The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens Page B

ladies?” she inquired through gritted teeth.
    He finally turned to look at her. “Ladies?” His brows arched up as his eyes swept over her breeches, shabby coat and drooping cap. “I thought I was riding with my groom. As such, there is little need to be charming.” With that, he spurred Nero into a trot.
    Some time later, they made a brief stop beside a river to allow the horses to drink and take a short respite from the road. Davenport fished out a packet of cold ham and a wedge of Stilton, along with half a loaf of bread and a bottle of cider out of his bag. He laid everything out on the ground, and after helping himself to a good portion, went to stand with his back to her, looking out over the water as he ate.
    His behavior was worse than boorish, decided Caroline  as she helped herself to a few morsels. But then, what else should she expect from a such a man? Why, he probably had no more sense of civility than his horse. If he was determined to be unspeakably rude throughout the entire trip, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that it piqued her. And she certainly wouldn’t admit she wasn’t up to matching his stamina, which was an admission he also seemed intent upon wresting from her. So though she dearly would have liked to linger and rest her aching limbs in the late morning sun, she hurriedly finished the last of her cheese and caught up the reins of her mount.
    “Whenever you are ready,” she called with a show of obvious impatience as she  hoisted herself into the saddle.
    Davenport threw the remains of his meal into the swirling currents and remounted without a word.
    * * * *
    He was being unspeakable rude. He knew it, yet the knowledge only made him feel  more disgruntled at his situation. It was his own fault, really, but that stark truth also did nothing to improve his humor. What the devil had caused him to agree to shepherd the young lady to London? The money? He wanted to tell himself it was that, but he knew the truth. Something in those sparking eyes had revealed a touching vulnerability. And he, fool that he was, had been incapable of turning his back to it.
    His hands tightened on the reins, causing the big stallion to shy to one side. With a silent curse, he patted the horse’s neck in apology, then suddenly urged him into a full gallop, as if the effort could give vent to his anger. A string of oaths followed, all directed at himself. How had he been such a gudgeon once again, to let a helpless young lady use him to her advantage?
    His mouth quirked involuntarily at the corners as he recalled the image of her pounding neck and leather out over the field on his stallion—perhaps helpless was not exactly the right word for this young lady. But then his jaw set as he wondered, not for the first time, why it seemed to be the cruel ones that attracted the opposite sex, like a moth to a flame. Helen’s face came to mind, her porcelain skin suspiciously darkened, her eyes desperate, crying for help. He had forgiven her for turning to him after—but he had not forgiven himself.
    It wouldn’t ever happen again. He meant to care for nothing but himself now, nothing but his lands and restoring them and his name to respectability. This morning had been a regrettable lapse in judgement, but he had been tired and preoccupied with other problems. She had taken him by surprise. It was damned unfair of her to expect him to be her knight in shining armor.
    Well, he wouldn’t be. He would merely be the mercenary. Get her to her family, collect his blunt—if there truly was any to collect—and be gone, as quickly as possible. That was all she had hired him for. And that was all she would bloody well get.
    * * * *
    It was damned unfair of him, she fumed as she coaxed her tired horse into a gallop. Why should he be so angry at her? She could hardly be accused of forcing him to agree to the deal. And he would be well paid for his effort. So what was causing him to act in such an unpleasant