Happiness.

The emotion soared through her, undeterred by the fact that Georgiana was not supposed to feel the emotion after several days traveling with the Scotsman.

She stretched, sinking blissfully in the bed, recollecting the delicious manner that Hamish’s tongue and lips had claimed her.

Over and over and over again.

The bedspread remained over her, and sunbeams directed lovely warm light into the room, undaunted by the window panes. Happiness was an emotion Georgiana had felt before, but this sense of joy surpassed any emotion she might feel upon gazing at a well-composed landscape. She rolled over the bed. Lying still seemed to be a ridiculous notion, when her whole body emanated with life.

At some point Hamish had left the bed. Perhaps he was bringing her breakfast. Georgiana had heard that men in the full throes of romance might do that. No doubt he was debating the virtues of black pudding with the innkeeper. Georgiana had always considered black pudding to be entirely without virtue, but since they were practically at the Scottish border, the innkeeper might agree with Hamish on its supposed benefits. Perhaps Georgiana might even try some today.

But no footsteps padded up the corridor to their room, and no hand pressed against the door.

She decided to dress, wrangling her shift and dress on. The action was time consuming, but when she’d made herself presentable, he still hadn’t arrived.

How odd.

The happiness that had moved through her halted, replaced by an ever stronger worry. She paced the room.

He’s left me.

She pushed away the unbidden thought. It seemed too melodramatic, too similar to what other women might mourn about other men. Hamish was of course different.

Except...

She strode to the window. Though the window was not far away, she moved slowly. Some trepidation filled her. Still, she opened the window and leaned her torso outside, angling her body to see—

The space where the coach should have been. A cart was in its place now, and she swallowed hard.

He’d left.

He’d really left.

Had he used her for his own masculine purposes? All women were warned of men’s urges...had she simply been another casualty, ascribing emotions to him that were nonexistent? 

She’d given herself freely. She’d felt womanly, desired. But now she felt foolish, a word that did not encompass either of those earlier feelings.

She combed her hair with her fingers, conscious her hands were shaking.

Maybe there was an explanation for his absence.

Memories floated through her mind. Good memories. Memories that made her think that the man in them couldn’t possibly have abandoned her.

Had she imagined them?

But even her imagination couldn’t have willed the glorious sensations that had rippled over her body the night before.

People were moving about downstairs, but he wasn’t there.

The man who was always eager to leave early, determined to reach Gretna Green, had gone.

Was he heading off to Gretna Green by himself? Taking a horse to best catch up with his brother? Was he going to tell the duke to not marry into a family where one daughter had given up her maidenhood so easily?

He must be outside.

Yes.

She put on her clothes, dashed down the stairs, and exited the inn. A pleasant meadow lay before her, and she was conscious now of the sounds of a babbling brook and birds chirping. Some sheep roamed the meadow, casting occasional glances at a group of lambs who seemed to delight in leaping about.

As idyllic as the scene was, it was marred by one undeniable fact:Hamish was entirely absent from it.

She strolled farther outside and inhaled the aroma of flowers. Perhaps Hamish had decided to pick her flowers in a fit of romantic vigor.

But no dashing Scotsman appeared.

“Hamish?” she called out. “Hamish?”

The only sound she heard was the birdsong, which had paused momentarily after she spoke, as if unsure whether she intended to lend her high-pitched voice to their song.

Uncertainty grew in her chest.

It was nonsense, she reminded herself.

Hamish wouldn’t have abandoned her in some coaching inn, no matter the picturesque attractions of its location.

But he remained absent. More carriages entered and departed the inn, and the grooms shot her curious looks. She attempted to act as if it were perfectly natural for her to be outside an inn in an evening gown. Nobody came to assist her. Her dress was tattered and stained with dirt. Perhaps they assumed her to be a lady of the night. She swallowed hard, and new questions floated through her mind. Questions that related not just to why Hamish had abandoned her, but what she should possibly do now, so far from home.

I’m alone.

*

HAMISH MURMURED TO the horses, urging them to quicken their gait. He’d been away from the inn longer than he’d desired. Georgiana might be awake by now.

Still, it had been worth it. He patted his purse.

He inhaled the crisp air. The sky might not be blue, but rabbits still hopped through the fields, and birds still fluttered their feathery wings. A floral scent pervaded. Spring might have come late this year, but even with fewer flowers than in past years, it most certainly had arrived.

When he rounded the final corner before the inn, he saw Georgiana at once. Wonderful. Her red locks flowed down, and she was gazing at the landscape. She looked every bit as lovely as she always did.

He pulled the horses over. “Climb up.”

She turned toward him and widened her eyes.

He smiled. She needn’t appear so shocked that they would depart now. Or perhaps... “Would you prefer to stay longer?”

She blinked, still silent, but then she shook her head furiously.

“I didn’t think you would. Gretna Green is nearby.”

If he’d realized it was so close last night, he may have had them continue on. Still, this inn was certainly more peaceful than those in its more famous neighbor village.

Georgiana strode toward the carriage, almost uncertainly. She seemed different from last night, and his heart sank. Was she regretting the passion they had shared?

She climbed onto the perch, and he smiled, conscious of her soft curves

“Is everything fine?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, but her voice sounded strained.

He hurried the horses on and soon they were on the road. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be worried.”

“I’m fine,” she said abruptly.

He assessed her, wondering if she was just acting brave.

He shook his head. Of course not. Why should she need to feign braveness? This was a pleasant day, and he’d left her in a beautiful spot.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

He hesitated, fighting the urge to share everything with her, but then shook his head. “Nothing important.”