The driver frowned. “We are full up, man. You will have to make your way to the George. That is the next coaching inn. You’ll pay your fare from there.”
“What?” Kit said in surprise.
Elise spoke up. “We paid yesterday.”
“Aye, you probably did,” the driver said, swinging up into his box. “However, we are full up, especially with the bodies. There was a storm last night, and passengers were waiting—”
“We aremostaware of the storm,” Kit cut in angrily, and then he paused. He drew a breath as if steadying himself. “Take this young woman,” he ordered. “I’ll stay with the dog.”
“I said I can’t,” was the answer. “I’ve got the Mail to run. There isn’t a smidgeon of space for her.”
“Then bump one of these male passengers off,” Kit demanded.
The driver didn’t answer. He picked up the reins and released the brake.
“What? You are leaving? You blackguard—”
The driver flicked his whip toward the ear of the lead horse, and they were off.
Elise stared in mute disbelief.
Not Kit. He scooped up a hunk of mud with his gloved hand and threw it after the coach.
It landed wide of its mark, but that didn’t stop the barrage of Kit’s very choice language.
Chapter Five
Beware the anger of a patient man.
Irish proverb
The bloody pox-ridden scoundrel—
Kit picked up a rock this time and tossed it even as the coach disappeared around a curve in the road, too far away for any of his missiles to be effective. The bastard driving the vehicle had known he was full up before he’d had Kit help lift and carry bodies. He’d used Kit’s strength and then left him and Elise behind—
“It makes sense, you know.”
He turned in surprise at Elise’s statement. “Makes sense? He left us behind.”
That tiny worry line appeared between her brows. “Some of those passengers were from last night. The coachwasovercrowded.” She paused and then said as if trying to have a positive outlook, “There will be another along.”
Kit scowled at the thought. “Excuse me? Areyou not the one who was whining on about needing to reach Liverpool as quickly as possible?”
Her chin lifted as if she was greatly affronted. “I don’t whine. But I see no purpose in throwing things.I’mtrying to be calm.”
“Are you saying I’m not calm?” he challenged, knowing full well he wasn’t. He was beyond annoyed and damnhungry—because he’d chivalrously given her the last of his salted beef.
He had assumed that by now they would be on the Mail and off on their separate travels. He would be able to find something to satisfy his hunger that was better than salted beef at the next posting inn. He’d beenwaitingto eat,countingupon it, and now, it appeared as if he’d have to waitmore.
And, to cap it all off, he was still stranded on the most isolated stretch of English road he’d ever encountered. Meanwhile, she acted like some chirpy governess who believed she had the right to tell him what to do.Him.The Duke of Winderton.
While he didn’t wish to inform her or anyone of his identity until he decided to return to his former life, he also didn’t want to listen to her criticize him for doing nothing more than being rightfully angry.
“I don’t know why you aren’t just as incensed,” he said. “They could have put off one of the male passengers for you. They should have.”
“But they didn’t. Let me assure you, I’m nothappy about the matter either. I just believe there are more productive solutions than flinging mud. Another Mail will come along.”
“Yes.Tomorrow.The vehicle you were on yesterday had been running late. That is why the driver had insisted on heading into the storm. What just left was the one coach for the day going in our direction. Fancy returning to the hut?”
