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Had he not been in such a hurry to uncover the truth about Lucinda and Charlotte’s blatant deception, he would’ve delayed his departure to Northumberland and purchased a new wardrobe for Vangie in London. With her aunt’s and cousin’s assistance, she would’ve enjoyed the venture, no doubt. Instead, he’d unintentionally reminded her of her prior status and humiliated her.

So much for his vow not to hurt her again.

Vangie repositioned herself on the seat, and although almost undetectable, a wince pinched her face.

Other than offering Ian a half-smile, Vangie hadn’t bothered attempting to engage him when he’d first clamored into the carriage.When she’d exited the inn this morning, a smile of excitement and anticipation on her face, he’d been atop Pericles already. Last night’s well-laid plans evaporated with the dawn’s dew, and she fought foolish tears as, Malcolm, the driver, assisted her into the coach.

One could only take so much rejection, and after her husband had rebuffed her yet again this morning, she’d determined to protect herself from further despair and humiliation. The fragile wall she’d carefully erected since climbing in the coach would crack and disintegrate if he rejected her once more.With each saturated mile they traveled, her heart grew heavier, and her ire rose a bit higher as well.

How could she bear a lifetime of this?

There’s always the Roma.

Stealing a glance at her husband lounging across from her, Vangie had no doubts that Ian was none too pleased the weather had forced him to share the coach hours before he typically did.

Arms folded, he sighed and shifted slightly, his face only partially visible in the half light. “Vangie, I truly meant no offense. I…” He faltered to a stop as she met his eyes for an instant before aiming her attention to her frayed gloves. “Do you have any personal belongings you’d like to retrieve in Brunswick before we continue on to Somersfield?” he asked considerately.

Uncertain what to make of his solicitousness, she lifted her gaze to his and nodded. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I do have a few things I’d like to collect.”

“No trouble at all. We’ll stop on the morrow as we pass through.” He bestowed a warm smile upon her.

Taken aback by his change in demeanor, she searched his face for a long moment. “Thank—”

The coach lurched violently before bumping to a sudden, rough stop, practically tossing her onto the floor. Only clutching the seat prevented her from plummeting onto Ian’s booted feet. Her reticule and hat weren’t as fortunate. She bent over to recover them. Whatever caused them to stop so abruptly?

Shouts echoed outside.

Stifling the worry skittering across her shoulders, she inhaled sharply as he pulled a mahogany gun case from a compartment beneath his seat. Her alarm ratcheted upward once more when he removed one of the flintlock officer’s pistols from its royal blue velvet bed. His mouth pressed into a grim line, he loaded the gun with practiced efficiency.

“Ian?” Vangie managed to sound poised though her pulse beat an uneven staccato, and her breath refused to leave her lungs in a normal fashion.

He smiled reassuringly before returning his attention to loading the other pistol. “Most likely nothing to be concerned about, sweeting. I’m only being cautious.”

More shouting commenced, and the coach rocked as a driver climbed down.

Her stomach caught and quivered. Stay calm. Coachmen disembarked for any number of reasons.

Ian raised a finger to his lips, mouthing, “Don’t move.” He quickly extinguished the lamp. From the edge of the window, he peered outside.

Was he serious? Vangie had no intention of sitting demurely by while God only knew what occurred outdoors. She bent forward determined to take a look herself.

The murky twilight hindered visibility, and only indiscriminate shapes and shadows met her scrutiny. Trying to see anything out there was like peering into a deep, dark pond. One knew something lurked beneath the surface, moving about, but one had no idea what it was—or whether it might be dangerous.

Ian opened the door, scarcely wide enough to squeeze through.

She barely swallowed the cry rising to her lips. Heavens, he wasn’t going out there?

Slipping through the narrow opening, pistols in hand, he whispered, “Stay here.”

The door closed with a soft snick.

Trepidation coiling in her stomach, she scooted to the edge of the seat. Balancing awkwardly, her backside hanging halfway off, she poked her nose around the sash just in time to see him disappear behind the rear of the coach.

A shot echoed, immediately followed by a profusion of cursing.

Dear God, please keep Ian safe.

An eerie silence descended, and she strained her ears, clenching and unclenching her hands. Only her uneven breathing punctuated the ominous stillness. Another gun’s report disturbed the dusk’s tranquility, and she jumped, her thoughts ricocheting around in her head. Whatever is happening? Where is Ian? Is he injured? Where are the drivers? Who is swearing such foul oaths? How many highwaymen are there? Then ludicrously—has the rain stopped?