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capture?"
Adriana shot her sister an amused glance. "I'm quite ready, sir. Let me fetch my cloak."
In good weather, on good roads, the trip to London could be accomplished in a bit less than two hours. On such a wet day, the ruts and mud would slow them considerably, adding at least an hour to the journey. Adriana pinned her hat in place, gathered a novel to amuse herself with on the way, and cheerfully bustled outside to the waiting coach. It was not quite the latest style, and the paint was appearing a bit faded, but Adriana had always loved the green plush interior and the well-sprung comfort, and she smiled happily in anticipation of a journey. Tynan waited with ill-concealed impatience as she kissed Phoebe, promised to write daily about developing events, and accepted a basket of food from Monique.
She allowed the footman to hand her up, then settled her skirts about her and put her book in her lap. Tynan climbed in behind her, and the door was closed tight. The coach, which ordinarily seemed quite roomy, seemed cramped with the length of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders, and that annoyingly pervasive scent of him, somehow exaggerated this morning by the dampness.
He flung himself back against the facing seat and peered out the window. Adriana looked out to wave with a gloved hand at Monique and Phoebe, who gave one last wave and hurried inside, out of the rain.
Then it was only the two of them in the rocking coach, the sound of the wheels and the clop of hooves and the patter of rain on the roof. "Bloody awful day for the coachman," Tynan commented.
"They'll be compensated, I assure you." His mood was dark indeed, she thought, and it somehow pleased her. She had suspected he had this brooding side—the Irish were famed for it, after all—and she found it was much easier to dismiss him when he glared out the window like a tomcat with his tail swishing. Men could be such children. She smiled to herself and picked up her book.
"What are you so cheerful about?" he growled.
Adriana looked up. "Why, I'm cheerful by nature, sir! And I do love being abroad of a morning, heading into town. I have not ventured far from Hartwood since my father died, and I find I'm rather pleased—no matter what the circumstances—to be off on a bit of an adventure."
"Mmmm."
"One might ask what's made you so ill-tempered." She said it lightly, edging the words with brightness, so he would know she laughed inwardly at him.
He only glared. One did not laugh at a cat, after all. "I loathe this journey. It bores me."
"I have another book," she offered, reaching for her bag, tucked beneath her skirts. She pulled out a bound edition of Voltaire's
Questions sur L'Encyclopedia
and handed it to him.
He glanced at it. "I don't read French."
"Ah. Well, then, take mine." She handed it to him.
Tynan took it, read the title, and she watched him attempt to hide his smile. "
Clarissa
." He lost the battle with his sense of humor, and he chuckled, the blue eyes lighting—finally—with that glint she'd grown to enjoy. "I assume you're reminding yourself of the evil intentions of rakes."
Adriana lifted her chin. "Exactly."
He returned the book. "I wouldn't want to hold you from your edification."
"I suppose you're one of those men who scorns romances in favor of those pompous tomes by Fielding and Defoe."
"And if I am, if I say that women have muddled the field of novels, and Richardson is an embarrassment?"
He'd begun in a slump, but with these words he straightened, as if warming to his subject.
Exactly as she wished. "Is that your claim or not, sir?"
"I'm an Irishman," he said with a lazy smile. "We're quite fond of romances."
"So you've read Richardson, have you?"
"Does that surprise you? I prefer the happy ending, myself. All these tragic endings…" Shadows flickered beneath the sooty lashes. "There's enough tragedy in real life for me, without seeking books with them."
She inclined her head. "Refreshing. Though I admit
Adriana shot her sister an amused glance. "I'm quite ready, sir. Let me fetch my cloak."
In good weather, on good roads, the trip to London could be accomplished in a bit less than two hours. On such a wet day, the ruts and mud would slow them considerably, adding at least an hour to the journey. Adriana pinned her hat in place, gathered a novel to amuse herself with on the way, and cheerfully bustled outside to the waiting coach. It was not quite the latest style, and the paint was appearing a bit faded, but Adriana had always loved the green plush interior and the well-sprung comfort, and she smiled happily in anticipation of a journey. Tynan waited with ill-concealed impatience as she kissed Phoebe, promised to write daily about developing events, and accepted a basket of food from Monique.
She allowed the footman to hand her up, then settled her skirts about her and put her book in her lap. Tynan climbed in behind her, and the door was closed tight. The coach, which ordinarily seemed quite roomy, seemed cramped with the length of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders, and that annoyingly pervasive scent of him, somehow exaggerated this morning by the dampness.
He flung himself back against the facing seat and peered out the window. Adriana looked out to wave with a gloved hand at Monique and Phoebe, who gave one last wave and hurried inside, out of the rain.
Then it was only the two of them in the rocking coach, the sound of the wheels and the clop of hooves and the patter of rain on the roof. "Bloody awful day for the coachman," Tynan commented.
"They'll be compensated, I assure you." His mood was dark indeed, she thought, and it somehow pleased her. She had suspected he had this brooding side—the Irish were famed for it, after all—and she found it was much easier to dismiss him when he glared out the window like a tomcat with his tail swishing. Men could be such children. She smiled to herself and picked up her book.
"What are you so cheerful about?" he growled.
Adriana looked up. "Why, I'm cheerful by nature, sir! And I do love being abroad of a morning, heading into town. I have not ventured far from Hartwood since my father died, and I find I'm rather pleased—no matter what the circumstances—to be off on a bit of an adventure."
"Mmmm."
"One might ask what's made you so ill-tempered." She said it lightly, edging the words with brightness, so he would know she laughed inwardly at him.
He only glared. One did not laugh at a cat, after all. "I loathe this journey. It bores me."
"I have another book," she offered, reaching for her bag, tucked beneath her skirts. She pulled out a bound edition of Voltaire's
Questions sur L'Encyclopedia
and handed it to him.
He glanced at it. "I don't read French."
"Ah. Well, then, take mine." She handed it to him.
Tynan took it, read the title, and she watched him attempt to hide his smile. "
Clarissa
." He lost the battle with his sense of humor, and he chuckled, the blue eyes lighting—finally—with that glint she'd grown to enjoy. "I assume you're reminding yourself of the evil intentions of rakes."
Adriana lifted her chin. "Exactly."
He returned the book. "I wouldn't want to hold you from your edification."
"I suppose you're one of those men who scorns romances in favor of those pompous tomes by Fielding and Defoe."
"And if I am, if I say that women have muddled the field of novels, and Richardson is an embarrassment?"
He'd begun in a slump, but with these words he straightened, as if warming to his subject.
Exactly as she wished. "Is that your claim or not, sir?"
"I'm an Irishman," he said with a lazy smile. "We're quite fond of romances."
"So you've read Richardson, have you?"
"Does that surprise you? I prefer the happy ending, myself. All these tragic endings…" Shadows flickered beneath the sooty lashes. "There's enough tragedy in real life for me, without seeking books with them."
She inclined her head. "Refreshing. Though I admit
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