She must have been mistaken. There was no warmth to this man. For all she knew, he was a cold-hearted killer. Her blood chilled, but she wasn’t shaking in terror.
She wasn’t as frightened as she ought to be.
“Very well,” she agreed. What else was there to say?
“Right, then.” Having apparently run out of patience, he dragged her out of the carriage and, before she could step down, she found herself draped over the man’s shoulder, upside down as he strode away. Her arms dangled around her ears, and the pillows of her belled sleeves squished into her face.
Feeling like a rag doll, Amelia could only see her bare hands hanging limply before her and the ground as it passed beneath.
She always removed her gloves while crocheting, and without them, they looked delicate and weak.Exposed.
She imagined pummeling her fists on his back, but what good would that do? Instead, fighting to breathe with the way his shoulder dug into her corset, she struggled to push herself at least somewhat upright. It was nearly impossible with the way the muscles in his back moved as he walked.
“This is completely unnecessary,” she grunted. “I’m not a sack of potatoes!” She lifted her head just enough to catch sight of her parents peering out of the carriage. Her legs were trapped by her skirts and, with every step her abductor took, panic rose in her throat.
This wasn’t a play. This was real. She shook her head.
“Wait, just wait a moment. I—I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go!” She shouted over the wind, twisting and writhing. “Papa! Don’t let him take me! I don’t want to go!”
“Do something!” Her mother’s voice rang out as she swatted at Amelia’s father. “Or she’ll be ruined!”
“He said he won’t hurt her…”
“But we have fittings scheduled!” The sound of her mother’s complaints were growing distant. “I told you we needed outriders!”
“Please! Father!” Tears stung Amelia’s eyes. “Don’t leave me with him!”
But her father was waving. “We’ll meet with the duke as soon as we’re settled in London. This is all just a mistake. Don’t worry, Daughter!” And to her not-so-gentlemanly captor: “Harm a hair on her head, and you’ll pay with your life!” her father bellowed, shaking his fist.
Theatrics. Like everything else, its only for show.
He didn’t look at her again.
And watching her father’s driver climb back onto the box, Amelia felt betrayed. Would they really leave her with this man? The Duke of Crossings was her father’s friend! None of this made sense!
When the highwayman said he’d take her instead, her father had admitted to carrying valuables… begrudgingly. He could have argued more. He could have bargained with her captor.
But with a knife pressed against his neck...?
He’d done what any reasonable person would have done. Hadn’t he? Amelia cast her gaze about the road, counting four other burly outlaws—that she could see. And she had heard a gunshot earlier, so at least one of them carried a pistol.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and Amelia was suddenly aware that this man’s arms were wrapped around her thighs. Had he lied when he said he wouldn’t hurt her?
Would he… ravage her?
Dozens of horrific scenarios crowded into her thoughts. She could not allow this to happen. She could not go with this man.
Earlier, her fear had seemingly paralyzed her; in a flash, however, it imbued her body with a frantic surge of energy. Her legs kicked and flailed, and she squirmed against his hold, though her efforts didn’t appear to affect the highwayman in the slightest.
“Calm down, wench.” A hint of laughter vibrated through him as he tightened his hold.
She tried kicking harder.
“Put me down, now!” she demanded. “Please?”
“When I’m good and ready.”
Amelia was taller than average, and yet this beast carried her as though she weighed no more than a feather. Again, overwhelmed by her helplessness, Amelia went limp.
