“Remarkable,” she spat. Burning with hate, fury, and fear, Meghan managed to sweep a condescending stare over his big form. “With the rough quality of your speech, that is debatable.”
“How uppity of you, princess.” The low rumble of his voice dripped with disdain.
Meghan drew back. “You, a blackguard who is currently accosting me and threatened my sisters, should call my attitude into question?”
Her attempt to keep him talking failed.
“Turn it over.”
She stilled.
A flash of silver caught her eye; in the same moment, a hiss of a blade cut through the air.
Meghan’s mouth formed another scream.
From somewhere to the east, Fleur called out. “Meghan, where are you?”
Somehow, Meghan found a way to edge her chin up. “How do I know you will keep your word? That my sisters will remain unharmed?”
“You don’t,” he said. Blunt. Ruthless.
Her stomach muscles twisted into vicious knots; Meghan hugged herself to ease her desperation.
“I don’t want them, princess.” He took another step forward and lifted a jewel-encrusted dagger. “I want what you have to offer.”
Wrenching at her sopping wedding gown and cloak, Meghan struggled backwards.
“Hand it over.” The highwayman tapped the tip of his sharp knife against the brim of his hat.
Meghan’s hands went to the crown atop her snow-covered curls.
The Hartwell diamonds!
Of course!
All society knew about their union. It had been regularly mentioned in every newspaper since the day she accepted Hartwell’s proposal. All the details of the event: the bridal party, the guests in attendance, the bride’s trousseau.
Her jewelry.
Relief flooded through her. Meghan wrenched at the pins holding the bothersome piece in place. They fell from her fingers, disappearing into the snow around her.
“…much like following a warship, when you’re in a snow fight, always do the opposite of the expected action…”
Something in hearing August’s voice clear as the day he’d uttered those words steadied her.
“Faster,” he warned.
Meghan jumped. She yanked the last of her pins free, wrenched off her wedding tiara, and tossed the heirloom his way.
The prized crown landed just shy of a pace, joining her missing pins beneath the blanket of freshly fallen snow.
They both stared at the mark it had left on the otherwise flawless covering.
Her pulse picked up its rhythm.
He switched his gaze between Meghan and the mark she’d made in the snow with the Hartwell tiara.
“You should not have done that, Your Grace.”
