Georgiana closed her eyes, willing herself to pretend that she was still in Norfolk. But the ever-winding road could not be confused with Norfolk’s flat terrain, and the sounds of other coaches and horses trotting could not be confused with the gentle hum of her father’s vicarage.

The horror of what she’d done moved through her, but she raised her chin. This could still work. He would bring her to Charlotte, since he desired to see the duke.

Everything could be fine.

It has to be.

The coach slowed and then veered to the side. Lord Hamish Montgomery could be heard soothing the horses.

What had caused him to stop?

Georgiana’s heartbeat quickened, and she was conscious that she was not supposed to be here. Was this when the man decided to ravish her? Tension swept through her body, and she reminded herself that ravishment would be by no means desirable.

She could hear his footsteps nearby, and she stiffened. He opened the door. The sun hung low on the horizon, as if to better direct its rays into her eyes.

She forced a smile on her face, as if she were having a pleasant time inside the coach and not the least bit afraid.

She wondered if men could smell fear. Couldn’t animals? Would he take advantage of her?

“Out,” Lord Hamish Montgomery said, his voice rough.

“Pardon me?”

He sighed. “You can’t stay in that coach the whole day.”

“But I intend to!”

“The weather is nice,” he said. “You shouldn’t be inside. At least, not on my account. No one’s going to recognize you so far from London.”

Georgiana frowned and exited the coach. She followed him up to the perch.

“A break from the rain is a cause to celebrate,” he said.

Georgiana was silent. He didn’t need to know she felt any relief at leaving the coach’s drab, dark interior.

The wagons and gigs that had filled the road had thinned, as if few people could discern a reason to be so far from the capital. Villages were visible in the distance, their stone homes from past centuries clustered around plump Norman churches. The poor weather had not been conducive to the creation of an appropriate floral environment. Still, it was June, and even if some of the orchards remained bare, damaged from the harsh climate, and even if there were rather fewer flowers than the year before, there were still flowers, and it was still lovely.

He grinned. “I thought a garden enthusiast would favor being outside.”

The man needn’t look so proud, and she willed her facial features to display rather less enthusiasm. Despite the pleasant surroundings, the fact remained that he was ushering her away from everything she knew.

“I still consider myself to be captured,” Georgiana said.

“You have made my job too easy for that to be correct,” he said.

“Why don’t you want your brother to be happy?”

He blinked. “But I do want that. Everything I am doing is for his good.”

“He can be happy marrying the woman he loves.”

“Didn’t you find it odd that they barely spoke to each other?”

The man might actually have a point, but Charlotte was hardly the bubbly type and the duke was evidently the strong and silent type. Besides their mother was quite capable of chattering enough for both of them.

Georgiana raised her chin. “Their passion needs no words.”

“You know about passion, lassie?”

She despised that his voice managed to be so mocking, and she despised more that the words seemed to have some strange impression on her body.

It was the word passion, she decided. It was a word utterly lacking in propriety, and if she shivered, it was just in revulsion.

“I don’t matter,” she said. “They do. Please do not commit them to a lifetime of misery.”

He blinked, and for a moment something like respect seemed to flicker in his eyes. “It’s not just about the money.”

“Of course not. How could you think that?”

“But your family—” His cheeks reddened. “They don’t—” He looked down again, obviously embarrassed, and she gave an exasperated sigh.

He could be embarrassed. That was fine. She wasn’t going to lessen his unease.

“Don’t you think they might be forcing my brother to marry your sister because of my brother’s more established—er—finances?”

“Nonsense.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re making assumptions.”

Bewilderment leaped over his face, and she sighed. “First of all... I doubt my parents could force your brother to do anything. Papa was never even in the local militia, and he’s hardly a source for bribes.”

“Well—”

“Moreover—” She tossed her hair, and his eyes widened, sending a definitely inappropriate thrill through her. “If my parents had such an interest in money, wouldn’t they have achieved it now?”

“I don’t think it’s that easy—”

“Well, my mother could have married someone else. A vicar’s studious second son is hardly mistaken for being a source of riches. And Father? Well, Father isn’t forced to devote himself to fading leather tomes. He enjoys it. In fact,” and she allowed herself a smile, “He’s rather an expert.”

“I see.”

“They’re really quite wonderful,” she said. “But you understand. Your family—”

His skin paled, and she looked down hastily. Too late she remembered that his family was dead, had died so long ago that he might not even remember them.

“You mean I wouldn’t know anything about families?” he asked, and she flinched at the slight sarcasm in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The man’s facial muscles still seemed too tight, but he gave a curt nod. “There’s a posting inn here. I think we better get out and eat.”

Oh.

“Good idea,” she said brightly, as if smiling might keep guilt from churning in her stomach.

The posting inn was a small structure that looked as if it had been pieced together rapidly in the hopes of serving passengers.

She missed the friendly half-timbered coaching inns that sat majestically in some parts of the countryside as if they’d been around for centuries, and would remain for centuries more, unruffled by even the most eccentric guest. Those coaching inns had thatched roofs and window boxes.

This place didn’t even have windows; evidently the owner had seen no need to get taxed for something as intangible as natural light.

He guided the horses into the courtyard. When he stepped down, she didn’t take his proffered hand. The ground might seem awfully far away, and a groom might usually assist her, but he needn’t think her so helpless that she couldn’t disembark on her own.

The speed at which she descended the coach was perhaps more quick than normal.

Her feet crunched against the gravel, and she glanced warily at the wagons, carts and vans parked outside. More donkeys than horses were present, and some of the male guests had wandered outside, still clasping their tin tankards.

“Oooh!” Some of the men shouted and pointed in the direction of them.

Lord Hamish Montgomery’s face paled, and he halted. “Follow me.” He dashed back to the coach, jerked open the door and removed the blanket. “Wrap this around you. You’ll look just like any other woman.”

He spread the fabric over her shoulders. He smoothed his fingers along it, and warmth that could not be entirely attributed to the woolen material spread through her. Georgiana held its corners as if it were a cloak, simply missing its buttons.

“You resembled a cake confection,” he explained. “Something some French patisserie concocted from sugar.”

Georgiana flushed. “And the men don’t enjoy cake confections?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, and then he shook his head. “I’m afraid these men might be overly fond of them.”