Perhaps she’d ask.
As a woman who valued her privacy, it wasn’t her nature to pry into other people’s affairs. But if doing so would result in another interesting conversation with a man who intrigued her more and more with each word he spoke, it might be worth defying her own principles for the time it would take to pose the question.
“I think you should find someone else,” Daisy said. “Your parents would have a fit if they learned you were seein’ him again today. They clearly don’t approve.”
“Which is why they’ll never find out,” Charlotte told her sternly. “Just as they’ll never know I’m not really attending book clubs or poetry discussions.”
“Of course, miss. I didn’t mean to imply I’d betray you. I’d never do that. It’s just Mr. MacNeil isn’t really the sort of man a woman like you should be seen with.”
“He’s not a bad sort, Daisy. In fact I’m inclined to think higher of him than I would most upper class gentlemen.”
Daisy gasped. “How can you say that when you know he’s connected to Carlton Guthrie?”
“An association he himself confessed to,” Charlotte snapped. Honestly, she was starting to lose her patience. “As far as people go, Mr. MacNeil is proving himself to be more forthright than anyone else I’ve known.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that—”
The carriage door was thrust open, allowing a damp wind to sweep inside the cabin. Mr. MacNeil climbed inside and pulled the door shut before claiming the opposite bench. Water soaked his hair, the droplets dripping over his forehead and shoulders. A puddle formed around his booted feet. “A pity ye didnae pick yesterday for yer outing, Miss Russell. Today’s a wee bit soggy.” He wiped his palms on his brown breeches. “Shall we be off then?”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said and knocked on the ceiling. She hadn’t meant to notice his thighs but it had been deuced hard not to with his hand movements drawing attention. Swallowing, she forced her gaze out the window and tried not to think of the scandalous display of wet fabric clinging to solid muscle.
“He arrived on the dot,” Daisy whispered as the conveyance took off, dragging Charlotte’s thoughts back to a more appropriate subject.
“I’ve always prided myself on punctuality,” Mr. MacNeil said with a wry twist of his lips, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t overheard the comment. “Being late is inconsiderate.”
“You could have been early,” Charlotte said with levity. “I was.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms, his eyes snaring hers. “I’d rather set a standard I’m able to keep. No sense in giving ye false expectations, is there?”
“I suppose not,” she said, appreciating his candor.
“So where are we going?”
Charlotte wished she didn’t have to tell him. She’d kept her secret life hidden for so long the idea of letting someone besides Daisy into her confidence rather unnerved her. But she’d hired Mr. MacNeil for the purpose of escorting her about and seeing to her safety. Attempting to keep him in the dark would be foolhardy. Besides, he’d see where they were heading soon enough, so she might as well let him know.
Still, she wasn’t about to reveal more than absolutely necessary. “To Carlisle & Co.”
Mr. MacNeil’s blank expression made it clear he’d not heard of the business.
“It’s a small publishing house,” Charlotte informed him, in response to which he arched a brow. “When we spoke yesterday, I mentioned a few of my interests.”
“Archery, for example.”
“Yes.”
“And shooting.”
“Right. Well.” Charlotte tried not to grin. While Mr. MacNeil’s tone was dry as desert sand, his eyes shone with unabashed humor. Perhaps he doubted her competence? A sudden desire to prove herself to him assailed her, but first… “I also dabble in story writing.”
“Really?” He stared at her with narrowed eyes. It didn’t look like he believed her.
“It started as a hobby, but once I’d been doing it for a while I thought I’d make an attempt at publication. My parents don’t know and I have no intention of telling them until I’m sure I will be a success.”
“You dinnae want them to think ye a failure?”
“Something like that,” Charlotte said. She clasped her hands in her lap. The truth was a bit more scandal inducing. “Anyway, we’re going to drop off my latest work with my editor.”
MacNeil’s eyebrows rose. “Ye have an editor?”
“Yes. Anyone who publishes anything has one.”
“So ye’re already published?” He leaned forward, pinning her with interest. “Anything I might have heard of or read?”
Charlotte’s heart went straight from a steady beat into a near gallop. While she had no desire to lie, she wasn’t ready to tell him the truth. Not with regard to this. So she took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the leather folio she’d brought with her. It contained the corrections Avery had requested to her manuscript. “I seriously doubt it. Unless you have a penchant for observational train of thought musings.”
His expression suggested he didn’t, but then he said, “If they’re written by ye, I just might.”
Well, thank God she was sitting down or her legs might have given way beneath her. The intimacy of his voice, the low timbre an almost velvety caress against her skin even though they were several feet apart, was enough to turn her brain to mush.
She shook herself. This was the utmost of preposterousness. He was a man with a criminal past – her newly hired employee for heaven’s sake. She absolutely could not allow herself to feel things in his presence.
“I value the compliment.” Thankfully, her voice was both strong and firm. She angled herself in such a way where she would be looking more directly at Daisy and less so at Mr. MacNeil. “I’ve been thinking we could buy some purple ribbons tomorrow, Daisy. The color would liven up that white muslin gown I don’t care for.”
“An excellent idea,” Daisy said. “If you agree, I could add some crystal beadwork as well so it shimmers a little.”
“Yes. I think that would work rather nicely.”
Happy to have found a subject Mr. MacNeil would not participate in, Charlotte avoided hearing his deep masculine voice for the remainder of the journey and thus managed to steady her riotous nerves by the time they arrived at Carlisle & Co.
Observational train of thought musings? Blayne reckoned it was a while since he’d heard such a load of absolute horse shite. Did she think he was daft? Here was a woman who’d scared the bejesus out of a lecherous scoundrel two days ago with her pistol, and now she expected him to believe she was publishing something that lacked one ounce of excitement? If she’d been serious about her other hobbies, he rather suspected her writing to be edgy and possibly even improper. That would certainly match the character of a woman who’d hastily turned him into a fake fiancé in order to thwart her parents’ attempts at matchmaking.
Keeping this thought to himself, Blayne stayed quiet for the remainder of the journey while Miss Russell prattled on about ribbons and beads and lord knew what else. Whatever she was up to, it wasn’t his business. She’d merely hired him to protect her, even if the terms of their initial agreement might have been stretched a bit further than planned since their first encounter. Still, she was entitled to her privacy.