To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

In his periphery, Carver could see John and The Gentleman doing a back-and-forth dance of indecision.

Rose sputtered an incredulous laugh as the cold wind twirled tendrils of hair around her face. Thunder’s ears twitched. “His name is The Gentleman? No—absolutely not. I have no desire to ride a slug, thank you.”

Carver tightened his fist at his side. “He is accustomed to carrying my mother from time to time and would be much safer for a lady to ride.” He could not, in good conscience, allow Daphney to ride his spirited and dangerous horse one more minute. His mind raced through different possible scenarios, all ending in a horrifying conclusion.

He hadn't been able to save Claire three years ago, but he could save Daphney now.

“Get down, woman.”

She tapped her finger to her lip in feigned contemplation. “No.” Was she enjoying his agony?

“Then I guess I will have to pull you off myself.”

Those eyes—that looked more golden in the light than amber—glinted. “You will have to catch me first.” With a graceful expertise that indeed proved her to be one of the finest horsewomen he had ever seen, Daphney tugged on the reins and kicked Thunder into a gallop.

Carver let out a low growl before hurrying to The Gentleman and tossing a leg over the saddle. He pressed his foot into the side of the horse and set him in motion. He was going to catch Daphney and ensure her safety. And then he was going to kill her.

Chapter 15

Rose could not resist the urge to leave Carver in her dust. The man was practically begging for it by demanding that she get down immediately—as if she were a child. And if that wasn’t enough, implying that she wasn’t a good enough rider to keep her seat! It was unpardonable.

Carver had looked so tightly wound that she thought he would snap. It was the same tension she felt from him in the hallway when they had first arrived at Dalton Park, as though he was struggling, unable to stifle something inside. There was some strong emotion that held him prisoner. Really, she had no right to push him to a breaking point—she herself had things she wanted to keep hidden—but she couldn’t seem to help it. She wanted to see the real Carver.

Rose had to hold back her laughter at the sight of the poor man trying to entice that lazy, fat horse to match Thunder’s pace. The spirited, solid black hunter must have shared the blood of a racehorse—for when given his head, Thunder took the earth with a fierce drive that could only be matched on the racetrack. Her breath pulsed through her lungs as she held tight and leaned into the horse. Leaned into the energy. Leaned into freedom.

It had taken every ounce of Rose’s will not to go back on her word and flee during the night. But something in her was pulling her—demanding that she stay. And it wasn’t the money. It was the look in Carver’s eyes when he told Rose that he needed her to stay for his sister. It was the way his smile hung in her dreams. It was the suppressed heaviness she could see in him when he thought no one was looking. It was something tugging her to him. Anchoring her in that place.

Beating hooves sounded louder behind Rose and she realized that Carver had begun to catch up. She took a quick right and veered Thunder away from the expansive green rolling hills toward a copse of trees. Growing closer, Rose was able to see that just beyond the first little cluster of bright evergreens, lay the most lovely meadow. Patches of white wildflowers dotted the ground giving testament to the mildness of their winter. A narrow stream wound its way along the edge of the tree line. The sun danced through dotted clouds, almost giving the illusion of spring instead of winter. Wind twirled through the trees and flew over the stream, playing its own sort of symphony.

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Comforting.

Rose pulled Thunder to a stop—both woman and horse breathing heavily to refill their lungs. This place—it was the exact opposite of London’s cold envelope, where the only nature to be found was in Hyde Park. Here, the air felt crisp and clean, inviting and promising. She felt the strongest urge to just lie down and breathe. To fill her lungs and let the promises of that place whisper to her. When was the last time she hadn't been running? Or hiding?

Her reverie was interrupted by the mad gallop of Carver and The Gentleman finally catching up. A new devilish grin replaced his previous scowl as he shouted over the distance separating them, “You’re in trouble now!”

A flutter rushed into Rose’s stomach. Without hesitation, she leapt down from Thunder, tossed his reins over a tree limb, and ran into the meadow like a Bow Street runner was on her heels. Her skirts plastered to the front of her body as she ran against the wind. She tossed an excited glance over her shoulder, and her hair rushed against her face. Carver pulled his horse to a halt beside Thunder and dismounted. With strides twice as long as hers, he was behind her in less than a blink.

“Give it up, you rogue!” he said loudly but she could hear the smile in his voice.

Rose could hardly contain the laughter growing inside her. How many times had she run through the streets of London trying to escape a man in much the same manner? And yet, this was completely different. It was only for fun—no real looming threat to her safety. Something that Rose wasn’t sure she had experienced once since Papa died.

Rose ran fast, tripping on her skirts and laughing like a child. Carver overtook her with a swift arm around her waist and Rose lost herself laughing. It didn’t matter that she sounded ridiculous. She simply couldn’t help it. Her stomach felt as if bubbles were turning round and round and were threatening to spill over.

Carver picked her up and threw her over his broad shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of flour. “You’re going to pay now!” he said with his own laughter undermining the ominous threat.

“Where are you taking me! Put me down!” she kicked and squirmed trying to free herself.

With determined strides, Carver carried her in the direction of the stream. “You, my dear, are going for a swim.”

“A swim! It’s January, Carver! I’ll catch my death!”

His hold only tightened around her legs. “I doubt it. You’re much too stubborn to die from a little cold water.” He was right, of course. She would never let herself kick the bucket from something so silly as that.

But the stream drew closer, and she found herself holding onto the back of his jacket a little tighter, trying to grip enough fabric to hold her there. “You wouldn’t!” she said in a challenge.

He laughed a little menacingly. “Oh—I would.” She found it very hard to be upset. It had been so long since Rose had done anything just for the enjoyment of it. It felt far too good to not allow herself a moment of fun. Even if that moment did end with hypothermia.

Rose continued to kick and pound her