“Good,” James said. “Let's be off.”

The trio moved silently through the house, pausing outside the south drawing room so that James could relock the door, and then exited into the side yard. A few minutes later they reached the men's horses.

“My mount is over there,” Caroline said, pointing to a small collection of trees across the garden.

“I suppose you mean my mount,” Blake snapped, “which you conveniently borrowed.”

She snorted. “Pray forgive my use of imprecise English, Mr. Ravenscroft. I—”

But whatever she was going to say—and Caroline wasn't even certain herself what that would be—was lost under the sound of James's cursing. Before she or Blake could say another word, he'd called them both baconbrains, idiots, and something else entirely, which Caroline didn't quite understand. She was fairly certain, however, that it was an insult. And then, before either one of them had a chance to respond, James had hopped onto his horse and ridden off over the hill.

Caroline blinked and turned to Blake. “He's rather irritated with us, isn't he?”

Blake's response was to heave her up onto his horse and hop up behind her. They rode the perimeter of Prewitt Hall's property until they reached the tree where she'd tied her horse. Soon Caroline was atop her own mount.

“Follow me,” Blake instructed, and he took off at a canter.

An hour or so later Caroline followed Blake through the front door of Seacrest Manor. She was tired and sore and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but before she could dash up the stairs he took her by the elbow and steered her into his study.

Or perhaps propelled would be a more accurate term.

“Can't this wait until morning?” Caroline asked, yawning.

“No.”

“I'm terribly sleepy.”

No response.

Caroline decided to try a different tactic. “What do you suppose happened to the marquis?”

“I don't particularly care.”

She blinked. How odd. Then she yawned again, unable to help herself. “Is it your intention to scold me?” she asked. “Because if it is, I might as well warn you that I'm really not up to it, and—”

“You're not up to it?!” he fairly roared.

She shook her head and headed for the door. There was no use trying to reason with him when he was in such a mood. “I'll see you in the morning. I'm certain whatever it is that has you so upset will keep until then.”

Blake caught a handful of the fabric of her skirt and hauled her back to the center of the room. “You are not going anywhere,” he growled.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing tonight?”

“Saving your life?” she quipped.

“Don't make jokes.”

“I wasn't. I did save your life. And I don't recall hearing one word of thanks for it.”

He muttered something under his breath, followed by, “You didn't save my life. All you did was endanger your own.”

“I won't quibble with the latter sentence, but I certainly did save your life this evening. If I hadn't rushed out to Prewitt Hall to warn you about Farnsworth and his ten o'clock tea, he would surely have shot you.”