After the Kiss by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m merely wondering why you want me to stand here, spinning.”
    “Walk on.” With another flick the mare walked forward again. “What are your intentions?”
    Isabel gazed at his handsome profile, admitting to herself that if he’d been a pock-faced drunkard, he would be in gaol already. “What are your intentions?”
    “No business of yours.”
    She took a deep breath, feeling as though she were about to take her first step onto a very rickety bridge strung across a very deep chasm. “I hold your freedom, if not your life, inmy hands, Mr. Waring. You will be civil to me, and you will do as I ask—which includes answering any and all questions I put to you. Is that clear?”
    He turned his head to look full at her, his green eyes hard and cold as ice. “As you wish, my lady,” he half growled. “May I please ask what you intend to do with me, though, when you’re finished playing this little game?”
    A thrill ran through her. Power. She’d never held anyone’s life at her mercy, and had never thought to do so. Goodness. “I haven’t decided yet.”
    Slowly he nodded. “You’d best do so, because my patience runs only so deep. And you aren’t the only one capable of making plans.”
    “Are you certain it’s wise to give me an ultimatum?” she asked.
    “Hm.”
    “‘Hm’? What is that supposed to mean?”
    A muscle in his jaw twitched. “It means that I think you have no idea what you’re doing. You saw me, so you feel as though you can’t simply walk the other way, but I kissed you and you liked it, so you don’t wish to send me to the hangman.”
    Her cheeks heated, though she wasn’t entirely certain whether it was because of embarrassment or frustration. If he continued to understand her that clearly, she didn’t stand a chance of keeping him beneath her thumb until she’d wrung all of the excitement out of the situation. “I did not like your kiss,” she hissed. “It was such a poor effort that I felt sorry for you. My compassion, however, is swiftly being overwhelmed by—”
    “You felt sorry for me?” he repeated. “If you feel sorry for anything, it should be that I was forced to kiss you at all.”
    Isabel raised her arm, her fist clenched. “You will not—”
    “Be cautious, my lady,” he murmured. “We do have an audience.”
    She glanced toward the stable, where half the servants employed there seemed to be gawking at both of them. No, not at both of them, she amended. At him. At the famous Mr. Sullivan Waring. “I think you’re the one who has no clue how to proceed,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage. “A true thief and blackguard would have slit my throat. You’re training my mare.”
    “Whoa,” he said again, and Zephyr came to a stop. “Just for my edification,” he said quietly, something that sounded like humor softening his voice, “are you actually complaining that I didn’t kill you night before last?”
    This conversation was supposed to be her method of gaining information about him and his motives. Instead she’d walked into an argument when she couldn’t seem to manage even to get the last word. At the same time, she was learning some things about him. He didn’t talk like a horse breeder, for example. Grooms didn’t use words like “edification.”
    “You may think we’re at an impasse,” she countered slowly, reflecting that she couldn’t even recall the last time a man had challenged anything she’d said, “but you’re here this morning, and you’ll be back this afternoon. And you’ll come here tomorrow and the day after and the day after that, until I say otherwise.”
    His jaw clenched again. “For now, my lady.”
    “Keep working Zephyr. I feel the need for a glass of lemonade. I’ll return shortly.”
    “I wait with bated breath, my lady. Zephyr, walk on.”
    “Yes, do continue.” Before she became embroiled in another argument or he could come back with yet another retort, Isabel turned and headed