“You want company,” Stephen said, “I am not it.”
They rode ten paces in silence, then Owen chuckled.
“Touchy,” he said. “I did not expect you to be so. Perhaps I had misjudged.”
“We are clear on where we stand,” Stephen said. “It would be good to dispel the delusion that you and I have anything in common.”
“I shall be careful not to confide further,” Owen returned. “Though I get the sense that you are behaving in this manner because I mentioned Miss Havenford. Perhaps you are sensitive about her."
“I consider her a friend,” Stephen smiled again, but it was a dangerous kind.
“Then, should I be careful around that friend of yours?” Owen questioned.
“If you choose to do so, you would have made the first good decision of your life.” Stephen’s tone was not to the point where he was yelling. But there was something unsettling about it, and he noticed the shift in Owen’s expression.
But Owen was quick to cover it up with a laugh. Often as cowards do.
“Is that a threat?” Owen asked, still laughing.
“That is arule,” Stephen said. “And a suggestion. Men who break rules near me tend to discover how few friends they truly have.”
Owen’s horse shied at a shout and steadied it with competent hands and grinned at Stephen, uncertain whether to feel complimented or warned.
“This has been very instructive, Your Grace. I shall tell the story at my club.”
“It will not be told,” Stephen said, “Not by you. On this subject, you will discover a rare talent for discretion.”
Owen opened his mouth as if to protest and then seemed to think better of it. He tipped two fingers from his hat and dropped back to the center of the field.
Stephen watched him go with the even look of a man measuring distance for a shot he intended to take later. Then he turned his horse’s head toward the trees.
He could end it today. One push and Owen would be escorted off the property before supper. But that would leave him free to tell a different story tomorrow in a different house. It would leave ten girls to wonder whether they had been the only fools in the history of fools. It would leave Maria exposed to the idea that her judgment had wandered near a cliff she had not seen.
No. There was a cleaner way.
And that was what Stephen was going to do.
CHAPTER 9
Maria had just dismissed her maid and was unpinning the last stubborn curl when her door opened without a knock.
Stephen stepped in.
Stephen?Was she seeing this correctly? What was he doing here?
He shut the door behind him and gave her no greeting. Instead, he started pacing the length of her rug.
“Your Grace?” Maria clutched her wrapper tighter. “You cannot be here.”
“I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair and kept walking. “Indulge me for one minute.”
“You have already taken thirty seconds.”
The sides of her mouth were threatening to twitch into a smile. It was funny, she thought to herself, just how often she kept finding herself alone with him.
“Fine.” He stopped, hands on his hips, then started again. “Do you have any other suitor?”
“What?” she replied, confused by his question.