The Gentleman's Quest Read Online Free PDF Page B

learned long ago not to trust anyone.
    And that included a man who could trip her pulse with one look. No matter how straightforward he might seem, Hero knew that his casual air could be deceiving. Christopher Marchant was smarter than he looked and far more observant. Despite his often heavy-lidded gaze, he was awake on every suit, and no matter how appealing he was, Hero could not afford to let down her guard.
    As if to prove her point, Hero felt, rather than heard, him move behind her, and her heart pounded in response. Such quiet steps might be those of practiced stealth, she reminded herself as she tried to calm her clamoring senses.
    “What do you think of the house?” he asked.
    The question was not what she expected, and Hero turned to face him, an automatic response upon her lips. “It’s very nice.”
    He sent her one of those probing looks that usually made her uncomfortable, but this time Hero did not dissemble. “Perhaps it could use a little work,” she admitted. “Some paint, wallpaper and bright fabrics to lighten the atmosphere wouldn’t be amiss. I’m sure whatever your sister has planned will be lovely.”
    Mr Marchant glanced about him, as if at a loss. “I don’t know whether she got that far, and now she’s gone. She’ll be getting married soon.”
    “Oh,” Hero murmured. “Congratulations.”
    Mr Marchant did not comment, for he was still studying the room, with its heavy curtains and even heavier furniture. “It needs a feminine touch,” he said, and for some reason Hero’s heart skipped a beat. He did not mean her touch, she told herself. She was definitely not the feminine ideal, for she could not watercolor or sketch or play the pianoforte. And a gentleman would have little use for whatever skills she did possess.
    “You don’t think the place gloomy beyond redemption, do you? Haunted by the history of its original owner? Far too eerie to ever be livable?”
    Hero choked back a laugh. “Eerie? You can’t know the meaning of the word,” she said. “I live at Raven Hill.”
    “Oh, sorry,” Mr Marchant said. “Your uncle does have a reputation for being eccentric.”
    That was putting it mildly. However, Hero had no intention of discussing Raven or his home, and she hurried to change the subject. “Shall we be leaving soon?”
    Mr Marchant nodded, but his expression grew rueful, as though he were disappointed by the turn of the conversation. Had he hoped for more personal information? Hero had never met a man who evinced interest in something other than himself and his acquisitions. Indeed, such behavior was so unusual that she couldn’t help wondering what had prompted that interest.
    Was it curiosity for curiosity’s sake or something more sinister?
     
    Now that his plan was implemented and they were on the road, Kit felt a bit easier. If things went as he hoped, whoever was interested in Miss Ingram would be far away by now, traveling in the opposite direction behind Augustus Raven’s old-fashioned coach.
    Hob had agreed to drive it, taking a circuitous route along the moors and on to Burrell, where he could leave it with a fellow who owned an inn. Hob had wanted to continue on, making his roundabout way to Piketon, where they could exchange vehicles, but Kit was leery of dropping the charade too soon.
    There was no reason why Miss Ingram and her companion couldn’t ride in his more comfortable carriage all the way to Raven Hill, their driver and footman at the reins. Augustus Raven could easily send someone to fetch his coach, and should he not be willing, Kit would hire someone to do so.
    Kit’s main concern was Miss Ingram’s protection, and if he managed to spend more time with her in the process, that was simply an additional benefit. But once she was safely delivered, Kit did not see how he could further their acquaintance, for they did not move in the same circles.
    Miss Ingram was no country lass to be courted at local dances, flirted with during long walks