What he was thinking—not a clue.
His joys and fears and irritations—great mysteries of the universe.
Usually, the rocking of any coach trip sent her right to sleep. Not now. Now she needed to know more. But she possessed one certainty—a direct attack would lead nowhere. She must be cunning.
Besides, she needed distraction. She’d been away for much longer than usual, and while her sisters knew she was attempting to solve the problem of Miss Haws, she’d given them nothing else to alleviate their worry should they begin to wonder where she was. They should worry. So should Isabella. Traveling in a coach, alone, with a strange man… She courted what her brother attempted to prevent—complete ruination.
All worth it, though, if she could gain entrance to the Hestia, to the Haws’s suite of apartments, and to her mother’s damning letter.
At least she could trust the man across from her would not take advantage of the situation. If she knew one thing about him, she knew that. And if he was the type to take advantage of a woman, he would not take advantage of her. He rather despised her. But those two pebbles of information were not nearly enough.
She needed more. But the firm set of his mouth, the hard, unforgiving angle of his jaw—he would give nothing. Yes, she’d have to be cunning to dig up any information on this man.
“Shall we play a game?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, that was quick. You didn’t even take the time to consider—”
“No.”
Two no’s in quick success. That told her something. He was the sort of fellow who would rather watch grass grow than have a bit of fun. Likely, he possessed no siblings. “It will make the time pass more quickly.”
Silence.
Waiting for an answer from him waslikewatching grass grow. “An easy game, I think. The alphabet game.”
A quick flick of his eyes in her direction before he set it back out the window. He’d opened the curtain a bit as the sun sank lazily toward the horizon. Clearly a creature of the night, preferring shadows to sun and the confines of windowless rooms to wide, open spaces.
“I’ll start,” she said. She tapped her chin. “Hm. An easy one. Apple. Your turn.”
Silence.
“Do you not know how to play? It’s quite simple. I give a word that starts with A, then you give one that starts with B, then me with C, and you with D, and so on and so forth. Now. You have B. Go ahead.”
His gaze settled fully on her, the lightest of green and glowing even in the coach’s dim light. “You’re serious? You wish to play a child’s game?”
She squirmed but held course. “Here, I’ll help you this one time. Bumblebee.”
He scowled. “Childish.”
“Odd choice, but you understand the basic concept, I see. My word is Dog.”
“I’m not doing this.”
She leaned forward. “Do you find it…exasperating?”
“I find itfoolish.”
“Goodwork, Mr. Trent.” She grinned. The exchange, so far, shed little light on the man. She knew only what she already knew—he was stubborn and serious, not given to good humor or cheer. “But I think I’m winning.”
“How in hell do you know who’s winning?”
“Oooh. Excellent, that. Let me see.” She tapped her chin again. “Instrument.”
With a sigh, he slumped the tiniest bit in his seat. “Jack.” White teeth flashed between his lips, which relaxed out of the thin line they’d been compressed into. Suddenly full, particularly the bottom lip…generous. Not a word to describe this man, but that lip… oh yes. That lip was the giving sort.
“Kiss.” A word like a whisper, a hushed sort of thing that sweeps across silence, barely reshaping it. Where had it come from, this thing that made the air thicker, difficult to breathe? She should not have kissed him at the inn. But she’d seen her sisters do it countless times, little pecks on their husbands’ cheeks, tiny shows of affection that spoke without words of the love they shared. And one word exchanged with Mr. Barlow had shown her what that man wanted from Mr. Trent. Not simply a marriage. A love match.
