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She put her hand on her middle. “Goodness.”

Glancing at her rail, Vangie hesitated. She couldn’t eat wearing nothing but her thin nightgown. Ian must have sensed her concern. He crossed to her open valise, and after digging around, removed her robe.

He settled the familiar folds over her shoulders, and Vangie smiled her gratitude. “Thank you.”

Lifting a warm scone, she bit into it with relish. “Mmm, scrumptious.”

Closing her eyes, she took another blissful bite. Several crumbs from the pastry stuck to her mouth. She traced her lips with her tongue, licking them clean. Hearing a strange sound, she opened her eyes. Had Ian groaned?

Looking abashed, he patted his stomach and said, “My stomach’s protesting in hunger too.”

His was the oddest hunger pang she’d ever heard. He took the chair opposite hers, then filled his plate. “We’ll reach Somersfield this afternoon.”

Something in his tone gave Vangie pause, and she searched his face. Wasn’t he pleased to be returning home? Or perhaps, explaining her presence to his family had caused the coolness in his voice.

Three hours later, Vangie’s childhood home loomed before the coach. She’d pressed her lips into a thin line the moment the house appeared on the horizon. Biddlethorpe Hall’s familiar golden-honey facade stirred complex emotions she’d rather leave unexamined.

An oversized stone cottage boasting five bedrooms, four chimneys crowned with terra-cotta stacks stood at attention atop the roof. An uneven ivy hedge blanketed a stone fence framing the lawn she’d seldom been permitted to play on. A curving flagstone footpath led the way through an open gate to a charming, arched wooden entrance.

She’d adored this house, the Caruthers’ ancestral home and grounds when her father was the baronet. Since his death and Great Uncle Percival had assumed the baronetcy, the place held little happiness for her and had ceased to truly be home. Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she carefully schooled her features into blandness.

Dragging her gaze from Biddlethorpe, she briefly met Ian’s eyes, before shifting hers away. She clutched her hands in her lap, bunching her washed-out skirt. “I’ve but a few items to collect, Ian. You needn’t trouble yourself with alighting. I’m sure my aunt and uncle won’t object if you remain in the coach.” Please, don’t ask me why. She didn’t want him to know the reason. Aunt Eugenia and Uncle Percival were so miserly, they begrudged guests a spot of tea and a biscuit.

“Are you certain?” Three lines puckered his brow, the movement emphasizing the sharp angles of his striking face as his gaze poured over her. Did he see through her ruse?

Nodding, Vangie reassured him, a mite more enthusiastically than necessary, “Oh, yes, I’m quite sure.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief, having feared he’d object to remaining in the conveyance. She didn’t want anything to disrupt the amiable disposition he’d adopted, for she quite liked this charming rogue.

Studying him from beneath her lashes, she concluded he was relaxed, not the least disgruntled by her ill-mannered suggestion. Noticing her perusal, Ian’s lips tilted slowly, sensually upward, a clear invitation in his gray eyes.

Vangie’s stomach flip-flopped, at having been caught staring at him and from his seductive roguery. Blushing, she swiftly averted her gaze. He was the only person capable of causing her to turn cherry-cheeked with such regularity. A simple smile or an innocent look from him and she was aquiver.

He’d been all polite concern and solicitousness since last night. It seemed their misadventure with the highwaymen yester eve had wrought some benefits. Mayhap he harbored a morsel of tenderness for her after all.

Please, let it be so.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and anxiety gripped her. She purposefully relaxed her tense muscles and cast a glance at Ian. He smiled again, a gleam in his quick-silver eyes she couldn’t identify but which caused a whorl of emotions.

Yes, last night and this morning did indeed give her cause for optimism. Now, to brave the ordeal of informing Aunt Eugenia and Uncle Percival of her marriage, gathering her sparse belongings, and leaving her childhood home. She’d be in and out of Biddlethorpe in ten—mayhap fifteen minutes—at most. Knowing Ian waited in the coach gave her courage.

He opened the trap door in the roof. “Gifford, please assist her ladyship from the coach.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“I’ll be but a few minutes, no more than fifteen.” She laid her hand on his arm, searching his eyes. “You don’t mind waiting?”

Ian covered Vangie’s hand with his. She was reluctant to introduce him to her relatives. Why? Was she ashamed of him, their forced marriage, and the necessity of having to explain the hasty nuptials? Or was it something else?

He lowered his attention to her hands. Earlier she had clasped them together so tightly he could see the white tips of her fingers. Though married less than a week, he knew her well enough to know she clenched her hands when distraught.

Curious, and not a little intrigued, Ian angled his head. She was obviously apprehensive. Again, he asked himself why? He peered past her, taking in the attractive house and grounds. Not ostentatiously affluent but still well-kept, and certainly not poverty stricken as he’d been led to believe.

“Your aunt and uncle won’t be offended if I don’t come in and introduce myself?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” Vangie shook her head. “They aren’t expecting me home just yet, and…” Her shoulders slumped, and she looked uncomfortable. “Ian,” she paused. “I’m not sure how to say this except plainly. They don’t like unexpected guests.”

His curiosity piqued further. “They shan’t be curious whose coach this is?”

“No.” Her faint smile barely tilted her lips and didn’t wipe the unease from her face. “They’ll assume it belongs to Uncle Gideon. He has several.”