Page 73 of The Boxing Baroness

He sighed and wiped the accumulated moisture from his face.

“My mother is not well, and my aunt cannot leave her.” There was a finality in his tone that told her she’d get no more from him on that subject. “I believe we shall have to stay in a smaller village than planned this evening,” he added as the rain began to fall in large, sludgy drops.

“I warned my uncle that touring at this time of year was madness. He says he’s made allowances for such delays. I suppose we shall soon see if he’s made enough of them.”

“To be fair to your uncle, it is unseasonably cold for this part of France.”

His defense of Barnabas—a man he clearly loathed—didn’t really surprise her. The duke was almost biblical in his fairness. She could easily see him seated on a throne, ordering a child to be cut in half.

No, that wasn’t accurate. He was fair, but he wasn’t cruel.

“The weather in April might not be much better than this,” she said, moving the subject away from her uncle. “We will have to make sure to leave the Fayre in time to get to your meeting with Dominic.”

“I’m afraid you shall have to miss one of your bouts since the meeting itself is on a Tuesday,” he said. “But I believe I can get you to Dijon for the next one.”

“You don’t have to get me anywhere, Your Grace. Once you have your brother, you will wish to return to England with all possible haste.”

“I will see you safely to Dijon, first,” he said in his cool, implacable way.

Marianne rolled her eyes—or at least tried to, but it was too bloody cold.

“I’ve arranged to have a new trainer meet you in Dijon.”

Her head whipped around at that. “You did what?”

“One of the men on Jack’s list—Dexter Fielding—will be in Dijon to accompany you on the rest of the tour. I have already paid his wages.”

She snorted. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Jack said you liked Fielding.”

“I do like Dex, but that’s not the point. The point is—” Honestly, Marianne didn’t know why she even bothered to try to argue with the man. He could pay the Prince Regent to show up in Dijon, but that didn’t mean she had to abide by his decisions.

“Never mind,” she said, and then clucked her tongue to urge Reggie ahead, leaving the duke behind her.

* * *

Sin didn’t know why he even bothered to argue with the woman. He should have just let matters run their course. She would have shown up in Dijon to a fait accompli.

He scowled as he watched her ride ahead, pulling her horse up beside her caravan. Although Guy was driving it, the Frenchwoman—Cecile—was sitting beside him. The last time he’d stopped to tell Guy something, the two had been locked in a fierce argument about guns, of all things. The woman had looked on the verge of pulling out a pistol and shooting Guy, so Sin had come to ride beside Marianne, hoping to have a normal conversation after their rapprochement on the packet. But the woman was as stubborn as a badger.

Sin slowed his mount until Elliot, who was driving the last caravan in a group of four, came up alongside him.

“Lovely day,” Elliot said, smiling at Sin from beneath his battered hat. He looked profoundly untrustworthy with a week’s worth of growth on his face.

Sin gestured to Marianne. “Why the devil is she riding in this weather instead of traveling in one of the caravans?” he demanded and then immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw Elliot’s faint smirk.

“Why are you riding in this weather?”

“Because I’m a man and riding in such weather is nothing to me.”

“Perhaps it is nothing to her, either.”

Sin made a scoffing sound.

“I think we will not make it to our destination this evening if the road gets much worse,” Elliot said, the comment an obvious gambit to change the subject.

Sin glanced down at the muddy ruts, which had become deeper by the hour. “Did you look at the map?” Elliot had brought along excellent government maps of all the areas they would be traveling through.