The party rages until dawn, but we turn in for bed long before that, when Viscountess Bolingbroke declares it unladylike to stay up past midnight. Really, I think she just wants to go to sleep, but no one protests, exhausted after our long journey.
We can hear Bram’s friends outside our tent, talking and dancing for hours.
I sleep fitfully, going over my plan for tomorrow. Again and again, I walk the route in my mind.
The next morning, a lady’s maid dresses me in my green velvet hunting dress. As the others get ready, I swoon back onto my cot and declare myself too weak for the day’s festivities. It isn’t proper for the girls to join the stag hunt, but they will follow the party on horseback for a field lunch and then a celebratory dinner back at camp.
Viscountess Bolingbroke places a bony hand on my forehead and tuts her tongue. “You do feel warm.”
“Please don’t miss the fun on my behalf,” I reply weakly. “There are plenty of staff at camp to look after me.”
The viscountess looks at me and then at the other girls waiting impatiently by the mouth of our tent. She does the calculation; it is preferable to leave one girl on her own than five.
“Please call for them if you need anything,” she replies hesitantly. “We’ll be back by sunset.”
I salute her in reply, which she doesn’t find funny at all.
From outside the tent come the sounds of jingling horse reins and barking dogs eager for a hunt. Then the camp goes quiet and still, and everyone but me and a skeleton crew of staff are left.
I jump out of bed, hastily lace my boots, and grab the book and the maps from where I’ve hidden them at the bottom of my trunk. I need to be quick if I’m to be back before sunset.
The back entrance is closer to the horses, so I sneak out the rear of my tent and creep quietly to the paddock.
Most of the horses have been taken on the hunt, but there’s an old cart horse that will do just fine. I take his reins in my hand. “Hi there,” I whisper.
A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl around.
“Going somewhere?” Emmett stands there with a half smile, wearing hunting breeches, his wavy hair a mess. He’s got a basket in one hand, like we’ve arranged to go on a picnic.
“Don’t do that!” I hiss. “You scared me half to death.”
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m sick.”
He reaches out, touches my forehead. I recoil from his touch. “I’m happy to inform you of a miracle. You seem to be completely healed.”
“What areyoudoing? Shouldn’t you be leading the charge?”
“Never had much of a stomach for hunting. We must have come down with the same thing because I was feeling ill this morning, but I appear to be cured.”
“Please leave me alone.”
“So youarecross with me.”
I’m not cross with him. I’m cross with myself. “I’m not cross! I’m late.”
Emmett takes the horse’s reins and begins to hook him up to a cart. “I’m not letting you travel alone, so you might as well tell me while we ride.”
“I can’t convince you to let this go?”
“It’s go with me or not at all, I’m afraid. Chivalry and all that.”
I sigh, annoyed. “What’s in the basket?”
“I’m not skipping lunch no matter what mad adventure you have planned.”
I hop in beside him, and we’re off, out of the camp, rambling down a dusty country road.
