Georgiana was coming to the dreadful realization that her brilliant plan might have lacked brilliance.

Lord Hamish Montgomery’s gaze remained upon her, like some beast in the woods, assessing whether to attack her now or wait for another occasion. She supposed that warmth had never traditionally been bestowed on bearers of bad news.

She’d thought the duke’s brother was galloping in pursuit of the duke and Charlotte, when instead he’d been under the entirely mistaken impression that he’d stopped the wedding. No doubt he’d been heading toward Scotland, spurred on by visions of bannocks, bridies, and black pudding. 

And now...

Well, she wasn’t certain what would happen now, but he did not seem to be turning the carriage around.

She cleared her throat. “Naturally you’ll need to return me to my parents.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. A gentleman should not be alone with a lady.”

“I’m Scottish, lassie. I didn’t think I was considered a gentleman.”

“Of course you are,” she said.

He glanced at her, but his smile had vanished. “I’m not returning you.”

“You’re jesting.”

“I’m not,” he said, his voice serious.

Her heartbeat seemed to have caught up with the implications of his words, for it had started to beat much more rapidly.

She glanced down at the ground, wondering just how quickly the carriage was going. Would it hurt a lot if she leaped from it?

If only she weren’t wearing quite such a frilly dress. The puffed sleeves might be fashionable in London, but she had the impression the style had not yet conquered the counties, and people might view the netting more as a sign of a person they could take advantage of, despite its expedient manner in adding volume. The carefully stitched flowers on the hem would not prevent any ruffians from harming her and would only serve to make her stand out more to every person with nefarious intentions.

She should be in her traveling gown.

She’d never longed for a dreary brown dress more than now.

*

HAMISH SCOWLED.

The lass had sneaked into the coach out of some misguided sense of duty. It was dashed inconvenient. Had she really thought that by flinging herself into his carriage he would return her to her parents? She’d acted too quickly, too impetuously. He wouldn’t change his plan for her, no matter how innocent she might appear with her widely spaced eyes, and no matter how fetching her habit of wobbling her lower lip when distressed might be.

“I’ll scream,” she said. “You can’t take me with you against my will.”

Her voice was firm, and he almost wanted to smile, but he noticed the slight wobble of her lips.

She was scared.

God in heaven. He’d scared her.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t ever hurt you. That’s not the sort of man I am. You have to believe that, but I can’t take you back to London. Not when it entails abandoning my brother to a terrible fate.”

She straightened and narrowed her eyes.

“Not that your sister is unpleasant,” he hastened to add. “But she’s not his betrothed, and I see no reason to hamper relations with the McIntyre family. I’m not going to let him destroy centuries of good relations with our nearest neighbor.” Or sadden the ghosts of Callum’s and my finest guardians. “Lady Isla has done nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve to have her reputation smeared.”

“It has nothing to do with this Lady Isla.”

He gave her a long hard stare. “Even you don’t believe that.”

She swallowed hard.

“You’ve heard about Lady Cordelia?” he asked more casually.

“Daughter of the Duke of Belmonte? Loveliest debutante of this century?” Her voice had a bitter edge to it which he despised.

“That must be an exaggeration,” he said.

“Why?”

Because it didn’t include you.

He kept the compliment on his tongue and averted his gaze. “Lady Cordelia’s reputation was maligned after she was betrothed to two men. Neither time led to a marriage.”

“Perhaps Lady Isla can be clever enough to marry the next man to whom she is promised,” Miss Butterworth said. “Besides, why would I wish my sister’s reputation to be maligned?”

Hamish gritted his teeth together. She was as loyal to her sister as he was to his brother. It was damned inconvenient. “You have to let me speak with him again.”

“You had your chance,” Miss Butterworth said airily.

“Then I want another one. You must understand. I won’t give up until there’s no more hope.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and he sighed.

“Look. Once we meet with your sister, she can vouch for you and say you were traveling with her. She’ll protect your reputation. If you scream and people learn you were traveling alone with me... will that help you?”

She was silent and then she slowly shook her head. “No. But that’s not how this was supposed to work.”

“Aye.” He shrugged. “But that’s how it does work, lassie. It would be foolish of me to not try to take advantage of it.”

“You’re a horrible man.”

He flinched, but then he shot her a lazy smile. “I can drop you at the next posting inn and give you the fare for the mail coach. What will going back alone gain you?”

She was silent, but he answered for her anyway. “Nothing.”

“You’re right,” she said.

“Aye, that I am.”

If she continued on with him, her sister could salvage her reputation. People would believe Miss Butterworth had helped her sister elope, and the word of a duchess meant something. Her reputation would be destroyed if she was spotted arriving in London by herself or if someone decided to take advantage of her.

Hamish urged the horses forward. The flat landscapes provided expansive views of the Great North Road and the long column of wagons and gigs that filled it.

Wind swept over them, the force stronger given their high, unprotected perch. Miss Butterworth placed her hands over her dress, protecting the frivolous material from lifting in unladylike manners. “We’ll need to get two rooms in posting inns.”

“Naturally,” he grumbled.

“And you’re going to behave.”

“Like a choir boy. Though you shouldn’t be making the rules. This is my coach, after all.”

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice tentative.

There was something appealing about how her face changed color with her emotions. She was beautiful all the time, but he loved how her skin reddened when she was angry and paled when she was distressed.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be contemplating her.

He halted. “Go inside. I don’t need to make conversation with you for the next four hundred miles.”

She nodded and rushed inside the coach. God in heaven.

He’d been too harsh, but how was he supposed to travel with her all the way to Scotland?