That was the problem with carefully laid plans. They were based on assumptions. They had to be. She had convinced herself that this would unfold how she needed it to unfold, and already it wasn’t working out quite that way.
She really wished she had taken the reins instead of Jason. She could manage this wagon just as well. Then she would not have to look at their captive. Now she could not avoid it, since she needed to keep this pistol on him so he did not jump off the wagon and run into the trees.
He had lain down now, to take a nap it appeared, with his hat cocked over his brow, but she could still see his beauty. His limpid dark blue eyes alone would command attention. They had humor in them, even when facing a pistol. The result was the finest of lines on the side of the eye she could now see. As for the rest of his face, his regular features and rather perfect skin made him appear to have stepped out of a painting, where the artist embellished reality by removing the flaws nature inevitably provided.
And yet, now, with his eyes closed and his face in repose, he appeared harder than he did when he looked at her and smiled. Older. Perhaps even a little weary.
Of course he was a rake. With that face, what else could be expected? Women probably lined up when he entered a drawing room, all but begging to be seduced.
She realized that she had just found a way to excuse him for his horrible behavior. All because of one brief touch through a glove. A fine caretaker of the family honor she was! She would have to be on her guard not to let his manner and appearance lead her to question her plan on how to save Amelia.
He opened his eyes, looked to the sky, then sat up. He removed his hat and shook off the snow, then brushed his coat. “Will we go much farther?”
She shook her head.
“That weapon must be getting heavy. You can put it down for a while. I am not going to jump on you and take it.”
So he said.
“I give my word as a gentleman. See? I’ll keep my hands above my head like this.” He waved his hands, then clasped them behind his head. “And I’ll cross my legs so any move will take time.” He entwined his legs together, hooking one boot around the other.
He appeared so comical that she smiled despite herself. “I never thanked you for the use of the gloves. It was not in your interest to do that. If my hands went numb, I could hardly shoot you.”
“I would not know they were numb enough, however. With my luck today, I would take my chance only to have you shoot me dead in the road.”
“Shooting you dead would not be necessary. An arm or leg would suffice to stop you.”
He peered at the pistol, then into her eyes. “Are you that good an aim, that I might not end up dead by mistake?”
“I am that good.”
“I will take your word on that.” He looked at Jason’s back, then leaned in to speak quietly. “Would you tell me why he decided to abduct me? Was it just my misfortune to take shelter under those eaves, or is there a reason?”
Goodness, his face was close now. Luminous in the overcast day. Her tongue felt thick, but she managed to speak. “He did not decide to abduct you. I did.”
“Truly? You seem fairly sensible, but the situation is ludicrous. What if I had not stayed outside in the rain under those eaves?”
“If you had not taken shelter, we would have found another way to do it. I had several plans.” One had been for her to enter the inn, flirt with him, and beckon him outside for a quick—whatever it was people did when beckoned outside. She had even worn a dress that might aid in that, hidden now beneath her pelisse and cape.
Just as well he had gone to the eaves. She had not had much faith in that particular alternative. She had little experience in flirting, and no evidence it worked when she tried it.
“Why? As I said, no one will ransom me.”
“The marquess would not want to be known as a man who left his cousin to his fate because he was too miserly to pay a ransom.”
There would be no ransom, but for now let him think there would be.
Jason turned the wagon off the road and onto the lane leading to Crestview Park. Lord Thornhill turned to watch the new direction. “Are we going to that house up there?”
“We are.”
“What is it called?”
She didn’t answer. The less he knew, the better.
* * *
“I’ll dry these out for you, and give the hat a good brushing.” The elderly, thickly built red-haired man took the garments as if he were a valet. Only he wasn’t a valet, but half of a pair of servants who greeted Adam when he entered the low-slung stone house, with its two levels of windows and rambling wings. He did not miss that lacking a coat meant escape would become a good deal less comfortable.
