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She nodded against his chest, then she raised her head. “We must go.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.” She pulled back, and he released her. She turned and must have touched the panel because the slight grinding sounded again. “If the door is closed, it will be longer before he knows I am gone.”

He reached for her hand. “Come. There is no light, but you know your way.”

Using the wall and then the banister as his guide, Jonas led her down the stairs. They had reached the last step when a loud cheer erupted from the front room. Jonas felt Miss Doyle start.

“What’s happening?”

“That is James’s doing,” Jonas whispered, glancing uneasily at the door, knowing that despite James’s best efforts, someone could burst through at any time.

“Langton’s head groom?”

“Indeed. Head groom and master of distractions.” Jonas continued toward the back door. “He is attempting to keep your father and the inn’s patrons entertained for us.” Jonas opened the door carefully and listened. All was quiet in the yard. “My horse is tied to the oak tree beyond the washing line. There’s just enough moonlight to show us the way. Once we are in the open, we must move quickly.”

Her grip on his hand tightened. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and stepped outside.

Hand in hand, they ran across the yard. They were almost past the washing line when Miss Doyle stumbled and fell to her knees.

“Forgive me,” she gasped, scrambling to rise again. “My ankles are still recovering from the ropes.”

Ropes? She had been bound with ropes. Was there no end to Doyle’s cruelty? Jonas reached to help her rise, and a solid metallic click reverberated through the hushed night air. The stable door creaked. Miss Doyle straightened and began limping rapidly toward the woodpile. A shaft of light coming from the widening gap in the stable door poured across the cobblestones toward them. Not pausing to see who was coming, Jonas scooped Miss Doyle into his arms and ran for the eerie silhouette of the oak tree and his waiting horse.

“You must put me down.” He could hear the anxiety in her quiet voice. “Please, Reynard. Your arm is not yet strong enough.”

“Neither are your ankles,” he whispered in return. Patriot nickered, and Jonas quickly crossed the distance between them. From behind, the sound of voices and hooves reached them from the stable. Jonas turned his head. The light was shrinking again. “The doors are closing,” he said. “We will ride together and leave the other horse for James. As soon as the yard is clear, we will go.”

Minutes later, they were on their way. Miss Doyle sat upon Patriot, her legs to the right of the horse, her torso slightly turned so she was facing forward. Jonas sat behind her with one hand on the reins and his other arm wrapped securely around her waist.

When the uneven cobblestones of the yard became the hard-packed ground of the road, he touched his heels to Patriot’s sides. His mount picked up speed. The breeze tugged at their hair and clothing as they clattered through the village. Darkness veiled the cottages, shops, and church. An owl hooted, and the bright eyes of a woodland creature stared at them from the hedgerow before disappearing in a rustle of leaves. The moon shone its silver gleam across the landscape, and in the distance, the faint rush of waves reached them on the wind.

As they left the village behind them, the tension in Miss Doyle’s stance began to lessen. Her shoulders sagged with weariness. Jonas pulled her closer, and she leaned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“Are you able to tell me what happened?” he asked softly.

For a few moments, she did not say anything, and he wondered if perhaps she’d fallen asleep. But then she stirred, and when she spoke, her voice was clear. “My father and Mr. Cummings ambushed me near the pond at Langton.”

“So Cummings was in on this too,” Jonas said.

He felt her nod. “I was to remain in the hidden room until our wedding banns were read for the last time. He planned to marry me the Monday after.”

“And he considered assault and abduction a satisfactory method of acquiring a wife?” Jonas did nothing to hide his repugnance.

“When we reached the hidden room, he persuaded my father to remove the gag and the ropes around my wrists and ankles,” she said.

“How very decent of him.”

“No matter what my father does to me, I will never marry Mr. Cummings.”

Jonas cleared his throat to cover the unexpected emotion her brave words produced. She’d already endured more mistreatment than anyone he knew, yet her courage and integrity were firm. Rather than being bitter, she was resolute.

“You deserve better, Miss Doyle.”

Silence fell between them again. It was not an uncomfortable silence but a time of quiet contemplation, and Jonas found that he wished it would not end. But end it did—with an abrupt return to reality.

“I must leave,” she said. “Now that my father and Mr. Cummings know I am at Langton Manor, it is no longer safe for me to remain.” She turned her head slightly, and although it was dark, he knew she was looking at him. “Did you have any success in securing a position for me in London?”