The Rogue's Proposal by Jennifer Haymore Read Free Book Online

the other
     side of the road were any indication.
    He looked like a carefree London gentleman. Not like a man who was about to depart
     on an arduous four-hundred-mile journey across the country.
    He grinned that mischievous grin of his, and his blue eyes sparkled in the noontime
     sunlight. “What do you think?”
    Other carriages—more acceptable modes of transportation—traversed the road behind
     him. The street smelled of the city—Bristol had a salty tang to it, as if it could
     never quite wash the ocean residue from its streets. People walked in and out of the
     busy inn, their coats drawn tight like her own pelisse was.
    When she didn’t answer Luke’s question, he stepped down and secured the horses, then
     came to stand beside her.
    “I obtained it for an excellent price.” Taking her elbow and steering her around to
     the back of the spindly thing, he added, “This is a traveling curricle. You see—they
     added a boot to the area where the tiger is meant to stand.”
    “Wouldn’t you prefer a chaise?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
    He arched a cocky eyebrow at her. “No. Then I’d have to hire a driver.”
    He was a duke’s brother. Surely he was in possession of the funds to hire a driver.
     She frowned at him.
    “I prefer to do the driving myself, Emma. If I’m not to ride my own horse across England,
     then at least I can drive.”
    She tried not to flinch at that. She knew her presence was an inconvenience to him,
     knew that he’d ridden into town on a lone mount. He wouldn’t have needed to secure
     a carriage at all if she hadn’t demanded to join him.
    Taking a deep breath, she said, “I understand. But…it seems… frail . I have my doubts as to whether it can endure traveling the length of England.”
    She had visions of hitting a rock in the road and it crashing into splinters. Splinters
     in the case of the carriage. A mass of bloody, broken limbs for her and Luke’s part,
     as well as the poor horses’.
    She looked at them—a slender and lithe gray and a stout black. A mismatched pair if
     she’d ever seen one.
    Luke’s blue eyes slid toward her, and he squeezed her elbow gently. “Are you afraid?”
     he asked softly. “I don’t believe this will be a journey for the fearful.”
    “I’m not afraid of the journey,” she said, her shoulders firming. “I’m afraid of this
     carriage. Do you intend to kill us?”
    “Not you,” he said.
    What did that mean? She didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead she continued.
     “And the weather is changing. What if it rains?”
    “There is a hood.”
    She turned to face him, her brows furrowed in a scowl, and she tried not to grind
     her teeth too furiously. “Yes. I see the hood.” It was a tiny thing that would provide
     less cover than a flimsy umbrella.
    He gazed at her, one eyebrow quirked up, his eyes glowing with bemusement.
    She gestured toward the back of the curricle, where the hood had been folded down.
     “That will keep us dry in a ten-minute drizzle. On a day of hard travel through pouring
     rain? We’ll be soaked through, then catch pneumonia, and”—she snapped her fingers—“just
     like that we’ll be dead.”
    He chuckled. “In days of heavy rain, then, I propose that we stay ensconced in the
     warm, dry comfort of the nearest inn. In bed, of course.”
    Emma gave him a narrow-eyed look, but there was nothing she could do. Beggars couldn’t
     be choosers, and she certainly didn’t have the means to obtain a more comfortable
     mode of transportation herself.
    “Very well,” she said, sighing. “I shall just pray you’re not leading us to our deaths.”
    *  *  *
    Two hours later, they had left the city of Bristol behind and were heading north on
     the Bristol Road under a cool, watery blue sky. They would not travel far today, because
     it was already midafternoon and it grew dark early this time of year.
    Consulting one of the books of the two-volume Paterson’s