Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

To Jonathan’s amazement, she grinned. “Then you weren’t sent to spy on me? Or do me harm?”

“Do I look or sound French to you?” he asked.

“The French aren’t the only people who employ spies,” she replied.

That was true. As well he knew, since he was an English one. But she—whoever she was—hadn’t been part of his assignment. Or anyone else’s, as far as he knew. She was simply an unexpected complication at the end of a long mission. As far as the Free Fellows were concerned, Plum Cottage should have been empty.

Jonathan took a deep breath. “If I’d been sent to spy on you, I would have known you were here. And you would never have known that I was here. And if I’d been sent to do you physical harm, you’d be harmed. But obviously that isn’t the case. The fact is that my horse lost a shoe several miles down the road. I’m cold and wet and tired and vastly disappointed to find that the one time I decide to make use of my key to Plum Cottage, it’s already occupied. Even by someone as lovely as you.” Jonathan sighed. “I hate to disappoint you, miss, but I’ve absolutely no idea who you are or why you’re here.”

She pursed her lips in thought and tilted her head to one side in a manner Jonathan would have found enchanting under different circumstances. “Although I have an idea of what you are, I have absolutely no idea who you are or if what you say is true.”

“My horse is munching grain in the stable out back,” Jonathan told her. “He’ll vouch for me.”

“Is he a talking horse that he can vouch for you and answer my questions?”

“Of course not,” Jonathan replied. “But the mere fact that he’s there will vouch for the fact that I’m telling the truth.”

“What’s his name?”

Jonathan frowned. “He doesn’t have a name.”

“Of course he does,” she countered. “And if he belongs to you, you should be able to tell me his name.” She pinned him with her gaze. “You don’t know his name, do you?”

“I call him Fellow.”

“Most original! Especially since you don’t know his name.”

“The fact is that he isn’t actually my horse,” Jonathan began.

“You said he was,” she accused.

“He’s borrowed.”

She widened her eyes, toying with him, pretending to be shocked in order to test him. “So, Mustafa is right. You are a thief. A horse thief and a housebreaker.”

“No, I’m not,” Jonathan insisted. “One friend loaned me a horse, and another friend gave me the key and offered me the use of this cottage.”

“You appear to be very fortunate in your choice of friends.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “I am extremely fortunate in my choice of friends. I don’t have a cozy little cottage on the route to the coast, nor do I keep horses in London, but I have friends that do. Whenever I need a horse, I borrow one. I may not own the gelding in the stable, but we’ve been together long enough to get acquainted. The tendon in his left front leg is slightly swollen and feverish

, and he’s missing both front shoes. One shoe is buried in the mud somewhere between here and Dover. The other is hanging on a bent nail outside his stall door. I hung it there shortly after I removed it. Send Mustafa to check,” Jonathan suggested. “I’ll wait here.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I believe you.”

“Why shouldn’t you believe me?” Jonathan demanded. “Since I happen to be telling the truth. And my delight at garnering your trust is matched only by my desire to have this blade removed from my throat. So, now that we’re acquainted, miss, do you think you could persuade this behemoth to lay it aside?”

“Lady.”

Chapter Four

Jonathan blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon . . .”

“It’s lady,” she replied. “Not miss. I haven’t used it in quite a while, but my title is lady. Lady India Burton. My father was—”

“Travis, second Earl of Carlisle.” Jonathan had a talent for remembering family names and the titles connected to them, a talent that came in handy in his line of work and one that was second nature to him, since he’d spent most of his formative years memorizing every family name and title in Debrett’s in preparation for his succession to the title. He might have been born the son of a younger son, but his mother had never given up hope that he might one day succeed to the title of Earl of Barclay. Lady Manners’s hopes had been realized when Jonathan’s uncle, the tenth Earl of Barclay and his father’s older brother, died without male issue. Lady Bradford Manners’s husband hadn’t inherited the title, but her son had. And his mother considered Jonathan’s succession and her insistence that he prepare for it her greatest accomplishments.

Lady India’s face lit up as Jonathan completed her sentence. “You knew him?”