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Whose?” He guessed her meaning by the look on her face. “Yours?” He chuckled. “You have some arrogance, Miss Wallington-Willis, to think that Annabelle cannot make up her own mind.”
    “Me? Arrogant?” If she were a cat, she would have been spitting. “I cannot help but notice that you, my good man, have become very defensive at my very reasonable proposition. And as for Annabelle’s making up her own mind . . . well, the girl could not decide which fiancé she wanted to marry only three weeks ago!”
    “Are you so much more qualified than she is to make decisions about her own life? Tell me, what great life experiences have made you qualified for such a post? Have you been married? No. Are you a world traveler? No. Have you been in battle, survived a great illness, studied under the great minds of Europe? No. What you are, Miss Wallington-Willis, is jealous.”
    “Jealous!” Her eyes widened, then narrowed, sparks flickering behind thick lashes. If speech were a weapon, the words that came next would have skewered him like a scimitar. “Do you consider yourself such a good catch that I would be jealous of your relationship with Annabelle?” she hissed. “Perhaps you are nothing more than a man who apes the manners and style of his betters in hopes of charming a woman of the upper class so that he can improve his own social standing!”
    He studied the purse of her lips, the stiffness of her spine, the passion in her eyes. Only one thing, in his experience, got a woman agitated like that.
    “I assume Mr. Overton is to blame for this outburst?” he asked. “Is he the man who tried to charm you to improve his social standing?”
    She sucked in a sharp breath. Panic flickered across her face before she controlled her expression. “We are not discussing me.”
    “Yes, we are. You are assigning yourself as Annabelle’s chaperone to guard her from my nefarious ways. While I have no objection to the idea itself, it is the spirit in which you suggested it that irritates me. From where I stand, Genny Wallington-Willis, I think that fellow’s carelessness with your heart has made you into the prickly, stiff-rumped young lady I see before me.”
    She gasped, her mouth falling open in obvious shock. “How dare you!”
    “Someone has to dare, Genny girl, or else you’re going to find yourself an old maid living in your father’s house, dandling Cilla’s children on your knee and wishing you had had the courage to take a risk when you were still young enough to take it.”
    “You overstep yourself, John Ready! How dare you speak to me in so common a manner! And . . . and I did not give you leave to address me by my Christian name. You will show me some respect.”
    “Respect?” He blatantly sized her up with a swift glance from face to toes and back again. “You’re a pretty woman, Genny, but that attitude of yours is not going to win you a husband anytime soon. You truly are going to end up a lonely spinster if you do not learn how to control that anger of yours. Now if you will excuse me, I have to catch up with Annabelle.”
    He strode past her into the woods, leaving her floundering and alone in the empty clearing.

Chapter 3
     
     
    F ury burned in John’s gut as he strode after Annabelle. He supposed he should be grateful that Genny cared enough about the girl to come charging to her rescue. There was something admirable in that. But he could not help the way his temper simmered at being accused—again—of being dishonorable. In all the years he had lived in America, no one had ever questioned his motives. Only when he returned to England did such things happen. It was like a curse.
    And his carnal reaction to Genny did not help matters.
    He caught up to Annabelle where the woods let out into the meadow. “Hold a moment, young lady.”
    She whirled around at that, clenching her fists at her sides. “Don’t speak to me like I’m a child, John.”
    “Then perhaps you should not sulk like