“Present . . . ?” she said. “If it weren’t for my rescuing you, you’d be dead by now. When I first saw you, you were on foot and being chased by men who were shooting at you. What happened to the men who broke you free?”
“One was shot and the other turned himself in,” Alex said quietly.
“How did you get away?”
“Rolled away in the dark and came up running. I didn’t think I’d escape them.” Looking at her, he smiled. “But a lovely young girl dressed for a party was waiting there to save me. You looked like an angel.”
“That’s not what you said at the time. You told me you were doomed.”
“You misunderstood me. I said I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven.”
“You said—” she began, then realized he was teasing her. “Yes, I do believe that you referred to me as an angel and you were oh, so very glad to see me there waiting for you.”
“That’s just how I remember it, too.” His eyes were twinkling in the firelight, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
“Lass, I think . . .” He looked at her. “Cay, I think we should get some sleep. We’ll leave early tomorrow morning.”
She groaned. “Before daylight again. When I’m at home, my maid wakes me with a pot of hot chocolate, and I lie in bed and sip it while she asks me what I want to wear that day.”
“Sounds very boring,” he said as he stirred the fire.
“No, it’s . . .” She looked around them at the still night. They were far enough south now that the plants were beginning to change. She’d noticed flowers that she’d only seen in Uncle T.C.’s drawings. “I didn’t think it was boring then,” she said as she looked at the ground. “Alex.”
“What did you say?”
“That when I was at home, I didn’t think it was boring.”
“No, I heard that. What was the last part?”
She smiled. “Alex. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No, I like Mr. McDowell better.”
She picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at him, and when she hit his arm, he made sounds as though he were truly hurt. “You aren’t a gentleman.”
“Never wanted to be. I just wanted what a gentleman’s stallion had.”
Laughing, she stood up. “I think it is time for sleep. I’ll just have my maid warm the bed for me and get my chocolate and I’ll be ready to turn in.” She expected him to laugh, but he was looking at her hard. “What is it?”
“You don’t look like a boy.”
“I hope not.” She glanced down at her clothes. “I must say that these breeches do give a person a great deal of freedom. And the lack of . . . of certain undergarments made riding today much easier.”
“No, it’s the way you walk, the way you move. Lass—” He held up his hand. “Cay, I mean, you’ll never pass as a boy looking like that.”
She put her hand to her hair. She was not going to cry! “I know. My hair is—”
“I could shave your head and you’d still look like a girl. It’s the way you stand, the way you move your hands.”
“What’s wrong with the way I move my hands?”
“There’s nothing wrong with any of it if you’re a lady entering a ballroom. But you look like a girl in boy’s clothing.”
“Oh,” she said, at last understanding what he meant. “You want me to move like Tally does.”
“I don’t know, but try it.”
She walked to the far side of the fire, put her shoulders back, her flattened chest out, and strode past him with a swagger that said she was the best and the greatest. When she stopped, she used her fist to wipe her nose, and looked at him in an insolent way, as though daring him to fight her.