But not today.

Today, he’d saved her from being hauled back to her life in London. Today, he’d given her a chance at freedom.

Today, he’d kissed her. In the dark hallway behind a taproom, her father’s bounty hunters on her heels. It wasn’t precisely what she’d expected for her first kiss.

Despite being magnificent.

She ignored the thought.

He seemed utterly unmoved by the kiss, so shouldn’t she be the same? He’d clearly only allowed it because they were being followed. Suspected. Nearly found out. He’d kissed her to ensure the charade appeared legitimate.

It certainly felt legitimate.

Not that it mattered.

It was best she never think of it again.

She sneaked a look at him, eyes closed, arms crossed, long legs stretched across the carriage in an arrogant sprawl, crowding her into the corner of her seat. As though the limits of space should defer to him.

She rearranged herself, pressing into the small space he’d left for her.

It would be easy to forget the kiss if he carried on this way.

He opened one eye. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she said, making a show of folding her legs tightly against the box of the seat.

He watched her for a moment, then said, “All right,” and closed his eyes once more.

She coughed.

He opened his eyes again, and she noticed the irritation in them. “I am sorry, my lord,” she said, all sweetness. “Am I bothering you?”

“No,” he said, the word clipped, and closed his eyes once more. She heard the lie. What was she to do? Disappear? She’d offered to travel by mail. He’d been the one who had insisted on this wild plan.

Instead, she lifted her legs and pulled them up, stretching out along the slippery wooden seat. The carriage chose that exact moment to hit a tremendous rut, and she had to grab the edges of the conveyance in order to hold her position.

“For God’s sake, Sophie. Find a spot and stay in it.” He did not open his eyes this time.

Her incredulous gaze met his. “You do realize that this carriage is not the behemoth in which you traditionally travel? As you have taken the low ground, my lord, I have no choice but to claim the high. And, as you may recall, I have an unhealed bullet wound in my shoulder, so the threat of the drop from seat to floor of the carriage is . . . unsettling to say the least.”

He cut her a look. “I asked if you were uncomfortable. You said no.”

She scowled at him. “I lied.”

He sat up, just as the vehicle went round a corner. “Christ,” he muttered, putting his hand to his head.

He was turning green.

She let her feet drop to the floor. “Are you ill?”

He shook his head, but put one hand on the side of the rocking carriage.

“Do carriages make you ill?” she asked. When he did not reply, she added, “My sister Sesily is ill in carriages.”

“Which one is that?” If he hadn’t looked so unsettled, she would have argued that her sisters were not all the same and it should not be too much trouble to tell them apart.

Instead, she clarified, “She is second eldest.” She paused, then added, “As the rake you are, I’m sure you’ve heard what they call her when she is not in the room.”

“What’s that?”

“You needn’t pretend you haven’t. I’ve heard it, so I know you must have.”

He cut her a look. “Have I made a practice of lying to you?”

Well. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him. She blushed. “Never mind.”

“You must tell me, now.”

She shook her head. “It’s unkind.”

“I’ve no doubt it is, if they don’t use it to her face.”

She looked out the window. “Her name is Sesily.”

“Yes. You said that.”

She watched him pointedly. “Ses-ily.”

He raised a brow, but did not speak.

“You wish me to say it aloud.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m beginning to care less and less about it, frankly.”

“Sexily,” she said flatly. “They call her Lady Sexily. Behind her back.”

For a moment, he did not reply. Did not move. And then he opened his eyes, skewering her with a furious look. “Anyone who calls her that is an epic ass. And anyone who calls her that in front of you deserves a fist to the face.” He leaned forward. “Who said that in front of you?”

Surprised, she replied, “It’s not important.”

“I assure you it is,” he said. “You should be treated with more respect.”

Respect. What a foreign concept. She looked away. “The Dangerous Daughters do not garner respect, my lord. You know that better than anyone.”

He cursed in the silence. “I am sorry for the things I said.”

“You are?”

“You needn’t sound so shocked.”

“It’s just that—my sisters don’t mind the treatment, so the ton never seems to stop saying such things.”

“But you do mind it.”

She lifted one shoulder. “As we’ve established, I don’t value the gossip pages.”

He watched her for a long moment before he said, “That’s not why you mind it.”

“No,” she said, “I mind it because it devalues us. They’re my sisters. We are people. With feelings. We exist. And it seems that the world fails to see that. Fails to see them.”

“Fails to see you,” he said.

Yes.

“I don’t wish to be seen,” she lied. “I just wish to be free of it.”