
“Stay or I shall haul you over my shoulder, take you home and lock you in a bedroom until you’ve had rest.”
Her mouth opened. “You would not dare.” She glanced around. “That’s kidnapping.”
He offered a slanted smile. “I know.”
And little did she know, he was incredibly good at kidnapping.
FREYA SMOTHERED ANOTHER yawn, clamping her teeth together in a bid to hide it. Lord Huntingdon gave her a knowing look and she narrowed her gaze at him.
“Stay here,” he ordered, thrusting a steady finger at her.
The fatigue working its way behind her eyelids and throbbing in her temples was the only thing that prevented her from leaping up and storming away. No one told her what to do. She’d been an independent woman for far too long to listen to orders from him.
But so many nights working late with Lucy plus finishing up her column and