Damn. Bloody damn.

Anthony sighed as he watched Kate bolt for the door, a flurry of snow swirling into the taproom in her wake. As much as her comments stung, she was right. He was a scoundrel. As he’d at last begun to acknowledge the futility of his quest to stop Violet wedding Freddie Woodville, and that Kate really could do little to help, as he’d grown to know her, his guilt about his shabby treatment of her had gradually intensified. And now that he’d witnessed first-hand how much he’d distressed her, his cavalier behavior bothered him all the more.

He vowed to himself then and there that regardless of how this escapade ended, he would make sure she did not suffer. Whilst he didn’t for a minute believe her brother, her well-connected friend Miss Penrose, or even Lord Rookhope, her uncle, would tolerate her living in penury if she lost her position at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, he didn’t trust that his stepmother wouldn’t do her best to discredit Kate to whomever she knew within ton circles, thus preventing Kate from securing another teaching position either at a decent school or as a governess. Indeed, Phyllis had probably already begun to spread nasty rumors about Kate and her background to everyone attending the house party at Hollystone Hall, despite his warnings not to. His stepmother could be quite ruthless when she took a dislike to someone and the Woodville family was set firmly in her sights.

He glanced at his pocket-watch. It was well after three o’clock and high time they were on the road again. And he should really check on Kate. He didn’t think the vagabond would be back for second-helpings, but one never knew ...

When he’d seen that brute man-handling Kate, he’d seen red. The cur was indeed lucky he hadn’t throttled him to death. With the remnants of anxiety tightening his gut—and not wishing to examine why he felt such strong, protective feelings toward Kate—Anthony quit the taproom and went in search of her.

To his relief, he found her soon enough in the stables, watching The Cat’s Whisker’s ostler, a young stablehand, and his own driver, Wilmot, checking all of his carriage’s harnesses and the horses.

“All seems to be right now, milord,” remarked Wilmot.

“Excellent.” Anthony pulled on his gloves, issued orders to Graves and Peterson, his footmen that they were to acquire a basket of food, additional blankets, and warmed bricks for the journey, then turned to Kate. “I shall just settle the account and we shall be on our way again, Miss Woodville ... If that is all right with you?”

Kate frowned, clearly confused by his conciliatory manner. “Of course ...”

When he returned to the carriage, it was to find Kate already rugged up inside.

“Thank you for arranging the warmed bricks and extra blankets,” she said quietly.

“It was no trouble at all.” Anthony took his usual seat opposite her and placed his boots on the hot bricks at his feet before dragging a rough wool blanket that smelled suspiciously like horse, over his lap. “There’s no sense in us being martyrs to the elements as we continue on.”

“No ...” She glanced at the sizeable basket on the bench seat next to him. “There looks to be quite a substantial amount of food in there. Are you planning on traveling through the night after all?”

“Perhaps. We shall see how things progress with the weather.”

Kate nodded, then pushed a stray lock of her curling red hair behind her ear. Even in the dim light of the carriage, he could discern how pale she was, the tight lines of tension around her green eyes as she turned away from him to gaze out the window. She wasn’t wearing her bonnet and it was evident that the wind, and perhaps her rough treatment at the hands of the gypsy, had played havoc with her hair. It was all but falling from its pins about her slender neck and he had the odd urge to loosen all of her wild tresses so he could see how she would look with them tumbling about her shoulders.

Good God. He really should stop objectifying Miss Woodville as if she were some muse put on this earth to fuel his desires.

He straightened his shoulders and huffed out a sigh as he turned his attention to the drear winter landscape. The snowfall was still relatively light and he couldn’t deny a growing eagerness to push on into the night. If Woodville had stopped by Fenwick House in Cumbria, there was a good chance he could still intercede in time.

As to whether he’d call the bastard out ... Anthony was sorely tempted. Freddie Woodville might have served in His Majesty’s army, but he was also a crack shot with a pistol. He could think of nothing more satisfying than putting a bullet in Woodville. Preferably right between the eyes.

Strange how he could feel such enmity toward him yet feel so protective toward Kate. If the circumstances were different ... Anthony gave himself a mental kick. He needed to stop that line of thinking right now.

Kate Woodville was not for him.

* * *

Heavens it was cold. Kate shivered beneath her blankets on her side of the carriage. Lord Stanton had decided to push on to Cumbria and now she was ruing her suggestion that they do so. The bricks at her feet had long ago lost their heat and her feet were blocks of ice. Even though she was tightly wrapped up in two blankets and her pelisse, her teeth had begun to chatter. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers or her nose at all. She pitied the driver and the footmen outside and shivered all the more.

The travel lanterns inside the carriage provided enough light for her to discern that Lord Stanton was asleep. After they’d partaken of a light supper of cheese, rolls, and fruit cake, he’d settled into his seat, his dark head resting against the well-padded leather squab and had drifted off. At least Kate thought he had. Over the last few days she’d observed that Lord Stanton was a very quiet sleeper; he didn’t snore at all.

Strange how in many ways she barely knew him, yet she’d also learned such intimate details about him too.

She shifted restlessly in her cold leather seat, tugging the blankets about herself as tightly as she could, envious that her traveling companion was able to slumber despite the arctic-like conditions. And then Lord Stanton opened his eyes.

Perhaps he’d been feigning sleep to avoid conversing with her as she’d often done; either way, his gaze was alert as it settled on her with unerring accuracy.

“Miss Woodville, I swear you are turning blue,” he said, his brow furrowing with apparent concern.

“N-n-no, I’m n-not,” she said, all the while inwardly cursing the fact she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. “I’m f-fine.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Clearly.”

Before Kate knew what he was about or could marshal a protest, he moved to the seat beside her and drew her close with one arm whilst drawing his own blanket over both of them. When Kate tried to pull away, his grip only grew tighter. “We c-can’t ... You c-can’t ...”

“Of course we can, Miss Woodville.” Lord Stanton’s breath was a welcome gust of warmth against her temple as he gathered her even closer; so close, her cheek rested against his greatcoat. “I give you my word as a peer of the realm that I will behave with the utmost decorum. As a gentleman, I simply cannot sit by and watch you freeze to death in my carriage.”

“I s-s-suppose that w-would be m-most inconvenient f-f-for you.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Kate detected an amused undercurrent in his rich, deep voice. With her head resting against Lord Stanton’s very wide chest, she could feel the rumble of it along with the steady thud of his heart. His furnace like heat. An odd warmth unfurled inside her and she had to resist the urge to snuggle more deeply into his embrace. He smelled heavenly—the scents of his spicy cologne, wool, and a trace of wood-smoke intermingled with another musky, masculine scent she couldn’t quite name. Whatever it was, she decided she quite liked it. A part of her brain warned her that what she was doing was wrong, but as Lord Stanton’s warmth enveloped her and her trembling began to ease, she couldn’t summon the will to pull away.

Who’d have thought a man could make such a wonderful pillow ... Or that Lord Stanton should even care about her comfort when most of the time he was an arrogant ass ... Too tired and now too content to sort through the tangled skein of her thoughts, which were largely comprised of trying to understand the conundrum that was Lord Stanton, Kate at last drifted off to sleep ...