Steeling herself, Emily obeyed the pressure of his hand and allowed him to hand her into the carriage. The door shut behind her, and she instinctively ran a hand over the smooth panel. No handle. No way out.
Breathe.
This was not the time to panic. They would presumably not be travelling far; there was no luggage on the carriage, and the note had not mentioned packing. Once they reached their destination, she would threaten him with the pistol and he would take her back home. Even a cad, surely, upon realising he had the wrong lady, would do that much.
She would make sure of it.
The carriage swayed as the man climbed atop, and a second later, the carriage lurched into motion. Emily assessed hersurroundings. There was a heated brick and a pile of blankets; she would not freeze, at least. That was something.
Wrapping the blankets around herself, she sat back on the plush leather seats and waited for the inevitable moment of their arrival.
Three hours later, or thereabouts, they had still not arrived. They hadn’t even changed horses. With every passing minute, Emily’s stomach knotted with worry. This was not the quick trip she had been envisaging.
What could he be planning to do with her this far from home? Had he been intending to make Isabella his mistress? If so, then Emily had misjudged the situation; she ought to have confronted him there and then, even if it had risked someone seeing her, rather than allow him to cart her away like this.
Isabella would wake to find her missing. She hadn’t even left a note.
It began to snow. Emily watched the spiralling flakes with dread. They had to have travelled at least thirty miles by now, and here the hedgerows were frosted with white.
Mr Pickett had been right, after all, and what terrible timing it had been. How would she get home now?
The road widened, and she caught a glimpse of houses, huddled as though in defiance of the weather. Another town—one she didn’t recognise. Surely they would stop soon.
When they did, he would get the shock of his life.
She retrieved the pistol from where she had placed it carefully beside her and gripped it tightly once again. Let him face the barrel of a gun and realise the magnitude of his mistake.
They finally came to a halt, and after a second, she heard the man jump down from where he had been leading the horses. She pointed the pistol at the door as he approached.
A latch clicked, and the door swung wide.
“I,” she said grandly, “am not Isabella Brunton, and you, sir, have abducted me against my will. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Chapter Four
Oliverwascold,hungry,and exhausted. Beyond the biting frost, he’d also been forced to endure a snowstorm, and he was not accustomed to handling a carriage of this size. His coat was sodden through, he had no desire to be amorous, and he’d been seized with misgivings about his entire plan.
And now he faced down the barrel of a gun.
Snow landed wetly on his hat, and his fingers felt numb. What he really wanted was a hot drink, a bath, and a bed. Preferably with a beautiful woman in it.
Not this woman. Isabella Brunton was a blonde-haired, buxom beauty. She had a wicked laugh, a sweet button nose, and was adorably flirtatious.
This lady had frizzy red hair that stuck out around her face, a sharp, angular jawline, eyes like gimlets, and a pistol. Pointed at his head.
Hereallyneeded that drink.
Holding both hands in the air, he stepped back to give her leave to descend the carriage. She did so, trailing one of the rugsas it half fell off her shoulder. With a curse, she shrugged it back on, glaring at him all the while.
“What thedevildo you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“I might ask you the same question,” he said, looking from the butt of the pistol into her face. He had never met Isabella’s sister, but he could only presume this was the lady in question—and now he understood her reputation. “What are you doing here?”
“Youkidnappedme.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the blacksmith’s forge behind him, where the bulk of Gretna Green’s weddings took place. “On the contrary—you entered the carriage of your own volition.”
“I would not have done if I had any inkling we were going so far.”
