And he needed his daughter to marry well.
Which was her duty—a duty she’d always known she would uphold. Even if that meant marrying a man she could never love—a man like Lord Northwoods.
But would she have? The thought made her insides flip.
“How much do you know about your father’s business?” Mr. Beckworth asked.
Amelia blinked. This had nothing to do with her—she was only a pawn—but it was her move, and she needed to focus on the issue at hand.
“He…respects the Duke of Crossings, of course. Doesn’t everyone?” If this man was reporting back to the duke, it might be wise to ensure his report showed her father in the best light possible. This might be some sort of test, and as long as her father passed it, she was safe, wasn’t she?
She would be a fool not to exercise some caution, but despite what she knew logically, she was almost inclined to believe that Mr. Beckworth hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wouldn’t harm her—not intentionally anyhow.
Without meaning to, Amelia recalled her mother’s outrage as she’d watched a strange man carry Amelia away. Everyone knew that being unchaperoned with a gentleman for a significant period of time could prove ruinous.
It was nearly a certainty, actually.
And already… several hours had passed. From what Mr. Beckworth had said, she’d be gone days, if not longer.
Not even Northwoods would overlook her being alone with a strange man for such an extended time.
Ironic hope lifted her heart momentarily. If there was one consolation to this unexpected turn of events, it was that missing the Season might be a distinct possibility.
Amelia pinched her mouth together to keep from giving her thoughts away.
Because she wouldn’t mind missing the Season—or Lord Northwoods’ proposal—or any other demands her parents might make.
No, she wouldn’t mind it at all.
As long as this highwayman didn’t decide to kill her. Or worse!
Dizzy at all her thoughts, she slanted him a suspicious glance.
He answered with an equally suspicious smirk, but then crossed his arms over his massive chest, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.
In the ensuing hours,Amelia stared out the window, fairly certain they were travelling south, but to where? It was an endless patchwork of stone fences, meadows, and trees. And more sheep than she could count.
Would one really have attacked her? Unwilling to entertain that possibility, she dragged her stare to the food basket resting innocently on the opposite bench.
She hadn’t eaten anything that day but a single slice of toast and a cup of tea. And, as much as she hated admitting Mr. Beckworth was right, she did, in fact, need to keep up her strength. Doing otherwise would be foolish.
So, careful to make as little noise as possible, she opened the lid and downed as much food as her stays allowed. When she caught him watching her for a second, she ignored him. But even though he’d closed his eyes, it was a reminder that she was still his prisoner.
Her hands were scratched from falling in the meadow, her knees likely bruised, and her gown torn and soiled. She refused to believe the stains were anything other than mud.
None of this was fair.
Something deflated inside of her, and tired of the passing scenery, she gave in to the urge to study this man beside her.
He had no business looking so attractive.
Even at rest, he appeared hard and unyielding. No wonder her knees ached!
How did he get those scars? And why did they only add to his appeal? Unlike most gentlemen, his nose was slightly crooked. She suspected he’d broken it more than once, or had it broken for him. Even so, his face was uniquely beautiful. Distinctive. Reflecting a map of his past.
Again, she marveled at the unfairness of this entire situation.
As the day wore on, they stopped a few times. Mr. Beckworth was “kind” enough to allow her to relieve herself behind some shrubs or a bush. He’d issued a stern warning each time, however, not to try anything stupid.
