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“Sally!” the woman bellowed over her shoulder toward an open door.

Hard-soled boots clacked against the stone floor as Sally slunk out of what looked to be a storeroom. The moment she spotted Jane, her expression turned sour. “What do you want? I’ve already told you everything I know.”

With ten years of experience dealing with a willful charge, Jane simply raised an eyebrow and stared the girl down. “Now, that’s not entirely true, is it?”

Sally shifted her weight back and forth. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper, and shuffled a few steps closer to hand it over.

Jane slid a shaky finger under the unsealed flap and unfolded the paper. Sure enough, Lady Margaret’s looping script covered the page in a few bold lines.

Dear Miss Ephram,

I know you’ll think me ever so wicked when you read this note, but please don’t judge me too harshly. James and I are very much in love. I cannot live without him. I hope you understand why I’ve done what I’ve done, and I only ask that you give us a chance at happiness.

Yours,

M.S.

“Oh, you stupid girl,” she muttered. “Stupid, stupid girl.”

“M.S.?” her travel companion asked, his breath stirring the hairs on the back of her neck. It was only then that she realized how he loomed over her, leaning down so they were close. Too close. She didn’t know how she could’ve missed the pulse of heat off his body or the way his thoroughly masculine scent wrapped around her.

She took a little step to the side so that she wouldn’t turn right in to his chest when she faced him—appealing though that thought might be. “Lady Margaret Simon, daughter of the Earl of Rawson.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Now I understand why you’re so eager to track her down.”

She nodded grimly. Everyone knew the family. Lord Rawson was one of the north’s richest landholders, and his daughter was one of the prize heiresses of the season—her second because last year she’d turned down four offers of marriage and her father had driven away another half dozen on her behalf. Only the very best would do for his daughter, and the earl had already made it clear that Mr. James Lawrence with his fortune-hunting reputation wasn’t even in the running.

“I take it she’s headed for Gretna Green’s anvil priests,” he said.

“A speedy marriage in Scotland where no one will ask for her father’s consent.” She moaned. “What’s she thinking?”

“She’s in love, if that’s anything to go by,” he said, gesturing at the letter.

Jane scoffed. “Lady Margaret’s declared herself in love with every single eligible man she’s crossed paths with since she was presented at court eighteen months ago. She keeps them following her around like ducklings until she tires of them. Then she casts them aside as carelessly as a torn ball gown.”

“But she’s run off with this one,” he pointed out.

“The one who made her parents so angry they banished her to the country during the height of the season. No, she doesn’t love Mr. Lawrence any more than the others; she’s sticking with him because someone’s told her she can’t have something she wants.”

“You make her sound as though she’s a child.”

Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t.

Rather than give full force to her annoyance, Jane tilted her chin up. They needed to get on the road if they were ever to catch Lady Margaret. “Shall we be going?”

He took a moment to study her. The open scrutiny of her features under his piercing gray-blue eyes was almost too much. His gaze seemed to stroke over her body like a set of hands, soothing and exploring, all while trying to figure her out. Finally he inclined he head and said, “One last question.”

“What is it?”

“What’s your name?”

Oh Lord, she didn’t even know this man’s name, and she was prepared to go racing up to Gretna Green with him as though she were the one eloping. Everything about this was backward, and she couldn’t help but wish she could crawl back onto her uncomfortable little cot, pull the quilt over her head, and dream it all away.

Except she couldn’t will away her problems any more than she could stay standing still. Too much depended on finding Lady Margaret as quickly as possible.

Jane gripped the sides of her dress and dipped into a small curtsey. “Miss Jane Ephram. Governess.”

The man clicked his heels together and executed a bow that would have looked right at home in a duchess’s ballroom. “Lord Nicholas Hollings. Baron.”