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attention on her, narrowed her brown eyes. “I expected Harrington this morning. Will you send me off to him when we return?”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “No.” Such a charming conversation.
    “What of your threats last night?”
    A reaction of rage, a ploy meant to scare her. It seemed it had worked. “I am trying to keep you out of the county gaol, only the good Lord knows why.” Actually, he did know why. There was an unexpected elegance about her that would be her undoing in gaol. The guards would see it instantly and prey upon it. Harrington already had.
    “How gallant of you,” she snapped.
    He guessed she was irritated with her own fear as much as she was irritated with him. Good. He would keep her off-kilter. “You had best play nice, Miss Mazie.”
    “I am just confused. It is rather difficult to sort the lies from the truth.” Forced friendliness laced her tone.
    “Are you speaking of yourself, then?” What a mouth this woman had, full of challenge and insult.
    She turned away with an irritated sniff, and Trent found he had to suppress a smile. He could not countenance it, this amusement he found in deviling her.
    They rode in silence, punctuated here and there by the layered sounds of the meadow. A gentle wind rippled the tall grasses. A swallow warbled. Somewhere in the distance a man struck a hammer.
    Mazie tilted her head back and let the sun fall on her face. Trent could not help but watch her. Perhaps she was thinking of her small room. Of a life in Newgate with no meadows to ride in.
    “Trent,” she said, not opening her eyes.
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you send me to Harrington, really?”
    He considered his answer, let her waiting stretch out. “Mazie.”
    “Yes.”
    “I am not done with you yet.”
    Her eyes opened, and she reared back. He watched the play of emotions cross her face—surprise, then the blush of memory—she must be thinking of the kiss—then the coolness of her control.
    She glanced at him and he raised a brow. She turned away at once, but it was too late. He had already seen her reaction. She was just as affected by that damned kiss as he.
    Without another word, he rode on ahead, their conversation at an end.
     
    Mazie called herself a thousand times a fool and loosened her hold on the reins. The horse plodded along beneath her, slowing down to a wandering amble. She could waste another thirty minutes of their day if she kept up this pace.
    She considered the man ahead of her on the lush green path. Trent seemed relaxed and comfortable on his hulking beast of a horse, and dashingly handsome to boot. He wore his hat at a conservative angle, his cravat was crisp and gleaming white and his boots freshly buffed. He was quite well turned out for a morning ride in the deep forest with only the company of his captive and four hired brutes. Some lords favored casual dress in the countryside, but not the Earl of Radford. No, he was dressed to go riding in Hyde Park with Dukes and Princes.
    It was a shame he was not in London, flirting with some impressionable young girls out for their first season. They had much more use for his handsomeness than she did.
    His earlier words echoed through her mind.
    I am not done with you yet.
    What did he mean? Her mind conjured memories of their kiss, the unwanted attraction between them. Hopefully, he did not refer to that.
    She forced her attention away from her infuriating captor and watched the wind play with the grass. The sweet smell of summer blew over her. She wondered what Roane was doing this morning. Maybe he was camped out by a creek somewhere, laid out like a cat. Perhaps he was hiding in a cave or secreted away in a barn.
    Wherever he was, she hoped he was safe.
    Trent expected her to divulge all the Midnight Rider’s secrets this morning. Where she met him to exchange goods. Where he slept. She could not very well expose the truth, but neither could she afford to provoke her captor. No, she must provide him with compelling