“But… how did you guess Marrywell, of all places?”
“Of all places,” Mr. Frampton repeated quietly. “It was right here on this street, the last time I saw you smile.”
She stared at him, unsure how she felt about being seen so clearly.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he gestured at her plate. “Eat. Your food is growing cold.”
She set down her fork and knife. “I think I’m done.”
“Are you?”
Her lips tightened. “Done running, you mean? At ease, for a moment. I’ll return eventually. I promise. I just need… a week to myself before I can submit to Fate.”
His warm brown eyes were sad. “I’m afraid I cannot offer you that week. I’ve been tasked with bringing you home posthaste.”
“Home?” she repeated with bitterness. “Or to the altar, to wed your employer?”
“His home will soon be yours,” Mr. Frampton replied with equanimity.
“I won’t go,” she said.
“You will.” His eyes were sympathetic, but resolute. As if he, too, hated what he had come to do… but would not allow his personal feelings to interfere with his duty to his employer.
“You can’t make me,” she insisted with more confidence than she felt.
“I most certainly can. You don’t weigh more than ten or eleven stone. I can toss you over my shoulder and stroll out the door without breaking a sweat.”
She glanced at his shoulder. It was wide and muscular. She had noticed those features on several occasions.
“I’ll scream,” she warned him.
He shrugged. “I’ll say you’re a runaway servant. No one will stop me.”
“I’ll…” Cry.
The truth was, Mr. Frampton was right. He could throw her over his shoulder like a wet towel and force her into a carriage that would take her straight back to the very future she was trying her hardest to avoid.
“Come.” He placed his big warm hand over her cold, clammy, smaller one. “We’ve a long drive ahead of us.”
“He can’t expect me to marry him at four o’clock in the morning,” she blurted out.
Mr. Frampton shook his head. “On that, you can rest easy. The priest has rescheduled your nuptials for next Sunday.”
“Then I do have a week?” A sense of relief washed over her so profound it took her breath away.
“Yes.” His eyes smiled at her. “You’ll have a full week.”
“In that case, there’s no sense rushing back, is there?”
“I was told—”
“You were ordered,” she muttered.
“Very well. My orders are to bring you back at once.”
“But nobody but us knows you’ve already found me,” she insisted, her tone pleading. “It could take a week of searching.”
He simply arched his brows. “I’m very good at my job.”
