Which left her staring at this man’s sinewy backside—her nose practically nestled between?—
Mortified, she squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her arms over her chest. It was a token gesture in an attempt to reclaim even a hint of her dignity, but it was all she had.
Only…
It wasn’t. She still had the crochet hook tucked up her sleeve.
She’d heard her parents’ carriage driving away, and if she stood any chance of escaping she needed to do so now. It might be her only chance!
Emboldened, Amelia shimmied her wrist so the hook would slide into her hand, drew her arm back and, aiming carefully, plunged the sharp end into that impertinent backside.
Or tried to, anyway. She might as well have slammed it into granite. Now all she had was a broken crochet hook.
“Watch yourself,” the man carrying her grumbled, but then he laughed. Only a scoundrel would mock a lady while kidnapping her.
And then a flash of pain landed on her bottom!
Amelia’s spine stiffened in shock. “You did not just strike me!?” If possible, her face grew even hotter. “How dare you?”
“How dare I?” he taunted, and then landed a second swat. “Like that, that’s how.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” This felt like a horrible nightmare. She wished it was. “You promised!” she added in a feeble voice.
But the storm had caught up with them, and all she could do was stare at each raindrop as it landed on the dirt below her.
“Then don’t poke me with your little knitting needle.”
“It isn’t a knitting needle,” she corrected hotly, affronted. Everyone always called it by the wrong name. “It’s a crochet hook. And you have no right!”
She was the daughter of a marquess. Last year, she’d been considered a diamond!
He paused, and for a second she thought he was going to set her down, but he merely shifted his shoulders and carried on.
“Oh, but I do.” He was laughing again. “Now calm down. I said I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t make me change my mind.”
“You already have—hurt me.” But she went limp again, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch the ground pass as he walked farther and farther off the road. “You threatened my father. You’ve stolen me from my family.” And he’d hit her! No one, not even her own father, had ever laid a hand on her.
She made a choking sound in an attempt to swallow her tears.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Cry.”
“Why? Would that bother your sensibilities? Nothing else seems to. Why would a few tears?” Amelia sucked in a breath and wiggled. “I don’t like this.”
“Then be good.”
Before she could complain again, he bent forward, lowering her feet to the ground so she could stand upright again. With her blood returning to her extremities, black crept into the edges of her vision. Was she going to faint?
A genteel lady would have fainted when she heard the gunshot. Perhaps Amelia wasn’t as soft and proper as her parents imagined her to be.
She blinked away the dizziness and took a moment to study the man who’d turned her life upside down.
Literally.
From behind the mask, his eyes were indeed black and cold and hard, but she found herself envious of his lashes. They were thick, long, and luxurious. His ebony hair, which wasn’t as short as she’d originally thought, was tied at the back of his head.
