Page 13 of Earl on the Run (The Duke's Estates 2)

“Like a nom de plume, a pseudonym,” she added, twirling her parasol as they walked along. “That’s a name authors use when they don’t wish…”

“I know what it is.”

“It’s because you don’t trust me,” said this forthright young lady. “And why should you? I don’t trust you.”

“Do you not?”

“We’ve just met. We don’t know anything about each other. And you’re a rogue.”

“I am not.” He’d become sick of the word by now. And her assurance that she didn’t trust him rankled more than it should.

“What are you then?”

Well, that was the question. If he couldn’t answer it for himself, he clearly couldn’t tell her. “A fellow doing some traveling.”

“On foot, with a troop of gypsies,” she replied.

“They’re not gypsies.”

“Travelers. But you know what I mean. Hardly a conventional tour of the countryside.”

“It’s better than all alone.”

Miss Finch gave a small gasp, and a sheen of tears glinted in her green eyes.

“What is it?” Jack asked, startled.

“Nothing. I beg your pardon. I don’t know why I… I’m not some silly watering pot. It’s just that I miss my friends. So very much.”

“Which friends are those then?”

“Sarah and Charlotte and Ada. We were in school together and then in London for the season. This is the longest we’ve been apart in years.” She dashed the tears away.

“Ah, I’ve comrades in Boston I miss as well.”

“Do you?”

“Not rogues,” added Jack quickly.

Her smile was devastating. Jack felt as if a giant hand had squeezed the breath right out of him. “What are they then?” she asked.

“Roland has a farm west of the city. A big place. You’d call it an estate, perhaps. He does not. Daniel is a lawyer. And Francis is a natural philosopher. Fortunately, his family can afford a dabbler.” Jack smiled as he imagined his friend’s scowl over this description. “We met in school as well,” he said.

“You went to school?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just thought…”

“That a rogue would receive his education on the road? Or none at all, perhaps? I went to a good school. My father insisted. It’s in Andover, which you’ve never heard of, have you?”

“I believe there’s a town in Hampshire…”

“It was probably called after that one. So much of America is an echo of this place.” Jack gestured at the countryside around them. It was still strange to hear names he knew and realize the towns here had existed for centuries longer.

She was frowning at him. “I don’t understand you.”

“Precisely.”

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