For Your Arms Only

are without him. Or perhaps you know exactly where he is…buried.” He whispered the last word, tempting her—no, goading her—to lose her temper and tell him something he didn’t know.
“What—What kind of man would ask that?” she stammered. “It’s dreadful!”
His gaze wandered over her face until he could almost feel her skin against his fingertips. He had to squeeze the reins in his fist to keep from reaching up to touch her. This had been a very bad idea, inviting her to sit so close beside him. He should have known to keep his distance the moment he saw her. “A very thorough one,” he replied. “All too often the more dreadful a possibility, the truer it is.”
She wet her lips. “It’s not true in this case, and I am appalled you would think so.”
He raised one eyebrow and straightened on the seat. “Did I say I thought so? I never assume the answer to questions like that.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” she demanded furiously. “My family certainly doesn’t need the help of someone who would leap to that sort of conclusion!”
“No, but you need the help of someone who will ask that sort of question.”
“I don’t think we do!”
He could tell she wasn’t so certain of that by the tone of her voice—not softening in doubt, but ringing with outraged defiance. She didn’t trust him, didn’t like him, and Alec had worn through his limited supply of diplomacy anyway. “Miss Turner, clearly you have run out of patience that your father will return on his own. If you still believed that, you wouldn’t have written to Hastings. I was sent to act on his behalf, fulfilling your request. Now, either you don’t wish to find your father after all for some reason, or you simply don’t want me to do it.” He knew it was a gamble to be so blunt with her. Normally he acted in the shadows, listening here and prying a little there. It felt odd to be so open and brazen about his purpose, but there was no way around it. Everyone knew who he was now; no more hiding in the anonymity of a footman’s livery. There was little doubt in his mind that she had heard the stories about him, and his aggressive tactic would be enough to send most ladies into an outraged fit—or into a dead faint.
But this lady…he thought not. Between the pistol and the fact that she had accepted his offer of a ride into town, Alec sensed that Cressida Turner was made of sterner stuff. In fact, although she was obviously shocked by his suggestions, her reaction appeared to be more anger than anything else. A flush of fine color had come into her face, and her glorious eyes were positively smoldering. He realized his shoulders had tensed in anticipation of being struck, and that the possibility was more intriguing than irritating.
“What the devil do you want from me?” she said, biting off each word. “What am I supposed to say to that?”
Alec smiled thinly, gathering the reins. “The truth, Miss Turner. That is all I am after.” He snapped the reins and the gig jolted forward.
“What if the truth is that I don’t want to speak to you ever again?” she said over the rumble of the wheels. She had clapped one hand to her bonnet, and held tight to her basket with the other. She no longer held herself so stiffly away from him.
“You don’t have to.”
That stopped her. “Oh?”
He looked at her. Her chin was raised, her eyebrows were arched slightly, and her full mouth was soft with astonishment. She was almost pretty with that flush on her cheeks. “Of course not. I should be very glad for your assistance, though.”
She licked her lips again. Damn, he was like a boy, entranced by the sight of a woman’s mouth. “Then you would still look for my father, even if…?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward and peered past her, checking that the way was clear. They had reached the main road into Marston, and he turned the horse onto it. “I gave my word.”
“But Lord Hastings…”
“He never said I must secure your approval. Perhaps he assumed you would grant it without question, since you asked for help and he sent it.” He wasn’t sure what Hastings presumed, but he was taking too much pleasure in needling her.
Cressida clenched her teeth. He was deliberately misunderstanding her. Arguing with Major Hayes was like chasing a cat. Everything she said, he twisted and turned until she wanted to scream. She should have declined his offer, even if it meant walking twice as far into town. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful to Lord Hastings.”
He flashed a darkly amused glance at her. “No.”
She decided to be blunt. Heaven knew he hadn’t shied away from it. “Three days,” she said. “I would like three days to consider your offer to try to find my father.”
“What will happen in three days?”
“I—I have to talk to my sister,” she said, taken aback by his swift riposte. “And to my grandmother.”
“What will you tell them?”
It was almost as if he was daring her to accuse him of all the horrible things the gossips said about him. Cressida set her jaw and made herself smile. “I will ask their opinion of the matter. We might prefer someone more familiar with our family.”
“Your man Webb, I suppose. Of course, you haven’t sent him on it yet.”
“We like our privacy,” she snapped. “I don’t have to tell you anything. We are used to doing for ourselves, and if I prefer not to tell you all my father’s private doings and secret habits, I don’t see how you of all people could possibly fault me for it!” She stopped, horrified. Her temper had gotten the better of her in spite of her resolve not to let it.
It had a better effect on the major than she had expected, though. He turned to her, no longer quizzing and poking,