Clandestine (9 page)

He patted the horse’s neck again. Shrugged. “I am glad that today has been fortunate for one of us, at least.”

Marc swallowed and let out a slow breath, continuing to rub the horse. Mostly to give the illusion of being busy.

Wow. He was
so
utterly out of his depth.

Ninja Pirate 1
had most definitely
not
prepared him for situations like this.

Though who knew all the horse jumping training he had undergone for that western cattle-heist flick (
The Quick and the Spurious
—it was huge in India) would prove so useful.

He had stopped the horse based entirely on muscle-memory and then turned . . .

. . . to find
this
woman staring at him.

He didn’t know what he had expected a nineteenth century woman to look like . . . but she was most certainly not it.

She sat on the carriage bench swaddled in a cloak and seemingly twenty layers of clothing. Composed and steady, despite the undoubtedly frightening ordeal with her horse. She didn’t seem like a woman who could be easily rattled. More like a fierce huntress with her hair torn loose and fluttering wildly around her face, spilling onto her shoulders.

Brown-ish hair . . . though it wasn’t exactly brown. It glinted with reds and golds too and curled everywhere.

Definitely not simple brown, now that he considered it. He was sure Emme would have an exact word for the color. Auburn, maybe?

And huge, wide-set brown eyes that somehow matched the color of her hair, golden and warm.

So again, not quite brown really.

They looked out inquisitively, framed between dark arching eyebrows and high cheekbones. He could tell she was tall, even seated.

And then there was her feisty, quick wit.

All in all, she reminded him vaguely of Katherine Hepburn in her prime. An
Adam’s Rib
Katharine Hepburn.

Bottom line . . . she was stunning.

Which was entirely unexpected. Why had he always assumed that women in the past would be more quiet and submissive? Somehow . . . less than women in the modern age.

This woman was clearly none of those things.

What had she said her name was? Miss Ashton?

She
clearly
hadn’t appreciated his teasing refusal to introduce himself, but Marc was hesitant to tell anyone his name until he had chatted with Arthur.

Though, would it hurt to tell her his first name? He hadn’t considered that. Was he being rude? He didn’t want to be rude. Particularly not to her.

Just so . . . out of his depth. The sooner he found Arthur and had a crash course in nineteenth century etiquette, the better.

She shifted on the carriage seat. “Well, as you are a
friend . . .
” She lingered on the word, rendering it so very, very dry.

“Marc,” he said without thinking.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If we
are
to be friends, call me Marc. All my friends do.”

Miss Ashton stilled, giving him a puzzled look. So maybe that hadn’t been the best idea after all. Women probably didn’t call unknown men by their first names. Ouch. What a terrible faux pas—

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to . . . give offense—”

“No, no need to apologize.” Miss Ashton waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I am not so missish as to stand by ceremony. I was just . . . surprised, is all. I do believe I heard a certain gentleman declare just moments ago that he never raises a white flag.” She raised both eyebrows. Challenging.

“Perhaps this certain . . . gentleman is willing to make an exception for a
friend
.” Marc matched her challenging look.

“Perhaps.” The lovely Miss Ashton tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “Though such turnabout smacks of a fickle nature. Not something I should wish in a friend.”

Ah. Clever. She
would
be clever.

“Not even two minutes into our friendship, and you are already taking me in hand, trying to reform me. Change my very nature—”

“Precisely. How fortunate for you to recognize early on the value of our friendship.” Miss Ashton smiled, her expression a heady mixture of charm and wicked delight. “But if you are to be Marc to me, then I must be Kit to you.”

“Kit.” Marc tried out her name, liking how it captured her. Bold and strong.

“Marc,” she responded, tipping her head at him as if in greeting. Which he supposed they were finally doing.

She paused and then continued. “Is that short for Marcus, perhaps?”

She asked the question innocently enough, but there was a hesitancy in it. How could his given name mean anything to her?

“Why, yes, in fact it is.”

She nodded. “May I ask how you happened to be along the lane to Haldon Manor? I thought I had been introduced to all the gentlemen in Marfield.”

Right. How to explain his presence here?

Wait. How nineteenth century-ish did his language need to be in order for him to blend in? Damn . . . or, er, drat. He needed to pay more attention to the words leaving his mouth.

He had been thinking about it as adopting a character, like he was doing research for an upcoming film project. Something suitably Jane Austen-ish, using his most posh British accent.

So far she hadn’t seemed too surprised by his language.

He could do this. He had read
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
after all. He just needed to keep using fancy words. Lots of them.

“I do not hail from Marfield, so it would be unlikely for us to have formed a prior acquaintance.”

What a mouthful. Though he was quite proud of himself for it. Did it sound stuffy enough?

He assessed her. She sat coolly composed in the carriage, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself.

No reaction. That was good, right?

“Naturally, I had surmised as much,” she said. “Yet how does a gentleman find himself upon a private lane without carriage or horse?”

Yeah. That was an excellent question. How
does
a gentleman end up on a private lane without a carriage or horse? What logical explanation could he possibly give?

Trust Miss Katharine Ashton—Kit, he mentally corrected—to be stunning, feisty
and
intelligent.

Things he generally loved in a woman . . . under different circumstances. But for the moment . . .

She stared at him intently, as if seeing right through his bumbling facade. Politely waiting for his reply.

And then Marc hit upon the perfect explanation.

“I fear I was robbed.”

Kit looked gratifyingly shocked.

“Robbed? Heavens! How terrifying!”

“Yes, indeed it was.” Marc adopted his movie-mournful face—the one he perfected when playing a doctor dealing with terminal patients in
The Docs of Hazard
. “Highwaymen. Four of them. They came upon me as I traveled this morning, forced me off my horse at gunpoint and galloped off with all my possessions. At least they left me my clothing.” He gestured down at the greatcoat.

Kit seemed concerned. Perhaps
too
concerned.

“How horrid. What did the men look like?” She leaned forward, eager for his answer.

“Uh . . . it is hard to say. They had kerchiefs tied around their faces and hats pulled down low,” Marc said and then instantly rethought his words.

Is that how highwaymen dressed in 1814? Or was he just thinking of John Wayne westerns?

Kit didn’t seem to find his description odd. She pursed her lips.

“So would you say the men were fair or dark? Tall or short?”

Why the follow-up questions?

“I . . . hardly remember. A little of both I suppose.”

She gave an exasperated huff. “How can the criminals be apprehended if you cannot provide an accurate description of them?”

Damn.

That was the last thing he needed. Innocent men being arrested because he fingered them in his fictional robbery.

“Well, I shall think upon it carefully and see what I can remember. I would hate to provide a false description . . .” That, at least, was the truth.

Again, the silence stretched a little too long.

Her gaze narrowed. “I had thought you were perhaps an escapee from the circus.”

“Circus?” That startled a laugh from him.

“The jumping onto the horse and all . . .” She trailed off helpfully, giving a flick of her wrist.

Marc finally caught the teasing glint in her eyes.

“Or perhaps you are more clown than acrobat?” Her eyebrows raised a sardonic inch.

Ah. Stunning, intelligent
and
snarky.

A lethal combination.

Unbidden, he smiled. Snark was a language he spoke fluently. Was nineteenth century snark any different? He sincerely hoped not.

“Indeed. How did you know?”

She grinned. “Consider it a fortunate guess.”

“‘Tis such a pity. My parents had such hopes of a fine career as a lion tamer, but alas, I am always bound to disappoint. I was more suited for clown-ery in the end.”

Wait. Was he
flirting
with her?

“Clown-ery? Really?”

“Clownishness?” he offered.

“How about we settle on buffoonery?”

Slowly, they both smiled at each other. She had a lovely smile, wide and full of mischief.

He reflected it right back at her.

A shared sense of . . . awareness passed between them. One creature recognizing another of its same species.

Yes, there was definitely some flirting going on.

Heaven help him.

Chapter 6

I
say, Miss Ashton, was that you?” A voice suddenly called from the opposite side of the road.

Marc whipped his head around and looked over the top of the horse to see two gentlemen nearly running out of the trees, hunting dogs yapping around them. Dressed like himself in long overcoats that fell to their heels, rifles tucked against shoulders, though both men sported beaver hats and leather gloves. Right behind them came what must be three servants in rougher clothing.

The taller of the gentlemen gestured with a concerned look. “Jedediah’s shot went wide, and we heard a woman scream.”

Kit gave a forced laugh. “Mr. Knight, I am quite well, as you can see. Though the shot did startle my poor horse.”

“Dash it, Arthur. I told you it was nothing.” The shorter of the gentlemen—Jedediah, Marc presumed—grimaced in annoyance as they came near. “‘Tis only Mother’s companion and everything is obviously set to rights.” He pulled off his hat and wiped his brow.

Kit stiffened in her seat.

Had the man been offensive? Marc wasn’t sure.

But wait—hadn’t he just referred to the taller man as Arthur?

Marc nearly sagged with relief. Hallelujah! And not a moment too soon. Arthur would know how to smooth all this over.

The men stopped alongside the gig, the hunting dogs continuing to run round and round. One of the servants called the dogs to heel, and then everyone finally spotted Marc standing by the horse’s withers on the opposite side.

Noticing their stares, Kit gestured toward Marc.

“This kind gentleman appeared at just the right moment to stop the horse. I am quite sure he saved my poor neck.” Her laugh seemed a little forced.

“Well, a proper thank you is in order then.” Arthur nodded his head in Marc’s direction.

“It was remarkable. He leapt onto the back of the galloping horse.” Kit gestured. “And right after being accosted by highwaymen too.”

Arthur’s head jerked to attention.

“Highwaymen?”

“Yes, this gentleman had his horse and possessions stolen out from underneath him at gunpoint.”

The servants let out gasps of alarm while the dogs, sensing the instant tension, started running in circles again. Arthur called them to heel.

“Gracious!” Jedediah exclaimed. “I say, Arthur, what kind of place is Herefordshire turning into? First all those robberies and now this?”

Arthur shook his head. “‘Tis most disconcerting, to be sure.” He gave Marc a shrewd, assessing look.

For all his stuffiness, Arthur Knight was not a fool.

“You have brought quite a bit of excitement to our corner of the world, sir.”

Arthur gave Marc a polite bow and then waited expectantly.

Marc gathered this was the point at which he was supposed to introduce himself. But given what a mess he had made of introductions so far, he would be better off holding his tongue.

With a tight smile, Marc walked around the horse and gave both men a polite bow. At least, he hoped it was polite.

“Mr. Arthur Knight, I presume.”

“Indeed, I am he. It seems we are in your debt, Mr. . . .” Arthur let his voice drift off, obviously expecting Marc to finish the introduction.

Unsure, Marc shot a glance at the crowd of people and dogs, all watching with interest.

“Might I have a word with you in private, Arth—uh, Mr. Knight?” Marc gestured for them to walk up the road a ways.

Arthur dragged his eyes up and down Marc’s clothing. No doubt noting his odd footwear and lacking hat and gloves.

“If you wish.” Arthur nodded after a moment. “I would appreciate a recounting of the robbery which landed you here.”