Laurence and Hugo leaped out before their wheels had fully stopped turning.
The door of the blocked carriage opened, and a portly, middle-aged man emerged, his face purple with rage.
“What in blazes do you think you’re-” He stopped mid-curse as he took in Laurence’s imposing figure and obvious nobility. “Your Grace, I… that is…”
“My apologies,” Hugo said smoothly, already steering Laurence away. “A case of mistaken identity. Please, proceed.”
The man scrambled back into his carriage, which quickly rolled past them.
Laurence stood in the middle of the road, scanning the horizon.Where is she? Did we miss her? Did she take a different route?
The sound of approaching hoofbeats made them both turn.
Another carriage appeared, traveling at a more sedate pace. As it drew closer, Laurence’s sharp eyes caught sight of the Sinclair family crest on the door.
Her.
He strode directly into the middle of the road, forcing the carriage to stop. The driver shouted in alarm, pulling hard on the reins.
The carriage door opened, and Joan stepped down, her traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her. Her face was perfectly composed, perfectly cold.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice like ice. “Why are you blocking the road?”
Laurence closed the distance between them in three long strides and pulled her into his arms, relief flooding through him so powerfully his knees nearly buckled.
She’s here. She’s safe. I found her.
Joan shoved him away hard, her eyes flashing with anger. “Conduct yourself properly! We are in public!”
“Joan, please.” Laurence kept his voice low, urgent. “Come back with me. You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace.” Her tone was clipped. “I have important business in London. Now if you’ll excuse me, ”
“The wedding,” Laurence said flatly. “You don’t have to marry him.”
Joan’s expression didn’t flicker. “I believe you are confused. Why are you meddling in my personal affairs?”
“Joan, we need to talk. To discuss this properly, ”
“I don’t have time for discussions.” She turned back toward her carriage. “I need to reach London before nightfall.”
Laurence grabbed her arm, perhaps more roughly than he intended. “Don’t be stubborn. Come with me. You can do better than marrying a man your own sister ran away from!”
Joan wrenched her arm free and, without warning, slapped him across the face.
The sound echoed in the quiet morning air. Hugo took an involuntary step backward.
“Do not interfere in my business,” Joan said, her voice shaking with fury, or something else. “You have no right.”
But Laurence saw it. Just for a moment, her mask slipped. Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away furiously.
She doesn’t want this,he realized with absolute certainty.She’s being forced. Or forcing herself. But she doesn’t want it.
“Joan,” he said softly, all the command gone from his voice. “Please. Come with me.”
“I need to attend to my business,” she said firmly, already turning away. “Good day, Your Grace.”
She climbed back into her carriage and pulled the door shut. Laurence moved to block the vehicle’s path, but Hugo’s hand clamped down on his arm.
