She turned slowly back, her eyes brimming with suspicion. “What?” she asked slowly.
“The bad news or the good news?”
Her brows dipped. “The former.”
“Your driver and his riders may have already left.”
Claire gasped and whipped her gaze about the taproom, as if believing he fed her some jest and any moment the person in question would appear. When she returned her focus on him, she narrowed her eyes. “And you happen to know this because…?”
“Because I encouraged him to get going.” He’d not point out that the fellow had intended to leave Claire anyway, because of his feud with the lady the day before.
“You… you…” Claire sputtered before finally finding her voice. “And the good news, Mr. Gray?”
Caleb grinned. “You have snagged me as your companion for the remainder of the way.”
The lady’s eyes flared.
As Claire launched into a healthy stream of cursing, Caleb lifted his coffee in salute.
Chapter 11
The good news, he’d said.
Claire streaked a furious path back and forth over the snow-covered drive of the Rotted Rooster.
Snagged him as a companion, had she?
Why, she’d sooner hang him as a companion.
And here they’d been getting on so well. Too well. History should have taught her better. History should have proven that where she and Caleb were concerned, there was ultimately some manner of tension or disagreement. But this? Ohhh, this was unforgivable.
He’d stolen her decision from her.
Then he’d had the gall to suggest she should be happy about it. Oh, the gumption.
Claire picked up her pace, her breath stirring little clouds of white in the cold, a cold she was incapable of feeling. Fury, red and hot, lent her body an extra heat. She reached the end of the drive and turned quickly.
Her gaze snagged upon him, and she abruptly stopped. Resting as he was, with a shoulder against the stone structure of the Rotted Rooster; he had one leg propped up behind him and his arms folded at his chest. He was a study of boredom and casualness, and her fury only spiked.
“You done?” he called down the drive.
Was she… Was she…
Claire let loose a quiet scream that startled several birds from the tree behind her, fluttering a bevy of feathers down about her.
Caleb made a tsking sound. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s not the birds’ fault.”
“I’m not angry at the birds,” she shouted, and even with the ten paces between them, she spied the wide grin on his entirely too-amused face. Stop! She knew what he was doing. This time, she bit her tongue from giving him any further satisfaction.
“Are you done?” he asked again.
“Does it look like I’m done?”
“Actually, it doesn’t, which is why I’m asking.” He consulted his timepiece for a fifth time since she’d stormed out of the inn in search of the mail coach, hoping… believing he’d been wrong. But he hadn’t been. He’d followed close after her and let her to that discovery. “I’ve got a place to be.”
He had a place to be? He had a place to be? She was on her way to her wedding, set to begin a new life, and he, interfering lout that he was, spoke to her about his existing engagement?
Ohh, this was rich.
Her already mightily frayed patience snapped.
Collecting the hems of her cloak and dress, Claire stomped back down the path, grinding snow and gravel up under her boots as she went. As she approached, Caleb straightened. He touched the brim of his cap.
“Fabulous. You’re done—oomph.”
He grunted as she stuck a finger in his chest, and yet—Claire winced—she was entirely certain the hard, immobile wall of muscle had hurt her more than he’d been hurt by the small digit.
“You listen, and you listen here, Mr. Gray. I don’t give a jot about you or your business.”
He frowned. “Now, that’s just rude, love.”
Love?
No one would ever confuse his slow, sarcastic drawl for any kind of endearment.
A furious heat flared on her face. “I am not your love.”
“No, that’s right. You’ve got your fine, honorable English fellow who couldn’t be bothered to collect you.”
Claire pounced. “He trusts in my abilities and capabilities. He doesn’t seek to control me.” Far from it, which was why she’d agreed to the match in the first place… because she’d have freedom in her life. “He knows I am entirely capable of making my way from London without incident.”
Caleb’s broad shoulders shook. “Is that what you called all your run-ins back there?” He jerked his chin at the Rotted Rooster.
“I was handling it. Just as I handled it at my previous stop. But, nooooo”—Claire held her palms aloft and waved them at him—“you believe me some weak, incapable, pitiable miss who needs some big strong man to care for me.”
The right corner of his hard mouth quirked. “Big strong man, am I?”
Claire opened her mouth and closed it. She opened it again. Fury fell like a curtain over her vision, and when it cleared, and that smug grin was still firmly affixed to his face, she shrieked. Throwing her arms up, she spun on her heel and marched off.
There came the crunch of gravel.
Caleb slid himself in front of her, blocking her forward path.
Claire skidded to a halt, and Caleb immediately shot a hand out, catching her firmly but gently by the arm to steady her. And even with the muslin a fabric barrier between them, her body still went warm under that masterful hold. “What?” she gritted between her teeth, as annoyed with his high-handedness as she was with herself for her awareness of him.
“I don’t think you’re pitiable, Claire,” he said quietly, with the same solemnity that had been present during their earlier exchanges at the Rotted Rooster. The gaze he moved over her face was as real as a physical touch, and her belly quickened. “Never that.”
“You don’t pity me,” she murmured. “But you do see me as weak and incapable.” With a sound of disgust, she wrenched her arm away from him and stomped off once more. She angled a look over her shoulder. “Good day, Mr. Gray. If you’re worried about being late for your meeting, I suggest you be on your way.”
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called, “I didn’t say ‘weak and incapable.’ Those were your words, sweetheart.”
Claire lengthened her stride, needing to put as much distance as possible between her and the interfering man behind her.
“Where are you going, Claire?” he yelled after her.
“Away from you!” she rejoined, not deigning to glance his way. Because she couldn’t. And here she’d been feeling bonded with him. To him.
She would never learn where Caleb was concerned.
“I did it for you, Claire, and I did it for Poppy.”
Claire reached the end of the drive that spilled out onto an old Roman road. Holding a hand above her brow, she peered off into the vast, open distance. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but gray skies and a landscape painted white by winter’s brush. There was no hint of the mail coach. Or any coach. There were no riders.