McAlistair was right on one score. Evie was smiling by the time she deemed her gown dry enough—and adequately brushed free of pondweed—to endure a long ride in the saddle. She wouldn’t have described herself as happy, and she hadn’t suddenly forgotten that McAlistair had chosen not to kiss her. It was simply that, in Evie’s opinion, smiling was the most advantageous of the limited options available to her.
Feigning a pleasant mood was the most expedient way to hide her injured vanity. Reason told her that if McAlistair found her unattractive, he wouldn’t have already kissed her twice. But reason and vanity often existed independently of each other, and while she accepted and generally refused to dwell on the matter of her flawed countenance, it was impossible to wholly ignore the ugly scar that marred her face and the leg that was more often hindrance than help. It was similarly impossible to keep from wondering if McAlistair had kissed her not because he found her attractive, but because he pitied her.
That idea, however irrational, wounded deeply. And because it did, she searched out other excuses for his behavior.
Perhaps McAlistair had failed to kiss her for no other reason than that he hadn’t realized kissing had clearly been in order. He’d been a hermit a very long time, after all, and he’d already made it apparent he was rather out of practice when it came to reading the moods of others. Hadn’t she tossed him in the pond for that very reason? True, he’d noticed she was put out before her walk, but temper was easier to see than desire. Anger was an emotion recognized from earliest childhood.
It was a much simpler matter to smile as they rode away from the pond, once Evie took into consideration McAlistair’s lack of exposure to…well, anyone in recent years.
Chatting, however, was beyond her. She felt better, even reconciled, but not cheerful. They spent the next hour in silence, with McAlistair once again dashing off this way and that—not that he looked dashing, he was merely engaged in the act of dashing—and Evie watching the scenery.
They followed the same meandering stream until it joined a small river, and then followed the river until it emptied into a small cove of salt water. Beyond the cove, Evie could see the more turbulent waters of the North Sea and its long beaches of golden sand.
It was a picturesque scene—the pristine shore, the bright flashes of amber light from the setting sun reflecting off the waves. She stopped her horse, turned her face into the soft breeze coming off the water, and breathed in the sea air.
McAlistair rode up beside her. “Something the matter?”
She shook her head. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s lovely from the cottage as well.”
“Is that a hint for me to move?” she asked with a laugh.
“Merely a reminder the cottage isn’t far.”
“I see.” She nudged her horse forward and wondered if he was eager to be rid of her.
Rather than ride off ahead, as she expected, McAlistair pulled his horse up alongside hers. “Will you confront Mrs. Summers when we arrive?” he asked.
She bit her lip. Distracted by thoughts of McAlistair, she’d neglected to give the matter serious consideration. “I suppose…I suppose that depends.”
“On?”
“You.”
“Ah.” His mouth curved. “You want me to keep your suspicions to myself.”
“It’s fact, and that’s a very odd way of putting it, when one thinks about it. But yes, I prefer that you keep what I know about the ruse—”
“Theorize.”
“Fine, theorize,” she agreed. She wasn’t in a position to argue at the moment. “Will you keep quiet?”
He nodded once. “If you like.”
“You’ll give me your word?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asked, wary of his quick agreement.
“Because you asked it of me.” He caught her gaze. “You can ask anything of me, Evie.”
What an interesting thing to say. And what a remarkably effective balm on her injured feelings. She tilted her head at him. “Would you do anything for me?”
“No.” The corner of his mouth hooked up, even as his eyes remained guarded. “But you can ask.”
She laughed. “Very well, I am asking you not to mention what I told you about the matchmaking.”
“Done.”
“Thank you.”
They rode in silence for a few moments, before something else occurred to her.
“McAlistair?”
“Hmm?”
She shifted in her saddle, wishing very much she possessed even a fraction of Kate’s talent for beguiling the male of the species. “Would it…would it be too much to ask that you also keep the unfortunate incident at the blacksmith’s to yourself?”
“Completely to myself or just from Mrs. Summers?”
“Either will do.”
“I suppose I can manage it.”
She let out a quiet breath of air. Excellent. “And you needn’t mention the business with the adder.”
“Needn’t I?”
She pretended not to hear the amusement in his voice. “Or that my leg gave me trouble.”
“I see.”
“Or—”
“What can I tell Mrs. Summers?”
She gave him a hopeful smile. “That aside from a spot of wet weather, we had a lovely yet uneventful trip?”