She felt his body stiffen. She looked up. His jaw was tight, too, his mouth set in a hard line. She wondered what nerve she’d struck inadvertently. She didn’t have time to work out the riddle, because Dain snatched up her forgotten bonnet and shoved it on her head backwards, and she had to right the hat and tie the ribbons. Then she had to try to make a dress she’d traveled in since early morning look presentable, because the carriage was turning in to a gateway, and Dain’s ill-concealed agitation told her the drive beyond led to his home.
Dain. You insecure buffoon
