Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches. Helen Dickson

shrugged nonchalantly. ‘This and that.’

      She took her eyes off the passing scenery and regarded him intently. ‘You mean you’re a businessman?’

      He grinned. ‘You might say that.’

      ‘And is your business respectable?’

      Her question brought a humorous gleam to his eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips. ‘Perfectly respectable,’ he declared, ‘but if I were to tell you more of what I do, we will have nothing to talk about, and we have a long way to go.’

      ‘You may not consider the question important, but it is to me. My life is very important to me. Since I have entrusted it to someone I know nothing about, it is perfectly natural that I want to know everything there is to know about you.’

      He stared at her, one black brow raised interrogatively. There was a direct challenge in his eyes, which she found most disturbing.

      ‘Everything?’ he enquired silkily, and Maria could sense the sleeping animal within him begin to stir.

      Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

      ‘I do not wish to offend you, but I do not know you, so how do I know I can trust you?’

      ‘What exactly do you fear?’ he asked. ‘That I am not equal to the task of escorting you to England?’

      ‘I am naturally apprehensive. If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want some indication of your good faith? Since when did businessmen risk their lives by coming to a country torn by strife?’

      ‘When they have family they are concerned about.’

      She looked at him with interest, her green eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. ‘Your family live in France?’

      ‘In the south—the Côte d’Azure. My mother is French.’

      ‘I see. So that explains why you speak French like a native. I did wonder. Did you manage to see your family?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And are they all right?’

      ‘When I left them they were in perfect health.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Whether they will remain so remains to be seen.’

      ‘Why? What are you afraid of?’

      ‘They are connected to the nobility. That connection could well bring about their death—and my own. Anyone found assisting suspected royalists will be ruthlessly condemned. The life of a noble is not worth a candle in France. I believe that every noble family and many of the richer bourgeois will suffer unless they flee the country.’

      ‘And your mother?’

      ‘She is safe in England, thank God.’

      ‘Do you have siblings living in France?’

      He shook his head. ‘I have two sisters, both of them happily married in England.’

      ‘And—do you have a wife waiting for you in England?’

      He laughed easily and dusted the knee of his breeches. ‘No. And were you always so inquisitive about others, or is it just me?’

      She smiled and gave him a coy look. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it must seem like that to you. It’s just that it’s so long since I talked to another English person, apart from my aunt and Constance, that I forget my manners.’

      Charles thought that Maria Monkton had a truly breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already a pretty face into one that was captivating. He was intrigued, but he did not let it show in his face, for as much as he would like to taste and relish at first hand what was before his eyes, to throw caution to the four winds and dally to his heart’s content, he had to consider at what cost he’d be doing so.

      ‘Please don’t apologise. I am not offended.’ His chuckle sounded low and deep. ‘Our journey to England will be long and arduous, but I can see that with you I will never be bored.’

      She met his eyes. ‘Like you said, we have a long way to go. Things change. Must we speak French all the time?’

      ‘Yes. The less attention we attract to ourselves the safer it will be. When we are within earshot of the driver if we address each other as Charles and Maria he will be none the wiser.’

      Maria felt comfortable with Pierre. There was a look about his square face that inspired trust while the steady gaze of his blue eyes compelled honesty. ‘I think he can be trusted. What do you think?’

      He shrugged. ‘Who can one trust nowadays? One can never be sure. He seems trustworthy enough and was glad of the work. The coach belongs to him and I have paid him a handsome sum—with the promise of more if he gets us to Calais safely.’

      ‘I would like to thank you for helping me, Charles. Is there a reason for this—apart from our fathers being friends?’

      ‘I have reason to be beholden to Sir Edward.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘He saved my life—and my mother’s. It was during the monsoon season, when my mother and I were going to join my father in Bengal. We were crossing a fast-flowing river when our boat went out of control—several people perished. From the shore your father saw what was happening and commandeered a boat to come to our aid. Not once while he was helping us to safety did he consider the possibility that he might lose his life. I fell into the river and was in danger of being washed away when he jumped in after me. Somehow he managed to get me back on board.’ His features softened with remembrance. ‘I owe him my life. You should be proud of him.’

      ‘I am, and I realise how you must have felt honour bound to come to my rescue.’

      ‘Something like that. I realised it was the least I could do for Sir Edward—to see his daughter safely out of France. It is my way of saying thank you to an exceedingly brave man.’

      ‘Yes, I can understand that. Thank you for telling me.’

      ‘My pleasure.’

      A familiar, slow smile played on his lips and he fell silent. He was relaxed, and there was no mistaking the provocative way in which his gaze lingered on her eyes, her hair and her soft lips.

      Feeling his warmly glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, a sudden flush mounted Maria’s cheeks, and she said abruptly, ‘I am sorry about—almost slapping you. It was unforgivable of me and I should not have done it.’

      ‘But entirely understandable,’ Charles answered gravely. ‘Think nothing of it. It is forgotten.’

      Maria waited, expecting him to apologise for the things he had said about Colonel Winston, confident that now she had given him an opening to do so, he would hopefully retract them, but he remained silent.

      Beneath the shadow of her long lashes her eyes passed slowly over her companion. His broad shoulders filled his dark blue coat, and the grey breeches were close-fitting to display a superb length of firmly muscled limbs. It was obvious at a mere glance that he was an arrogant man, bold and self-assured, and much to her aggravation, she realised he would be the standard by which she would eventually measure her betrothed.

      The clouds were suddenly swept away and the sun rose, bathing Maria’s face in its soft, golden light. She knew Charles continued to watch her, for she felt the heat of his gaze more firmly than the warmth of the sun. The countryside along the way failed to hold her interest, for his close presence wiped everything else from her mind. His gaze was persistent and touched her warmly. A smile was in his eyes and on his lips.

      There was that quality about her companion that made her wonder if he were something more than what he appeared. It was as if his eyes could penetrate her flesh,