Evie considered herself a fine horsewoman, and there were few activities she enjoyed more than a breakneck race across an open field, but the rugged path chosen by McAlistair was nothing like the wide pastures in which she was accustomed to riding.
They wove through trees, up and down steep hillsides, following no discernible trail at all. The man was pushing them as if he thought the devil himself were behind them.
It was a dangerous way to ride and, to Evie, that in itself was sufficient evidence that McAlistair had no knowledge of the ruse. He wouldn’t be taking such chances unless he believed them absolutely necessary.
The absurdity of it was that she knew it was completely unnecessary. Enough was enough, she decided. She’d been insulted in a letter, removed from her home, bruised in a carriage accident, and was now riding hell for leather over unfamiliar terrain, all because a few misguided meddlers thought she’d be better off with a husband. Their little scheme had ceased to amuse her.
She’d been willing to play along to a point, but that point did not extend to breaking her neck. Or McAlistair’s.
It was time to tell him the truth.
She called out to him: “Mr. McAlistair! Mr. McAlistair!”
Either he didn’t hear her, or he chose to ignore her. She finally gave up and simply pulled her horse to a stop. He’d figure out she wasn’t following him, eventually.
She didn’t have to wait long. McAlistair spun his mount around and brought it to a halt facing hers.
“Are you tired?”
She blew an errant lock out of her eyes—one of many at this point, she was sure.
“No, I’m not tired.” They’d only been riding for a quarter hour, for heaven’s sake. “I wished to s-speak to you. I…” Oh, dear, this was going to be very awkward. “The thing is, Mr. McAlistair…” She shifted in her saddle. “The thing is, this is entirely unnecessary. All this f-fuss and bother, it’s just…unnecessary,” she finished lamely.
He didn’t speak, or move, or give any indication that he’d heard her. If he hadn’t been staring directly at her, she’d have thought he wasn’t listening at all.
“It’s a ruse,” she continued with a bit more force. “A very silly ruse that’s gotten entirely out of hand.” She twisted her lips in disapproval. “A carriage accident, honestly. Someone could have been injured.”
He remained still, but unless she was mistaken, his eyes narrowed a bit. “Explain.”
“Right. Well. It’s nothing more than an absurd attempt at matchmaking, you see. The note, this trip, all of it was set up with the hope I would fall madly in love with my rescuer.”
“Who?”
She tried not to smile at the sign of jealousy. How lovely.
“I’m not entirely certain, but I suspect it’s Mr. Hunter. Odd choice for a white knight though, isn’t he? Gray perhaps—”
“No. Who’s responsible?”
“Who’s…? Oh.” Oh. “Mr. Fletcher, with Lady Thurston and Mrs. Summers. It has something to do with a deathbed promise Mr. Fletcher made to the late Duke of Rockeforte.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment. “No.”
“No?” She blinked at him. “What do you mean, no?”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. I overheard their conversation on the matter…most of it,” she amended. “Enough of it,” she added when he sent her a dubious look. “Enough to know the threatening letter was sent by Mr. Fletcher.”
“No.”
Irritation bit at her. “Yes. No. Who. Tell me, Mr. McAlistair, do you ever speak in whole, multiple-word sentences?”
“Occasionally.” He took hold of her horse’s bridle and tugged gently to start them moving again. “Ride.”
She leaned forward and slapped his hand away. “No.”
For the first time since meeting him, Evie had the occasion to see McAlistair look surprised. It was only a slight widening of his eyes, but she noticed it, just as she noticed when his brow furrowed by the smallest fraction of an inch.
“You’re not stammering.”
How thoughtful of him to point it out. “I stammer when I’m nervous, and I’m not nervous at the moment. I’m annoyed. I don’t care to be treated like some helpless idiot you can order and drag about.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
“Then why—”
“But you are mistaken.”
If she thought he’d give her the time, she would have squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten, slowly. She squeezed the reins instead, hard. “How can you be so…” Damnably bloody-minded. “…So certain this isn’t all a preposterous attempt to see me maneuvered into matrimony with the right gentleman?”
“Because,” he said with a wry hook of his lips, “she sent you with me.”
McAlistair started them forward again, and this time Evie let him.
She considered resisting further, but since he didn’t seem inclined to be reasonable, and because the pace he set was hard, but no longer dangerous, she decided against it.
Besides, he had a point.
She sent you with me.