Page 32
“That hardly required a search.”
“He is an exceptional animal.”
“Yes.”
There it was again, that peculiar sensation that two conversations existed whenever they spoke. One consisted of teasing and nonsense, while beneath it ran something else altogether, with each of them attempting to discover how much the other understood.
Which was unfortunate, because she liked it far too much.
“Are you trying to charm me?” she asked.
“Am I succeeding?”
“No.”
“A pity.”
“You are very practised.”
“At riding?”
“At avoiding direct answers.”
For the smallest instant, his expression altered, then the smile returned. “Miss Finch, I begin to suspect you hold a low opinion of me.”
“I have known you less than a day. It would be unfair to form an opinion so quickly.”
“And yet you have.”
“You are observant, manipulative, vain, deliberately ridiculous, and entirely too accustomed to being liked.”
Baines considered this with admirable seriousness. “Do you have anything unfavourable to say?” He laughed.
The traitorous corners of Judith’s mouth lifted before she could stop them.
His gaze dropped to her lips. The smile disappeared at once.
Judith had no ready answer, and the silence between them, though lasting scarcely a second, seemed considerably longer.
Judith stepped away. “Dinner will be announced shortly.”
“Miss Finch?”
She turned.
His expression had recovered its customary lightness. “Your cap remains dreadful.”
Judith’s mouth fell open before she could control her astonishment.
He bowed and entered the drawing room.
“Abominable man,” she muttered.
After dinner, she went upstairs under the entirely legitimate pretence of fetching Lady Dunsmore’s shawl.
The note remained in her pocket. This was the best opportunity she was likely to have.
Will Fletcher, one of the younger grooms, had a sister married to a printer in Newcastle and had carried letters for Judith before. He asked no questions and believed, as far as Judith knew, that she corresponded with a female acquaintance whose family objected to the connection.
