She was obviously lying, a ruse to trick him into thinking that he’d married her, and she’d been able to do it because he got so sotted with drink last night that he couldn’t remember what he’d done. Of all the bloody nerve, and especially when he only had to demand some proof and she’d have to fess up that she’d lied, since there wouldn’t be any proof. He would have thought she was more intelligent than that, to think she could get away with it. Some of his fast-rising rage stemmed from disappointment in her.

He went after her. She’d already left the house. He just barely spotted that bright skirt disappearing into the woods quite some distance away. It was too far for him to catch up to her on foot, though, so he ran to his stable.

She was no more than halfway to her camp when his stallion came galloping up behind her and was yanked to a rearing stop a bit in front of her. She ignored him and the beast and continued her march, merely veering around him. It was an easy matter to move the horse in front of her again, and again, until she got the idea and stopped.

He extended a hand to her, to lift her up. When she just stared at it, he explained, “I took you away from your camp last night, I’ll return you to it today. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

She snorted. “How convenient, to play the gentleman only when it suits you.”

That was a serious insult that had him retaliating in kind. “I wouldn’t expect a Gypsy to grasp the intricacies of the nobility.”

She raised a brow at him. “Is that a roundabout way of saying that the intricacies of common courtesy are beyond the grasp of the nobility?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t bother. I already mentioned that you won’t be forgiven, didn’t I?”

He gritted his teeth. “That’s a blasted phrase that requests an explanation when delivered in that tone, not a request for forgiveness!”

“Is it indeed? When a simple ‘what’ would have gotten the point across without causing confusion? Another one of those subtle ‘intricacies’ understood only by you lordly types, I suppose?”

He rolled his eyes and said in a weary tone, “You are being obtuse, Anastasia.”

She matched his tone and added a sigh. “And you are being dense, Lord Englishman, or have you not grasped yet that I have nothing further to say to you?”

He stiffened. “Very well, but before we part, I would like to know how you thought you could possibly convince me that I had married you.”

“Convince you?” She laughed unpleasantly. “There is probably a paper in your coat pocket with our signatures on it, unless you managed to lose it last night. But then you could always ask the Reverend Biggs—I believe that was the name he supplied. You threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life if he didn’t marry us, and poor man, he quite believed you. So do whatever needs doing to unmarry us. There will be no need to inform me when it is done, since I have no doubt whatsoever that you will see to it posthaste.”