“I was about to say,” Dover continued, “that by my calculations, there should be a village up ahead. This would be an excellent opportunity to stop and change horses.”
“Oh, good, we’re stopping,” Ashley Brittany said sleepily to Lady Madeleine. “My—er, legs are so sore.”
“There’s no time for that,” Jack said shortly, rapping on the carriage’s roof to alert his brother. “Your pistol-waving father is on our heels, and we have a long way to go to Gretna Green.”
The hatch opened and Nick, looking wind-whipped but relaxed and happy, peered down. “I’ll stop and change horses again up ahead,” he said.
“We had the same idea,” Jack replied. “But we tarry no more than a quarter hour.”
“Agreed. Between their fathers”—he gestured to the girls—“and our own friends, we had better keep moving.”
“Agreed,” Jack said.
Nick dropped the hatch closed and began to slow the weary horses.
Across from Jack, the two women were now awake. Lady Madeleine, damn her, had her eyes on her professor. And Ashley Brittany was watching him, her look slightly less endearing.
He gave his fiancée a tight smile. “Excited about reaching Gretna Green?” he asked sarcastically.
“Ecstatic.” She curled her lip at him. “I can’t wait.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and break an axle. Your father will have the opportunity to shoot me after all.”
“Sir, it’s not polite to raise a lady’s hopes.”
MADDIE STEPPED OUT of the coach, despite Lord Blackthorne’s strict orders for them to stay put and be ready to depart immediately. Ashley had snorted at Blackthorne’s command and jumped down as soon as the marquess walked away. Maddie and Dover had waited a bit longer, and then her aching muscles protested too loudly to ignore and she hobbled down.
The first few steps were difficult, but after a moment she managed to work out some of the stiffness. It was growing late, but she took a moment to observe the little village in the afternoon sun.
The town was a pretty place, full of snug cottages on a hill and neat shops on the main street. Maddie could imagine happy families living in those pretty cottages, sweet-faced children grasping the aprons of their patient mammas, who stirred pots full of hearty dinners for handsome husbands.
She sighed. Her mother had never cooked a day in her life and had certainly never worn an apron. Her aristocratic friends and family would not find her musings romantic in the least. But she couldn’t help but admire the common people and their simple lives. How many times had she wished her own life were so simple?
They had stopped at a posting house, set some way apart, but, as was usually the case, it was near a pub, and Maddie could smell the succulent aroma of fresh bread and stew.
Her stomach grumbled and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. She’d had a small tart or two at Josie and Lord Westman’s wedding breakfast but had been too nervous about her elopement to eat much more. Now she wished she’d followed Ashley’s example and taken a bite of everything.
Ashley.
Maddie turned about, looking for her cousin, only to find that she’d disappeared. Typical. Knowing Ashley, she’d be gone for three-quarters of an hour and get them all caught and dragged back to London.
Maddie’s stomach growled again, and she decided to check the pub. Perhaps Ashley was hungry and had ventured that way. But the pub was empty. It was too early for the locals to come in for dinner, and she was with the only group of travelers. Maddie did find a serving girl and paid for a small chunk of bread. Afraid time was growing short, she wrapped her spoils in her handkerchief and headed back toward the coach.
The new set of horses was almost harnessed, and Maddie took a moment to admire the large bays. But as she took the first steps toward the door of the coach, she heard the men.
It was Blackthorne and his brother, talking in low voices near the coach box. With the big horses in front of her, Maddie didn’t think the men had seen her.
She didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but their next words stopped her.
“ . . . no reason for you to go with us to Gretna Green,” Lord Blackthorne was saying. “Wales or Ireland will hide you until Bleven’s temper cools.”
“You want to get rid of me.”
“Can you blame me?”
Lord Nicholas laughed. “No, but I have my reasons for tagging along with you.”
“Is she blond?”
