then what, Rian Becket? I take myself to your home and tell them I had been bringing their son back to them—before I left him dead and barefoot in a ditch? Do you think they’d slay the fatted calf for me then, hmm? And I don’t even know where to go, do I, to deliver this so sad news? Where are we going?”
“Home,” Rian said shortly, pushing his foot deeper into the boot.
She glared up at him even as she picked up the other boot. “Maybe I don’t believe you, Rian Becket. Perhaps you are taking me to London, to sell me to some low brothel.”
Now Rian did laugh. “Where on earth do you get an idea like that?”
She tugged and tugged on the second boot. “Sometimes ladies would come to the convent, sent there by their husbands who wanted them to learn to be more obedient. They would bring novels with them and share them with me.”
“The convent, Lisette?”
She gave one last pull on the leather straps, and the boot slid up and over his calf. “My papa, he would sometimes teach the nuns English. I told you that. You remember nothing, Rian. How can I trust you to know how to get home?”
Rian looked down at her, trying to engage her gaze, but she was already getting to her feet once more, moving away from him. What a pretty girl. How little he really knew about her. “I don’t remember you saying anything about a convent.”
“Men never listen to women, when they speak of themselves. Only when the woman speaks of the man. It’s the way of men, to listen only when they are the subject of the conversation.”
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