He glowered at Pen while his horses stamped on the cobblestones and tugged at the reins to evade this madwoman. Would she budge if he tried again? She was so blasted mulish, he suspected that she wouldn’t. He might want to strangle her, but he drew the line at cold-blooded murder.
Not that there was anything cold-blooded about his reactions. He wished to Hades there was.
“Come on, then,” he said grimly, firming his hold on the reins.
He waited for some evidence of relief or gratitude, but Pen calmly stepped around his horses, patting them on the way. “Thank you, Jenkins.”
His coachman bowed to her. “Your Grace.”
She stood beside the carriage and passed Cam the bag. “Help me up?”
“Don’t push it,” he growled, but he reached for her. Once she was settled, he dug around under the seat and found a travel rug which he shoved ungraciously in her direction. It was a deuced cold night for early May.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Don’t expect any more concessions to female weakness. This isn’t a pleasure jaunt.”
He glanced at her, but she stared straight ahead as if she didn’t hear him. Although she did. She might suffer a poor grasp of ethics, but her hearing had always been excellent. Feeling he’d bartered his dignity enough, he clicked his tongue to the horses.
They were well out of London before he spoke. “You took a damned risk back there.”
He still felt sick to think that he might have lost control of his highly strung horses. Sick, and furious with Pen for placing herself in such danger out of sheer obstinacy.
“Not really,” she said steadily, staring at the road ahead.
“The horses could have charged you.”
“You had them in hand.”
Perversely her trust made him angrier. He’d trusted her and she’d let him down. “Running you down held a certain appeal,” he admitted, even as he reminded himself that silence was safer.
“I know,” she said in a subdued voice.
A quick glance revealed her desolate expression. He closed his heart against her. She was a deceitful snake. A man didn’t hug a deceitful snake unless he wanted to be bitten. And Cam had had quite enough of Pen’s poison.
After hours of traveling, Pen was stiff and frozen and queasy with regret and guilt. Cam hadn’t spoken to her since their exchange about that fraught scene outside Rothermere House.
He did a wonderful impression of a man impervious to feeling, but she’d seen his eyes when he’d learned that she’d helped Harry. She’d only realized how much he’d opened up to her when he’d stared at her like a stranger. The uncompromising line of his jaw told her that he’d cut off his arm before he’d trust her again.
As they stopped at yet another inn and the ostlers rushed to change the horses, Cam jumped to the ground with an energy that made Pen cringe. They’d left the chestnuts behind two inns ago, not that she’d noticed much difference. At this speed, nothing countered the rough roads. At least it wasn’t raining, but the wind was icy and belonged more to winter than nascent spring.
“Would you like something to eat?” Cam asked in a stern voice.
She sought some sign of relenting. But his eyes were colder than the wind and the smile lines that she loved so much were absent. Still, at previous stops he’d made no concessions to her comfort, so perhaps things weren’t as bad as they had been.
“I don’t want to hold you up.” After the long silence, her voice sounded rusty.
“Half an hour won’t make much difference.”
“Very well,” she said. “Thank you.”
To save him from touching her disgusting self—he’d ostentatiously avoided contact, despite the phaeton’s restricted space—she moved, wincing at her numb backside. But she’d misjudged the effects of sitting still so long. The moment her feet hit the cobbles, her legs folded.
She released a soft cry and grabbed for the carriage. Then strong arms caught her and lifted her high. It was like the time she’d collapsed after the shipwreck. Cam hadn’t liked her much then either. But that had been because he wanted her and couldn’t have her. This time, he didn’t like her because she’d betrayed him. Despair clenched her empty belly.
“I can walk,” she said, just as she had then.
“Shut up,” he said frostily and carried her into the inn’s blessed warmth. The innkeeper directed them to a private parlor. Over her head, Pen heard Cam questioning him about whether Leath had stopped here. Apparently he had about an hour ago. They still had hopes of catching the marquess.