“Watch out, she—”
“Bites.” He jerked out of reach just in time to avoid those large teeth sinking into his arm. But there was a new rip in his greatcoat. “Are you sure she won’t run amok among law-abiding citizens?”
“She likes the play. She knows she’s the favorite.” Miss Farrar took advantage of Daisy’s attack on Rory to slip the halter over her head.
To Rory’s surprise, the donkey stood calmly as Miss Farrar caught the lead. “You exaggerate the complexity of her thought processes.”
“You’ll learn.” Miss Farrar led Daisy toward the gate. “I’d advise you not to underestimate her. After all, Joseph is responsible for her on the day.”
He rolled his eyes as he followed. “God save me.”
When he met Daisy’s knowing brown glance, he wondered if Miss Farrar was right about the donkey being a criminal mastermind. Right now, she looked as sweet as sugar, and he almost believed it, until he remembered the chase she’d led them.
His thoughts focused on pursuing a prize much more interesting than a cantankerous donkey. His gaze settled on Miss Farrar.
Elizabeth.
Bess.
No great chore. She was lovely in her odd assortment of clothing and her muddy boots. Running around the field, she’d lost her scarf. The exercise had loosened her hair and curling tendrils of blond framed her vivid face.
Rory opened the gate and stood back to let Bess and Daisy go through ahead of him. “Although I don’t believe we’ve settled terms for her use.”
Bess fixed startled dark blue eyes on him. “What do you mean? We always use Daisy. It’s tradition.”
A rascally smile stretched his lips as he shut the gate. “Aye, but now there’s a new hand on the tiller at Penton Abbey—or had you forgotten?”
“But…you helped to catch her. And if you don’t let us have her, everyone will be so disappointed.” Her voice firmed. “It will make a bad impression.”
“I wanted to see her to work out what she’s worth.”
Bess brightened. “Are you offering to sell her? I’m sure we can set a price.”
He propped his back against the fence and folded his arms. “Not sell, rent.”
Sh
e frowned. “How much?”
Without shifting his attention from Bess, he hooked the heel of his boot on the fence’s lowest rail. “Not how much, what.”
She looked distinctly uneasy. Again he applauded her instincts. “You’re being cursed enigmatic, my lord.”
“I’m merely negotiating fair hire for this magnificent animal, Miss Farrar.”
Bess looked doubtfully at the small donkey, muddy and unkempt after living outside all summer. “And what might that be?”
“Nothing too ruinous.” Wicked triumph flooded him as he stared unblinkingly at Bess. “One wee kiss, and Daisy is yours for the play.”
Chapter 3
“K-kiss me?” Bess stammered, staring aghast at the handsome, confident man slouched so elegantly in front of her. She was so shocked that she forgot to hold on to Daisy, but luckily Lord Channing had his wits about him and caught her before she scarpered.
“Aye, that’s what I said,” he told her calmly, as if he was a civilized man and not a wicked rake. Because surely only wicked rakes went around kissing ladies they hardly knew.
“The gossip was right,” she muttered, too rattled to mind her tongue.
“That I’m an opportunist?”