Joan did not wait for the step to be let down. She gathered her skirts in one hand and jumped down to the road, landing with a decidedly unladylike thump that sent a fresh spike of pain through her aching head.
“Miss Sinclair!” Peters finally found his voice, though it emerged as a strangled squeak. “Miss, please, you must get back inside the?—”
Joan ignored him. She strode forward along the narrow verge of the road, her half-boots squelching in the mud left by yesterday’s rain. Behind her, she heard Victoria call out her name.
The rider from the other carriage called out, “Madam! Madam, you must stop at once!”
Joan paid him no heed whatsoever. She marched straight up to the gleaming black carriage and raised her fist to pound on the door.
“I must insist that you reverse your carriage!” she called out, her voice ringing with an authority she had perfected over years ofmanaging a household. “It is far more practical for you to do so. We have been traveling for eight hours and are nearly at our destination, while you have only just arrived at this impasse.”
Two men who were guards, she realized, built like bulls and dressed in the same blue-and-silver livery, appeared as if from nowhere. “Step away from the carriage, Miss,” one of them said, his voice flat and hard. “Now.”
Joan looked from one guard to the other. Some distant, rational part of her mind whispered that she had made a terrible mistake.
“Miss, do you hear? You need to?—”
The carriage door swung open.
Joan’s words died in her throat as a man emerged from the shadowed interior.
Dear God, she thought, momentarily forgetting every coherent thought in her head.
He was tall, taller even than her brother, who stood above six feet. Broad shoulders strained against the superfine fabric of his coat, which was cut in a style so elegant and expertly tailored that it could only have come from the finest establishments on Savile Row. His hair was a rich brown, just long enough to curl slightly at his collar, and when he raised his head to look at her fully, Joan felt her breath catch in her chest.
His eyes were the color of a stormy sea, dark blue, almost gray, and so intense that she felt pinned beneath his gaze like a butterfly mounted on velvet.
His expression revealed nothing.
Training reasserted itself and Joan sank into a curtsy, keeping her spine straight and her eyes downcast in the manner she had been taught since childhood. “My lord,” she said, her voice suddenly, mortifyingly breathless. “Forgive my… unconventional approach.”
Unconventional, she thought wildly.I am quite possibly the most foolish woman in all of England.
She rose from her curtsy and forced herself to meet his eyes, though it cost her more effort than she cared to admit.
“I would not have troubled you,” she continued, fighting to keep her voice steady and reasonable, “but the circumstances rather demand it. We have been traveling all day and are within two miles of our destination. You have only just arrived at this narrow portion of the road. It would take you but a few minutes to reverse to the intersection you passed, while it would require us to backtrack nearly half a mile before we could even begin to turn our carriage around.”
She paused, then added, “I am certain a gentleman of your obvious rank and quality would see the logic in this and would not wish to cause unnecessary hardship to fellow travelers.”
There, she thought with grim satisfaction.Appeal to his pride and sense of superiority. Make him think that reversing his carriage is the noble, generous thing to do rather than the practical necessity it actually is.
He raised one hand in a languid gesture, and instantly, stepped back. The liveried rider who had first approached their carriage bowed and immediately began calling orders to the other servants.
The man’s eyes never left Joan’s face.
“My coachman will reverse the carriage,” he said, his voice a deep, drawl that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “I would not wish to be thought discourteous by a lady of such… determination.”
Heat flooded Joan’s cheeks. She could not tell if he was mocking her or genuinely impressed by her audacity.
“You are most generous, my lord,” she managed, dropping into another curtsy, though this one was briefer and more perfunctory than the first.
“Safe travels, madam. I trust you will reach your destination without further… impediment.”
There was definitely mockery in those words. Joan felt her chin lift automatically, a stubborn defiance rising to match the challenge in his tone.
“I am certain we shall,” she said crisply. “Good day to you, my lord.”
She turned on her heel and walked back toward her own carriage.
