“Out,” he commanded again in a cold, clipped voice.
She took umbrage at that voice. If he had dared to speak to her thus back home in New York City, why, she would have had him thrown out on his ear. Addy looked over his shoulder at the swirling snow. Pity there was nowhere to throw him now.
“You ought to address a lady with respect,” she returned primly. “Has no one ever taught you manners? But then, I suppose if they had, you wouldn’t have to resort to robbing carriages to earn your bread.”
He blinked and then stared at her as if she had just turned into something mysterious and perplexing before him.
And then his brow furrowed, and he gave her the most ferocious glare she’d ever experienced in her nearly twenty-three years.
“You think I’m robbing your carriage.” He stated it as a grim fact.
Wasn’t he?
A gust of wind sent a fresh rush of snowflakes tumbling into the carriage.
Addy shivered. “Yes, of course that’s what I think. Why else would you break down the carriage door and demand I get out of it?”
“Because,” he said slowly and with agonizing precision, “the door was frozen shut. As I already explained. Now, if you please, get out of the blasted carriage. My hat is on the ground, filling with snow, this storm shows no inclination of stopping, and I would prefer not to perish by turning into a block of ice.”
Sarcasm dripped from his words. Apparently, her speech about manners had fallen upon ears that were decidedly uninterested in listening.
She glanced back to his outstretched hand. “Where do you intend to take me?”
“To Marchingham Hall,” he growled. “Where else?”
“How opportune.” She grudgingly laid her gloved hand in his. “That is my intended destination.”
His fingers closed over hers, and he pulled her unceremoniously from the carriage. His motions were so swift and strong that she nearly went headlong into the snow. She stumbled on cold, booted feet, catching herself at the last moment. Snow fell mercilessly upon them.
The stranger had bent to retrieve his hat, which was indeed filling with snow, from the ground. With a sound of irritation, he emptied it and then stuffed it back upon his head.
“Follow me, madam,” he said with all the cheer of a pallbearer.
And then he had the temerity to turn his back to her, stalking away to where a massive brown mount awaited. The horse had a patch of white on its face and long white fur on each leg.
“What about my trunks?” she asked, looking over her shoulder to where the abandoned carriage sat helplessly mired, her trunks piled high.
“They’ll have to wait,” the man said, unconcerned.
Horror struck. “They can’t wait! My gowns, my shoes, my jewels! They’ll all be stolen or ruined.”
He reached the horse and cast a harsh glance in her direction. “Then perhaps you ought to have thought of that before setting out on a journey in a snowstorm.”
“But I need them,” she protested.
He hissed out an irritated sigh. “Does it look as if I presently have a way to transport your trunks?”
Addy eyed the gargantuan horse. “No.”
“Would you care to freeze to death in this snowstorm?”
He was quite beastly, this wretched man. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so, but then Addy thought better of it. There was always the chance he would leave her stranded here.
“I would not, sir,” she admitted.
“Then get on the horse,” he said.
Addy cast another forlorn glance back at her trunks, which were already coated in white. Her precious silks from France. Her shoes. Her sapphires and diamonds and emeralds. Dandy’s favorite blanket.
