The sky was just beginning to lighten when Emma gave up trying to sleep. She washed and dressed quickly, then tossed the rest of her clothes in the one bag she’d brought. Melisande would be extremely cross with her, both for sneaking out when she’d promised to stay, and for dispensing with the help of a maid and doing everything herself. Then again, Melisande knew her better than anyone, and she knew that her best friend would accept her disappearance with no more than a slight grumble.

The servants were stirring—most of them rose well before dawn to begin their endless day and night of labor—and she gave a friendly smile to the chambermaid who scurried past her. It was Rosie, one of the girls from the Dovecote, but for some reason she didn’t respond with her usual cheeky grin. Instead, with lowered eyes, she scuttled away, far too quickly, and Emma watched her go, frowning. What on earth could be wrong with her? Rosie had seemed happy with her new employment, which, despite the hard work, was better than the dangers of making a living on her back.

It had been difficult to persuade some of the girls. Some never changed, like Violet Highstreet, who now ran an elegant brothel in the heart of Mayfair, but at least she operated on more democratic principles, following Emma’s example.

It seemed so long ago, she thought as she followed the long, empty hallways down to the ground floor. Mrs. Cadbury’s house had been run along democratic lines—they all shared the profits equally, they catered to pleasant and clean gentlemen, and for a while she’d been lulled into a spirit of complacency. It had taken a random meeting with Melisande Carstairs to break her out of the trap, and the girls, who later became known as the Gaggle thanks to Benedick’s sharp tongue, came too, complaining and arguing all the way.

She reached the ground floor, then headed down the last flight of stairs into the tunnels that led between the house and the stable. They had been installed fifty years ago by the previous owner, a dandy who hadn’t wanted to get his coat wet before he went out riding in inclement weather, which had never made sense to Emma. The rider would be drenched the moment he left the confines of the stable—why would it make a difference?

The moment she stepped into the tunnel she breathed a sigh of relief. The only person she had to face was the head groom, and Lakeland had always treated her with deference and kindness. He had standing orders to take her wherever she wanted to go, and freedom was so close she could taste it.

The tunnel was unlit, and she’d forgotten to bring a lantern. She was a strong woman, impatient with her own weaknesses, but truth be told she’d never liked darkness much, and the pitch black of the corridor made her heart start pounding. She knew she was being ridiculous, and she sped up, determined to escape from the impenetrable shadows.

It was like running into a brick wall, something so hard it almost knocked the breath out of her, and she started to fall back when an arm reached out to catch her, pulling her back. Against him.

For a moment she couldn’t move. She hadn’t been pressed against a man’s body in years, and never one so tall and strong and muscled. She knew who it was. There were any number of tall, strong men at Melisande’s house party, as well as in the stables, but the way her luck had been running it could only be but one. Damn it.

And he wasn’t letting go of her. She squirmed but he didn’t release her and for one insane moment she wanted to close her eyes and lean into him, rest her head against his shoulder, put her arms around his waist.

Fortunately, she was of sound mind. “Would you please let me go, Lord Brandon?” she demanded in a frosty voice.

She heard an unexpected laugh and after an infinitesimal delay he released her. Stepping back, she suddenly felt the damp chill of the place when a moment ago she’d been so warm.

“What are you doing skulking around here, Miss Cadbury?”

“I am Mrs. Cadbury,” she said stiffly, “not miss.” She’d never been a miss.

“And I told you I didn’t use my title, yet you persist in calling me Lord Brandon. Why don’t we just dispense with honorifics entirely—you can be Emma and I’ll be Brandon.”

“I don’t think so,” she said tartly. “Our stations are so far removed that my mind can’t even comprehend it.”

“Oh, I think your mind can comprehend a great deal.” His words seemed like a challenge, but she refused to consider it any further.

“Lord Brandon,” she said with deliberate emphasis, “would you please allow me to pass?”

“Certainly, Miss Cadbury . . .”

“Mrs. Cadbury,” she corrected in a repressive tone. Why was her heart hammering? Surely it wasn’t as loud as it felt in this dank, tomb-like atmosphere?

“Miss Cadbury. I’ll be happy to let you pass, I’ll even escort you to your destination. As soon as you tell me why you’re down here at the crack of dawn.”

Blast the man! “I would think that would be obvious. I must return to the city.”

“You must, must you? And what has caused this sudden emergency? Benedick informed me that you were staying for the week. What are you running away from?”

It was anger rushing through her body, she told herself, a sudden surge of emotion that was making her feel light-headed and shaky. “I do not run.”

He gave a disbelieving snort. “You most certainly do. You ran out of the library early this morning as if the hounds of hell were after you. I promise you, I had no intention of following you.”

It was a good thing they were having this totally inappropriate discussion in the dark—he wouldn’t be able to see the way her face flushed. She took a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sure you didn’t. I was merely in a hurry to see if I could get some rest before I had to leave.”

“Hurrying seldom leads to a good night’s sleep, which I presume continued to elude you. That’s something we have in common. I don’t sleep when I’m around my family. The Highlands are a different matter—I sleep like a baby up there in the clean, cool air. You ought to try it.”

Was he being deliberately cruel? “I don’t foresee a trip to Scotland in my future, Lord Brandon.”

“Why not, Miss Cadbury?” His voice caressed her name, and she wanted to smack him.

She didn’t even have to force a polite smile—he couldn’t see her. “I’m far too busy for frivolous jaunts. In fact, it’s imperative that I return to London immediately, so if you would please get out of my way I’d be most grateful.”

“I doubt that you have suddenly been called back to London. You seem to have taken me in dislike. I presume it’s my ugly mug that’s put you off.”

“Don’t be absurd!” she said, shocked.

“No? Well, you’ve probably heard dark tales of my degenerate behavior in years past. If you’re as close a friend to Melisande as you appear to be then I imagine you know the full breadth of my wickedness.” His voice was light, uncaring.

“Lord. . . Lord Brandon, I have not taken you in dislike,” she stammered, appalled. “As far as I can tell you are a pleasant young man with an admirable record in the war that left you with battle scars of honor.”

His laugh was both cynical and unsettling. “Really? I must assure you that I am most definitely not very pleasant, and I’m no longer young, and any claim I had to honor is long gone.”

“Younger than me,” she blurted out, then could have bit her tongue.

“Oh, really? You bothered to ask? I’m flattered. And what great age are you?”

“Thirty-two,” she said repressively. “Old enough to view things with a little more distance. You have both arms and legs, you’re not blind, and you seem fit. So many men are much worse off.”

“You’re right, of course, but I must admit that doesn’t provide much comfort.” His tone was sharp. “Don’t worry, I no longer spend my time brooding and feeling sorry for myself. I’ve made peace with who I am.”

“Have you?” It was for too intrusive a question. This was exactly why she had to get away from here—she kept crossing boundaries that were inviolate.

Whatever dark mood had hit him had vanished. “Of course.” His tone was flippant. “Now why don’t you turn around and head back upstairs? Melisande doesn’t even have to know you tried to do a bunk.”

“I told you I have to get back to London. Immediately. It’s an emergency.” She certainly sounded desperate enough—that much was real. “And what are you doing down here at this early hour?”

“I was planning on sneaking out as well. My family has been a little too. . . managing. . . for me, and I thought making myself scarce would be a wise idea. I’ll tell you what—if you’re equally set on getting away from here I’ll take you with me. Who knows, you might like Scotland.”

She was unprepared for how painful his light words were, as if she’d been stabbed in the heart, and she faced the dismal truth. A small part of her wanted him to scoop her up and carry her away, damn it. No matter how much common sense and cynicism filled her, there was some weak, longing strain in her that was still ridiculously in love with Brandon Rohan.

A man who didn’t even recognize her.

“I should slap you,” she said evenly.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. I might slap you back. And don’t give me any tripe about hitting a woman. I view you as an equal, not some frail flower of femininity. I’d give you the respect you deserve by treating you as I would any man.”

She would hit him, damn it! Except that she didn’t want her flesh touching his. Maybe if she had a gun. . .

That was enough to shock her. “Will you please move out of the way?” The intimacy of the darkness around them was only increasing her feelings of isolation.

“No need to, I’m afraid. There’s a reason why I’m not already on the road. My dear brother has left word that none of the horses are to be made available to his guests without his express permission, even those that don’t belong to him. I’m sure he knew I intended to bolt, and Melisande probably didn’t trust you. I’m afraid you’re stuck here for the moment.”

She took a quick breath. “Doesn’t that mean you’re trapped as well?”

“Oh, I’m never trapped. I’ve already sent my man to the local inn to hire a pair of horses for us until I can buy new ones. He and I should be off fairly soon. I don’t expect we’ll meet again, which for some reason should please you. I don’t know why—I’m perfectly amiable, but you don’t seem to be particularly taken with me.”

She ignored the odd pang that ran through her, just as she squashed down her instinctive protest. Let him believe she disliked him—things were much simpler that way. “And you’d simply leave your horse behind?”

“Of course not. Rohan will send Emma back to me when he realizes it’s too late.”

She dropped the bag she’d been clutching. “You named your horse Emma?”

“Indeed. Perhaps that’s why I’m so taken with you. You’re almost as pretty as she is.”

She couldn’t take any more. She picked up her bag, turning to leave, when he caught her arm again, not gently. “If you’re so eager to escape I’ll take you with me.”

She yanked herself free, but she could still feel his strong fingers on her arm. “Go to the devil, Lord Brandon,” she said fiercely, stomping back the way she came, shaking with anger and frustration and something that she wouldn’t name.

“Only if you join me, Emma,” he said with a soft laugh, and like a total coward she gave into temptation and ran.