Page 6 of Seducing the Knave

“Well, neither do I,” she retorted.

“Then this journey’s going to get real cozy, real quick,” he replied.

There was just a moment before she gave another huff and shifted to the opposite seat. She mumbled something under her breath, and though he didn’t quite catch it, he could guess the sentiment. The lady was miffed.

His chuckle died in his throat as her hood happened to slip back when she repositioned herself across from him, revealing a halo of honey-gold curls surrounding a face of angelic perfection. She was young with a smooth, unblemished complexion and soft, gentian-blue eyes framed by thick sooty lashes. Elegant cheekbones angled toward a straight little nose above a pouty mouth with a lush bottom lip that curled with just the slightest suggestion of naughtiness at the outer corners.

She was fucking perfection.

Issuing a sharp whistle through his teeth, he noted bluntly, “Ain’t ye a stunner. Why in hell would ye hide such a face?”

Her gaze narrowed as she tilted her head to a haughty angle. “Maybe to avoid impolite reactions such as you just displayed. I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a gentleman with less chivalry,” she added beneath her breath as she tugged the hood back into place.

“Chivalry?” Max snorted, forcing himself to ignore the sharp stab of chagrin at the concealment of such beauty. “What good would that’ve done ye tonight? Be grateful I’m not a proper gent, luv. Otherwise, ye’d be knee-deep in whatever shite ye’re so bloody desperate to avoid.”

“You’re detestable,” she muttered vehemently.

As the carriage fled swiftly along the bumpy country lane, Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His hard eyes peered into the shadows of her hood as he tugged at the fingertips of his leather gloves to remove them. The woman’s breath caught but she stiffened her spine to an even more imperious posture.

He smiled. Slowly. “Don’t forget, ye approached me.”

“Clearly, a moment of insanity.”

He laughed. “From what I understand, a chivalrous bloke wouldn’t’ve been so quick to escort an unchaperoned female. Some ridiculous notion about protecting the lady’s honor.”

She stiffened sharply. “You believe a lady’s honor to be ridiculous?”

Max chuckled as he tossed his gloves to the bench beside him and leaned back against the thick cushions. “That’s not what I said.”

He didn’t bother to elaborate. Instead, he openly assessed the cloaked female across from him.

She was small—perhaps just a touch over five feet. Her cloak was of the finest velvet and the pink silk of her gown could be seen where the cloak gapped at the hem. She was definitely a member of that highest class of British aristocracy known as the haute ton. Even if her wealth hadn’t been obvious in her clothing and the fat ruby she’d plopped onto the table as if it were a loaf of bread, he’d have known she was one of those elite members of the peerage by her refined speech and the undeniable entitlement in her voice and manner.

The woman fully expected people to do her bidding. Without question.

Which was why he’d refused her request. He’d wanted to see what she’d do—how far she’d go. That, and he had no desire for a traveling companion, least of all some high-stepping lord’s spoiled rotten daughter.

The ruby had changed his mind on that, though he stuck to his original assessment of the female’s character.

As she scooted across the bench to gaze intently out the window, he admitted that even though he’d told himself her situation was none of his business, he was intrigued by her plight.

What was she running from?

And most importantly, how might he exploit her obvious desperation?

Only an idiot would pass up an opportunity such as this one, and Max was no one’s fool.

Born in the slums of Whitechapel to a prostitute who lost her life to one of the great risks inherent to her occupation, he became an orphan while still a babe. His childhood had been defined by the years spent in three different orphanages—each worse than the last. At eleven, he’d finally escaped to roam the streets of London’s East End, eventually making his way westward to St. Giles, where he’d claimed his place amongst a gang of street rats that quickly came to be a family. A family he guarded with his life, along with the rest of his neighborhood.

A family he’d been away from long enough.

Leaving town for even just a few days to celebrate his half sister Caillie’s seventeenth birthday was a known risk considering the rumors that had been swirling about St. Giles in recent months. But he hadn’t wanted to disappoint the young hoyden.

Six years ago, when he’d first learned that he had three half brothers and a half sister, Max hadn’t expected much to come of the association. Shite, half the children in the orphanages had been by-blows of lords and such who liked their whores cheap and easy. That his own father had been an earl hadn’t come as a great shock.

What had surprised him, however, was the fact that his oldest brother, who’d become the Earl of Wright upon their common sire’s death, expected to bring all his father’s bastards together into some sort of motley family.

Max had been convinced the man was out of his head, but damn if Wright hadn’t succeeded to some extent since Max had just come from attending a formal gathering at the Wright estate with all of his siblings in attendance along with their respective brides and offspring. A mighty feat considering the clear disparities in the siblings’ lifestyles. Amongst them was an earl, a gambling hell owner, a Welsh sheep farmer, a crime lord of St. Giles and the East End, and a young girl who would be making her debut into England’s high society in just a year.

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