Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns by Leigh LaValle Page A

and waved a tiny little foot at Roane.
    “Well, Mittens, it is nice to meet you. Sorry we don’t have time to stay and chat, but you must be off.”
    Meow .
    Helen gave Mittens one last little pat on his head. “Go find your mama.”
    The cat blinked at her with big, sorrowful eyes.
    “You don’t know where your mama is, do you?” Oh, he broke her heart.
    Roane was at her side now, his hands on his hips, glaring at the offending kitten. “Of course he knows where his mother is. She’ll be back any minute with his dinner.”
    “But what if she doesn’t return? He could have been up in that tree for days. Look how thin he is. He is but skin and bones. And so weak. He can barely fight me.” She wiggled her finger at the kitten. He batted it, then plopped down on the ground.
    “Haven’t you heard the term as weak as a kitten ?”
    “But I know kittens and Mittens is not healthy.” Helen’s stomach let out an unladylike growl.
    Roane turned his glare at her. “And when is the last time you had a proper meal?”
    A proper meal, well, that would be some time ago. Her mouth watered just thinking of it. A roast rack of lamb, with spring potatoes and asparagus soup. And biscuits. And strawberry pie.
    Her stomach rumbled again. “I had soup at the inn the night before last.”
    At her feet, Mittens nuzzled the saddlebag with his little pink nose. Helen gave him another morsel of cheese.
    “If you keep feeding that mongrel, he’ll never go find his mother.” Roane scrubbed his face. “And soup two days ago is hardly a meal. You fish, I should be able to trap a few rabbits.”
    Her stomach agreed with this wise plan. Her brain did not. “Me? Fish?”
    “Yes, you. It’s quite simple, fishing. Even children do it. I am confident you will catch on quickly.”
    “But fish are slimy and wet and…” She shivered.
    Roane laughed, and her heart did a funny hop. “Ah, the princess does not want to get her hands dirty?”
    “It isn’t polite to tease.” She scowled at him, annoyed by her reaction to that easy laugh. “Do you have a rod?”
    “Of course I have a rod.” He wiggled his brows. “A very big one, in fact.”
    “For fishing.” Her voice was flat as a pan.
    “Ah, for fishing .” He winked . “No, but I can construct one for you. Look for some worms or other insects, will you?”
    Helen watched Roane take off through the trees. Worms and insects? She wished he were joking but knew he wasn’t. She gave Mittens a few more bites of cheese and walked down to the cool water.
    How did one go about looking for worms? She tried to recall what her brothers did. As children, they were always lifting up rocks and dead logs and peering under them.
    She crouched down and tipped over the closest rock.
    Good Lord.
    Her hand flew to her throat, and she nearly stumbled back. A veritable zoo of disgusting bugs slithered and crawled around the bottom of the rock. She ought to let Roane deal with the insects, but the sight of his teasing, smug face was too much to bear.
    She wasn’t sure which kind of bugs were best, the slithering kind or the crawling kind. With the tip of her boot, Helen turned over the next rock. Biting her lip to muffle her cries of disgust, she plucked four slithering, slimy pink bodies from the mud and deposited them on a leaf.
    Roane slipped through the bushes, a makeshift fishing pole in hand. “Ready?”
    “Of course.” She thrust the leaf-full of worms at him, willing him to take it at once.
    He looked down at the squirming bugs then back at her. A boyish grin lit up his face. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
    Frankly, neither did she.
    The worms were disgusting. Revolting, really. But handing them over filled her with so much pride (and relief) she smiled back at Roane.
    He took the worm-covered leaf from her hand, rolled it up and placed it on a large rock. His eyes were warm when he glanced back at her and his gaze dipped down to her lips. “I like that smile,