Then, the door had abruptly been yanked open as if the ruffian didn’t realize his own strength. He’d climbed aboard without comment, the coach leaning in his direction. He’d settled himself heavily on the seat as if exhausted. His long legs took up most of the space between them, sending Elise scooting as far away from him as she could, literally squeezing herself in a corner.
She covertly studied him. He’d removed his hat and rubbed his leather-gloved hands over hisjaw as if tired. His hair was dark and in need of a barber. He didn’t even glance in her direction. Instead, he slapped the hat back on his head and closed his eyes, dismissing her completely.
Elise didn’t wish to talk to him. She would prefer to ignore him. Except, there was something too, well,largeabout him. With those broad shoulders, it had probably been effortless for him to toss the burly coachman around.
He also smelled of gin or perhaps rum... and manliness. His scent. It swirled in the air around him.
Still, she knew her manners. “Thank you,” she had whispered.
In response, he’d pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes.
Elise gathered the hood of her cloak around her face. She could be aloof, too.
And then the driver had shouted at the horses, the Mail Guard had blown his horn, and they had been off—leaving Elise alone with her thoughts... and her doubts.
In truth, she needed to guard against her fears. Any wavering of her intentions to reach Ireland would see her back to her sisters, Gwendolyn and Dara, and her great-aunt Tweedie. She didn’t think they’d learned she had run away yet. Last night, when Elise had slipped the money for her trip from the carved wood box where Gwendolyn kept the sisters’ personal funds, she’d left a note promising she wouldpay back every penny. She wasn’t certain how yet, but she would honor her word. She’d also asked them to not worry. She would be fine. Since they all now lived with Dara and her new husband, Michael Brogan, a week could possibly go by before the box was touched. As to her absence, she had been spending so much time as her friend Lady Whitby’s guest, they would assume she was there.
Elise also worried about her reception at Wiltham. It might not be a welcoming one. After her father had been declared dead, her cousin Richard had inherited the house and grounds. Richard was not fond of any of the Lanscarr sisters. He thought them a burden and they thought him a ninny.
However, in this moment, Richard and his mealy-mouthed wife, Caroline, were preferable to staying in London, where Elise had been expected to swallow her pride and live under Dara and Michael’s roof. One huge happy family—except they weren’t. Elise loved Michael.Fervently.
She had from the moment she’d laid eyes on him at Lady Whitby’s salon several months ago. In fact, she had been thefirstof the Lanscarrs to notice him. He was handsome, quick-witted, and cared about issues that mattered. As an Irish Member of Parliament, he used his position to speak out for those who were too often ignored.
Out ofallthe gentlemen who had courtedElise, and there had been many, Michael had been the only one to capture her interest. He was perfect for her. She could see herself as his wife, standing by his side as he battled against the greedy and the arrogant.
She had also believed that he had fallen in love with her. After all, he’d always been attentive to her and had never once made a disparaging comment when she spoke her opinions. Instead,he’d listened.
For that alone, she would have given everything to him—her mind, her body, it could have all been his. This wasn’t some small gift. Everyone claimed she was the beauty of the family. She was the most well-read. She was the one who admired great ideas, especiallyhisideas.
However, instead of Elise, he had chosen Dara. Worse, he acted happy with his decision. He even behaved as if helovedher.
And here is the part that hurt Elise the most in this small tragedy—Dara, her closest sister, had known the intensity of Elise’s feelings for him. She’dknown, and had married him anyway.
Now, as the only male, because society was so ridiculously silly about gender, Michael was legally considered the head of their little family. He was expected to care for his unmarried sisters-by-marriage, and Michael was the sort of man who honored obligations. He’d rented a large house close to Mayfair and had moved Gwendolyn, Elise, and Tweedie in to live with him and Dara.
That meant Elise had been forced to watch the newlyweds cooing at each other like turtledoves, day in and day out, until she just couldn’t any longer. She wouldn’t. She had pride.And, she had choices.
She would rather be beholden to her lug-headed cousin Richard than watch Michael and Dara build the life together she should have had. At least Richard and his wife, Caroline, could barely abide each other. She wouldn’t have to listen to them coo. They argued constantly—
A clap of thunder was the only warning before a bolt of lightning struck close to them. Even the rain and wind seemed to stop. Light electrified the night. A tree could be heard splintering. The horses screamed. The driver swore fiercely, but his commands didn’t stop the coach from jerking as the team lost stride. They seemed to swerve from one side of the road to the other—and then the guard’s gun went off.
The sound sent the coach lurching forward, and then the wheels seemed to leave the ground. The horses had gone wild. No number of curses were going to control them.
Elise reached to grab the strap with both hands. She missed as the vehicle heeled up on two wheels. The force of movement sent her flying across the coach into the ruffian’s hard body. Strong arms banded around her a second before the coach crashed to the ground and then rolled, up, down, over. Wood splintered all around her.
Elise’s mouth opened to scream, but whatever cry she’d had was caught in her throat by the suddenness of the moment.
The coach came to an abrupt, muddy halt. Hooves pounded away as if the horses were running free of the coach.
And then—silence... save for the rain.
Elise held herself still, uncertain. Was it done? Was she alive?
Paradoxically, above her, one of the outside oil coach lamps still burned in the wet night. That is when she realized what she thought was the floor of the vehicle was actually a side. The door close to where she’d been sitting was missing. The opening allowed the lamp’s weak light to shine inside the coach.
She’d never been so close to death. Her face was wet, whether from tears or rain she did not know. She swallowed.
Certain she must have broken something, she wiggled the toes of one foot experimentally, then the other. All good. Even her gloved fingers moved. Her rough companion had protected her fall. Once again, he had saved her, this time by his own sacrifice. She lay upon his motionless body.
