Page 30 of The Scandalous Spinster

“Yes.”

She blinked again when he did not elaborate. He was not a very forthcoming man, as it turned out. It was not a surprise, mind you. She had spoken to him more in the last few days than in the last few months combined. Including the night she’d jumped out of a window into his arms. Which they had never spoken about, not once.

His gaze roamed over her as if he were assuring himself she was well. She tried not to tingle, she really did. “Captain Thorn?” she prodded.

“You left.”

“Yes. And?”

“And you promised not to leave without me.”

Someone should tell him that if he wanted to be more intimidating, he should not look quite so handsome when he glowered. But it wasn’t going to be her. Not when she should not find him so handsome in the first place.

And there was some trepidation. His glower was very…honed. But she was more intrigued at her body’s response. If she hadn’t been enjoying the little tremors, she might have considered taking notes. For science. For literature.

It was important to be accurate, after all. She had a duty to her readers.

And to the curious heat nibbling at her.

“It’s not safe,” Bram insisted.

She nearly laughed. He was right about that. There was nothing safe about his effect on her. “It’s the middle of the day,” she pointed out before she said something completely out of line. “In a sleepy English village.”

Missing women notwithstanding.

And where a pretend chaperone may or may not have gone missing just before the most notorious social event of the country, one that routinely ended in duels, ruination, lost inheritances. Occasionally murder.

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, and it was a fair point. The early spring light touched the silver threaded through his dark hair, glimmered in his neat beard. It was deeply unfashionable to sport a beard. She had no idea why. She suddenly could not imagine writing a hero without one.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve found out?” she asked.

“What I want is to turn you over my knee.”

Clara wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by his statement. It pinged between them, electric.

And then those calm shutters closed over his face. He was the enigmatic captain once more, all authority and quiet competence. She could not read his expression, no matter how she tried.

As an expert at hiding her true feelings, it was galling.

Especially as she was quite certain her cheeks were bright pink. Her breathing was not quite even either. And when had it become so hot? The last of the hoarfrost threatened to melt under her feet.

“Go on, then,” he said roughly.

For a wild, heated moment she thought he was suggesting she lift her skirts and bend over his thighs so he might spank her.

More shocking yet, she considered it. For a great deal longer than she probably ought to.

“We’re not the only ones asking about the marquis,” she croaked.

“Not a surprise, I suppose, with an occasion such as this one. Everyone wants leverage. He’s got more enemies than friends, I reckon. Should be useful.”

She swallowed, her throat dry, her wits discombobulated. “The chaperone had a jaunt through the village before she disappeared.”

Bram stilled, the way a hawk might sensing his luncheon sporting in the fields. Pity the poor rabbit. “Did she, now?”

“Just down the way there, where another girl was running wild with a fever. And no one has seen her since. I’m on my way to investigate.”

“Alone.”