The carriage hit a rut, and she nearly bounced off the bench. Blakely tightened his grip on her.
This wasn’t happening!
A Convenient Swap
Marcus awoke, vaguely aware that his neck had been contorted into some unpleasant position, and somehow the bed he slept in was moving. His eyes weren’t ready to face the sunlight slanting into the coach and his head throbbed.
Ah, but soft curves pressed into him, so all was not so very tragic.
He remembered recent events one by one, knowing he’d eventually comprehend his current situation.
Eden’s Court. Yes, Miss Goodnight’s well-intended plan for him.
With Miss Mossant.
Add to that a bottle of Prescott’s finest scotch.
The horror of it pinged his awareness piece by ridiculous piece.
And yet soft hair tickled his chest and chin. Odd that Miss Mossant would choose to lie beside him while they traveled. One hand rested on her abdomen and his other along one of her arms.
He needed to move, if he was ever to walk again. Already his body rebelled at being forced to remain contorted like this.
He lifted his head slightly and half opened his eyes.
Not dark brown and auburn hair, but brown hair with golden flecks sparkling in the sunlight. And good Lord, a piece of smooth silver metal resting behind one ear.
Sunlight poured in, nearly blinding him as it reflected off a pair of…
Spectacles!
“Miss Goodnight?” he croaked.
He pushed his feet off the bench and the bundle of womanhood in his arms would have tumbled onto the floor if he’d not had such a tight grip on her.
“Emily! What in God’s name? What on earth is going on? What are you doing here?”
Long lashes fluttered in confusion behind those absurd spectacles before she finally turned and narrowed her gaze at him.
“You!” she burst out. “And you have the audacity to ask me whatI’mdoing here!” She indicated her apparel, which he just now realized consisted of nothing but her night rail and dressing gown. “I came outside, in the middle of the night, mind you, to inform you that Rhoda wasn’t coming. She’s ah… ill… Your elopement is er… postponed! And what do I find? You, Lord Blakely, jug bitten and unconscious. I’ll bet the driver is ape drunk as well. I hollered, I pounded on the ceiling, and did anyone take notice of me? No! Not for a blighted second.”
“Are you wearing your night clothing, Miss Goodnight?” Marcus couldn’t help but laugh as she set off on her dudgeon. “Are you certain this isn’t some roundabout ruse you’ve undertaken to net me for yourself?”
He should have known better than to suggest such a notion.
Miss Goodnight flushed bright red, and the look in her eyes promised she was about to cork him a good one. Wanting to preserve himself from physical harm, he grasped hold of her wrists and chuckled. “I’m only joking. Settle down, woman.” But he couldn’t help laughing at his own joke.
“You louse! You you you buffoon! To suggest that I would…” And then she clamped her lips together tightly.
“Set your cap at me?” Marcus suggested mildly. She squirmed to break free of his grip, and he reluctantly relented. He couldn’t resist teasing her. Even in his diminished state, he rather enjoyed seeing her caught in her own trap. “Exactly why aren’t you dressed properly? Surely, when a woman sets out for Gretna Green with her intended, she ought to at least go to the trouble of dressing herself.”
She adjusted her spectacles and huffed. “Will you please listen to me? I didn’t plan this! I came to tell you that we must delay your elopement. Ah… Rhoda took ill.”
He sobered at this news. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Her eyes shifted to the floor. “No.”
But then those brown eyes of hers flashed up at him again. “If only you hadn’t been so completely soused, you could have stopped our blasted driver sooner. No help whatsoever. Mumbling and snoring and pinning me to the bench. What was I to do? And then you have the nerve to accusemeof doing this on purpose!” She huffed at the indignity of it.
