“God damn it.” Dorling’s nostrils flared. “Of all the times… What is wrong with you, man, that your horses go lame? This shouldn’t be happening. Now what are we going to do?”

The driver shrugged. “Come take a look.”

Dorling glanced over at Jane. “I’m not sure.”

The driver shrugged again. “Give it to me, then. I’ll watch her. You go see.” Dorling handed over the pistol and stepped out of the carriage. But the driver didn’t follow him immediately. He turned in the doorway, and then, very carefully, raised a finger to his lips.

Jane let out a breath. “Oliver,” she whispered.

“Shh. A moment longer.”

“God damn it,” Dorling’s voice came again. “One of the beasts has a stone in its hoof. I don’t think it can walk at the moment. Now what are we going to do? Do you have any idea how bloody inconvenient this is?”

Oliver turned to the man. “Yes,” he said in his normal voice, “I do. Because I hadn’t planned on riding double back to town.”

There was a long pause. “What?’ Dorling asked.

“Riding double,” Oliver said. “You would not believe how fortuitous your appearance was. I was looking for transportation, and there, just outside the hall, was a man who had transportation—transportation that I knew he wouldn’t be needing. Imagine my delight.” He shook his head. “It was a good thing I managed to make another arrangement with the driver.”

“I don’t understand,” Dorling said. “Who are you?”

“I had planned to jettison you a little farther from civilization, but this will have to do. Stay with the cart, and the driver will come pick you up mid-afternoon tomorrow. You’ll be back in Nottingham by night, which I presume will give us enough time.” Oliver walked to the back and began to rummage in the boot. “There are blankets and wine and some spare food back here, so you won’t be too uncomfortable.”

“You can’t make me! I have a—” He started to brandish his empty hand and then stared at it.

“Yes.” Oliver’s voice came from behind the carriage. “A little advice: Next time you try an abduction, don’t give your weapon to someone you don’t know.”

Jane smirked.

“This is outrageous!” Dorling said. “Who are you, and what have you done with my cart driver?”

Oliver came back from the boot carrying a saddle. “Jane, I’m sorry to say that we’re going to have to ride double. Are you game?”

Jane found herself smiling. “How did you know? How did you do this?”

“Simple,” he said. “I told you you weren’t alone. Did you really think I would leave you?”

She didn’t know what to say. She just shook her head and watched him saddle the horse. It was the first time she’d ever seen him do anything physical, and he did it so swiftly and so smoothly that she was reminded that he’d grown up on a farm. He could argue politics and rescue impossible girls and saddle a horse with equal ease.

She’d spent months thinking about him. Thinking about what she might have said to him if only she’d been brave enough.

She wouldn’t let it go unsaid much longer.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, “but it will be enough.” He mounted the horse, and then held out his hand to Jane. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” she said. “The weapon, if you please.”

He held it out to her without asking. Jane turned, and Dorling’s face went white. “Please,” he said. “Don’t… You don’t need to…”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop blubbering. I want my five hundred pounds back.”

“But it means nothing to you! To me, it would be…”

“Yes,” Jane said. “I know what it would mean to you.” She pointed the pistol directly at his forehead. “That’s why I want it back.”

Two people, both in evening dress, could not ride comfortably on one horse. Oliver cinched his arm around Jane for the fifteenth time in four minutes and shifted in the saddle behind her.

Jane’s skirts flapped voluminously in the breeze. Something sharp and protuberant in her skirts jabbed his thigh. And the beads sewn into her gown were itchy and uncomfortable.

Still, it wasn’t wholly awful. After all, Jane was warm and soft, and it was all too easy to breath in the scent of her. She smelled of familiar soap.

Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been reading in a comfortable chair at Clermont house, thinking about how to exert influence on the Members of Parliament that he knew.

Now he was on a horse, God knew how far from civilization, with an heiress of dubious reputation, plotting to kidnap a nineteen-year-old girl from her guardian. It was as if he had exited reality and found himself plopped into the middle of some kind of medieval tale of chivalry, one where he needed his wits and his sword to survive.

He’d planned out the course of his life years ago—quiet service, eventual recognition, a slow rise to power. There was no room in that story for the ridiculously impulsive actions he’d taken today: leaving London on a bare half hour’s notice, finding Jane, foiling abduction plots against impossible odds.

There would be plenty of time to come to his senses. He tightened his arms briefly around Jane, thinking of that dazzling moment when he’d first seen her on the stairs.

He had all the right emotions. He’d expected to fall in love one day. Just not like this. Not with her. He was in the wrong story with the wrong lady. Someone had made a mistake…and he very much feared it was him.

But Jane leaned back against him, and even though he could have written a list about all the ways that she was a mistake, she didn’t feel like one.

“It’s not fair,” Jane said, echoing his feelings so closely that he sucked in a breath. “This is supposed to be romantic. What woman does not want to have a man rush to her aid and sweep her away on his fiery stallion?”

Yes, they had definitely found themselves in the wrong story. “I would refer to this particular steed more as a ‘placid gelding’ than a ‘fiery stallion,’” Oliver said. “That’s the first problem.”

“In the books,” Jane said, “the man always clasps the woman lovingly to him, and she melts in his embrace.”

“My embrace isn’t loving enough for you?”