Unclaimed (Turner, #2)

“Sir Mark will be furious.” It was the worst part of this deal, knowing how much he hated private inquiry—and knowing that she would be thrusting him into the public eye with a vengeance.

But Parret didn’t even shrug as he smoothed out the papers. “He usually is. I never let it bother me.”

Maybe one day she’d be able to view Mark’s response with such equanimity. That day was a long way off.

“I want to publish this one section each day, for five days—that will really get everyone interested, and we can charge double for the last printing. As for a title, I thought to call it ‘The Seduction of Sir Mark.’ That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“But what is he going to do, when he sees that?”

“Hopefully,” Parret said, “he’ll get very angry. It will confirm everyone’s suspicions, and make us a great deal of money.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TWO DAYS AFTER Mark arrived in Bristol, his brother suggested a walking trip.

“My duties are reduced during the summers,” Smite said. “And Ghost could use some country air.” He’d said this with a gesture at the puppy, who gamboled about their feet.

Mark had translated this as: Stop moping about.

They’d sent a letter to Ash, informing him that they’d be gone a few days—eldest brothers did tend to worry, even over grown men—and Mark spent the remainder of that day losing himself in procuring supplies and planning the trip. He’d pored over maps and railway timetables, finally deciding to take the train to Reading, and from there, a meandering journey through country roads until they reached Basingstoke. It would be four or five days through tracks and lanes. Mark made note of a few smaller hostelries along the road where they might stay.

“None of the big ones now,” Smite had said lazily. “I don’t know how they’ll take to a dog.”

They’d have taken an entire menagerie from a duke’s brothers. But then, Mark didn’t need Smite to explain his peculiarities.

It was good to have something else to think of. It was better still when they disembarked from the passenger car in Reading to a bright, sunny day. It was a day so glorious that Mark could almost forget that everything else in his life was far from perfect.

The locomotive pulled away from the station in a cloud of smoke, leaving Mark and his brother pushed about on all sides by the crowd leaving the platform.

Smite met Mark’s eyes and jerked his head toward the road. In this dry weather, the track was dusty with all the passing traffic. His brother would naturally prefer to choke on road-dust than spend time in a crowd. Mark shouldered his burden, happy to bear a little discomfort. It would get his mind off the interminable spiraling back, the uncomfortable thoughts of her…

No need to speak, thankfully. They made their way out and started through the clouds of hanging dust, holding their breaths. The fields weren’t far beyond; once there, they might not need to speak to anyone until they reached their destination for the evening.

The whole notion sounded lovely.

“Oy!” A voice sounded behind them, recognizable and yet impossible at the same time.

Smite paused, turning on the shoulder of the road. A man—tall, burly—was striding toward them. He moved quickly, without once seeming to hurry. He had a satchel thrown over his shoulder; he barely glanced down the road for traffic before darting across.

“I had thought,” the man said without any additional greeting, “the two of you would be civilized enough to stop in the public house before sallying forth.”

“That’s where you went wrong,” Smite said. “We didn’t intend to do anything so dramatic as sally. We had just planned to start.”

Mark stared at the newcomer in dumb confusion. “Ash,” he finally said stupidly. “What are you doing here?”

“Got Smite’s message about the trip late last night,” his eldest brother replied. “I can’t have the two of you haring off on your own, can I?”

“We don’t hare, either. We walk. With dignity.”

Beside them, Ghost gave the lie to that by jumping up on Ash, his paws leaving two dusty footprints on his trousers.

Ash was protective, sometimes to an overbearing degree. Mark should have realized how suspicious it was that he’d not responded to their letter with a lecture on walking safely. In his normal course of events, he would have offered them an armed guard…or…or whatever other ridiculous thing he might have dreamed up.

He must have spent the entirety of the morning riding here. All that, just to meet them for an hour?

His eldest brother showed no sign of fatigue, however. Instead, he simply shifted the satchel he carried.

“Well.” Smite spoke first. “I suppose we could set aside our haring and sallying long enough for a brief repast.”

“Not at all. There’s no need to make the slightest alteration in your plans on my account.” Ash grinned. “I can keep up with the lot of you.”

Smite glanced at Mark, his eyes widening. That slight entreaty was as good as a plea on bended knee for him.

“Keep up?”