In Bed with the Duke(44)

‘Do you realise,’ he said coldly, ‘how dangerous it is to point a gun at someone?’

At his side, Prudence gasped, and stiffened in his hold.

‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said, remembering that it was the second time in as many days that she’d been shocked awake, too. ‘He won’t shoot us.’

‘Oh, won’t I?’ said the man with the gun.

‘No. There are laws preventing such things.’

‘I can do what I like on my own land,’ said the man with the gun, belligerently. ‘Since you got no right to be ’ere.’

‘No, perhaps not,’ admitted Gregory, for he had very little patience with people who trespassed on his own land.

‘Ain’t no perhaps about it! I don’t hold with vagrants making free with decent folk’s property.’

‘Oh, but we’re not vagrants,’ said Prudence, sitting up and pushing her wildly tousled hair out of her eyes.

The farmer—for he had to assume that was this man’s status, since he’d claimed they were trespassing on his land—glowered at her. ‘Thieves, then. On the run from the law I ’spect.’

‘We are no such thing,’ said Gregory, sitting up and putting his arm round Prudence’s shoulders. It said something about how frightened she was that she shrank into his side and clutched at his shirt front. ‘In fact the very opposite. We have been robbed.’

‘Oh-ar?’ The farmer sneered at them.

‘Yes. You see, this young lady’s guardians formed a plot to rob her of her inheritance. They drugged us both and abandoned her in my bed, then made off with all her belongings. And then,’ he said, rubbing his hand over his head in what was probably a vain attempt to remove all traces of hay. ‘Then I was robbed, too—of my purse. And I had to leave my horse and gig at an inn as surety. Which is why we are cutting across country on foot to...’

He floundered to a halt. It probably wasn’t a good idea to name the property to which they were heading, or give any hint that it belonged to him, or the man might guess who he was. And then the tale of what had befallen him this past few days would be all over the county in no time.

He’d be a laughing stock.

‘A likely tale,’ the farmer said. ‘Do you take me for an idiot? Come on—up you get,’ he said, jerking the gun in an up and down motion. ‘We’ll see what Jeffers has to say about this.’

Jeffers? Oh, no. He couldn’t risk being hauled up before the local magistrate. He’d had the wretched man over to dine once or twice when he’d been staying down here before.

‘Oh, no, please—there is no need for that,’ said Prudence plaintively. Then she elbowed him in the ribs. ‘I don’t know why you needed to make up such a silly story, darling.’

Darling? He turned to stare at her.

‘The truth is...’ She clasped her hands at her chest and gazed up at the man with the gun earnestly. ‘We are runaway lovers.’

‘Well, I dunno if that ain’t as bad,’ said the farmer. Although he did lower his gun just a touch.

‘I know—you must think we are wicked. But we are so very much in love. And my guardians are so strict. And, yes, it is rather shocking of us to defy them all, but we haven’t broken a single law. Except perhaps for trespassing on your land. And if only we could pay for spending the night in your barn we would. But, you see, we did get robbed. That part of Gregory’s story is true. So we haven’t a penny between us. However, we are perfectly happy to work for you for an hour or so to repay you for spending the night here. Aren’t we, darling?’

She turned and gave him a look loaded with meaning.

‘Work?’ The farmer tucked his gun under his arm and gave them a speculative look.

‘Well,’ said Prudence. ‘I’m sure you are a very busy man. Farms don’t run themselves, do they? And wouldn’t it be better to make us pay for our stay here than waste time running to fetch the local constable?’

‘Ar...’ said the farmer, scratching his chin. ‘There is that. And I can tell from yer voice that yer a lady. No beggarwoman I ever knew of spoke like you. Even though you are dressed like that.’ His eyes flicked over her rumpled dress, down to her bare feet. And narrowed.

‘You ain’t used to walking nowheres, either, are yer?’

Was Gregory imagining it, or did the farmer look as though he was starting to feel sorry for her?

‘No,’ she said plaintively, shaking her head.

He was. The farmer was definitely looking sorry for her. But then the state of her feet was enough to melt the hardest of hearts.