The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens

have you given any thought as to how we may travel to London?  I take it you have inspected the stables well enough to know I wasn’t telling you a hum when I said there is no carriage.” He picked up the meager purse and let it drop again. “I doubt there is enough for two fares on the mail coach, even if we take outside passage.”
     “But you have two horses. And they are already saddled.”
     “You have no proper riding clothes and—you can’t mean...”
     “That’s exactly what I mean. It is the simplest and quickest means. I shall be your groom. Trust me, I’m quite good at pulling it off. Luc— a male cousin has on occasion taken me to mills and a tavern with no one the wiser.
    He closed his eyes. “He should be birched.” There was a slight pause. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
    “Have you another idea?” she challenged. When he didn’t answer, her mouth set in a line of grim satisfaction. “Besides,” she added. “No one will be looking for two men traveling east. Come, let’s not waste any more time.”
    Davenport pushed back from his desk. “Do you mind if I have my damn breakfast first?” he snapped irritably. “Then I intend to pack a valise. And shave.” His eyes strayed once again to her garb. “I suppose we ought to take another look in the attic as well. You’ll need...some other things if we are to carry on with this harebrained idea.” He shook his head slowly. “I should be birched, though I fear I shall face far worse before this is all over.”
    She smiled sweetly. “Of course, please see to anything you feel is necessary, my lord. As long as we are ready to leave in, say, forty five minutes?”
    He stalked from the room, muttering darkly under his breath.
    * * * *
    Caroline took a sip of tea and nibbled at a piece of toast from the tray that the earl had sent in to her. It seemed Fortune had looked kindly on her at last. Despite her boast to the earl, the thought of traveling alone, disguised as a man, having to brave the ostlers, the common rooms, the long stretches of deserted roads was a daunting, if not terrifying thought. It would be nice to have a companion, however ill-tempered.
    Good lord, he had been angry, angry enough to strike out at her. She would not have blamed him if he had, for she knew she had goaded him unmercifully with her quick tongue. Her lips compressed ruefully as she recalled how many times both her father and Lucien had warned her that a lady must learn to curb her emotions or risk placing herself beyond the pale. But the earl had held back. Some emotion she couldn’t decipher had flickered through his eyes at the last minute, holding him back. It was as if he was...ashamed of his actions.
     That puzzled her. A rakehell wasn’t supposed to have any emotions, at least not any decent ones. Or perhaps she had misunderstood Lucien’s whispered explanations on the subject—it was so annoying having to depend on someone else’s experiences for information. Regardless, it appeared the Earl of Davenport was not entirely without feeling. He could very well have let her slip to her death under the pounding hooves and not a soul would have blamed him. And then, his arm around her waist had been nearly gentle as he had helped her recover. It was all so very confusing. Even now, though he had stalked from the room in an ill temper, he had been thoughtful enough to send breakfast in to her.
    She let her breath out in a sigh. No doubt it was best not to dwell on it overly—especially those interesting eyes and pleasant laugh. All she should care about was whether he could bring her safely to town, nothing else.
    A sharp rap came on the library door. Davenport stuck his head into the room, making a point of letting his gaze linger on the clock on the mantel.
    “Are you ready? Or, like most females, do you mean forty five minutes to indicate we won’t be leaving until after noon?”
    Caroline brushed the crumbs from her breeches as she stood up