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“Not yours. Breathe, darling.”

“R—right. How did you...?”

“Markham's always been good at ferreting out secrets, and one or two other gentlemen owed me favors. You were right. There was a reason your father turned away your suitors. It seems he's burned his own capital, and he needs yours. Which he only gets hold of if you reach twenty-one without marrying."

The momentary horror of her expression faded into a thoughtful tilt of her head. “I imagined his newfound desire to find himself a young bride was his need for another son. It makes more sense that he needs a rich bride. Otherwise, he’d have never looked twice at Mary Thornson.”

Nicholas stroked her shoulder. "I wish him joy of her. The lady's got the personality of a truncheon, and rumor is her father’s fortune is all smoke and mirrors. But neither of them will be your concern once we reach Scotland."

“The sooner I can set my father behind me and never look back, all the better.” Her shoulders shook under his hand. Fear? Sadness? Or perhaps she’d realized that once she turned twenty-one and the fortune came to her father with no more risk of the eccentric entailment sending it to a distant cousin, Baron Sunderland would need her for nothing at all.

****

Nicholas dispatched Amy’s maid to reason with Juliet and her woman while Nicholas and his valet dealt with the coachmen and teams, the innkeeper, and provisioning, which Juliet herself took over once she emerged. Before an hour passed, the party had piled into the carriages under warmed blankets with hot stones at their feet and a carefully encapsulated brazier that would hopefully outlast the worst of the morning frost. This time, the four women took one carriage while Nicholas and his valet took the other to use the morning for discussing details of the coming travel and what supplies must be laid on at Clarendel Manor for its unforeseen new mistress, along with considerations regarding the addition of Juliet and her daughter to the household. Nicholas had no intention of sending his sister back to her pernicious in-laws so long as he could scrape together the dosh to keep everyone fed.

Most of the logistics were planned by their noontide stop, where Nicholas dashed off the most urgent lines to be posted while the inn’s staff prepared and packed food for the party. This time, he invited Miss Sunderland and her maid to share his carriage to discuss what destination and travel would come after their marriage ceremony. Nicholas wasn’t surprised when Amy professed little interest in finishing the season and far more in sorting out Clarendel Manor. Unfortunately, the road's ruts and mud outmatched the coach's shocks, and everyone was soon too exhausted for speech, all their energy expended upon being bounced from one side of the box to the other.

At last, the horses needed rest, and so did their passengers. Having reached an inn of decent repute, Nicholas descended first and inquired after lodgings for himself, his wife, sister, and servants. Winter weather had discouraged many travelers, so there was plenty of space. He obtained the required rooms and returned to the coach to hand Miss Sunderland out.

"As my dear wife," he whispered, "you can choose tonight: stay with Juliet or me."

The question startled her enough that her eyes widened. “My choice is with you, my lord.” Her hand remained in his, her slender fingers squeezing lightly.

"In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose." He straightened up and guided her through the few feet of half-frozen sludge to the inn door.

Once dinner was over, the arrangements were laid out. He tried not to feel too badly about Amy’s stiff gait and wild eyes as he led her up and ignored the pale cheeks of her maid when he abandoned them to their evening routine while he spoke with Juliet—who was all eye rolls and entendre—about the next stage of the journey.

“I thought you didn’t intend to ruin her until you wed her,” Juliet huffed.

“She’s already ruined by her father’s estimation. Stop glaring. I don’t intend to hurt her.”

“Nicky...” Juliet’s blue eyes narrowed. “I told her she didn’t make a dreadful mistake trusting you.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, kissing his sister’s forehead. “She’s a guileless country type. There’s no reason to make her unhappy with things too late to fix.”

“I hope you’re right.” Juliet’s expression sobered. “I don’t want to live with a miserable sister.”

“If things go so far wrong as that, I’ll set her up in Bath.” The plan came blithely to his lips, but he turned away from his sister quickly.

****

When he returned to the room, he found Miss Sunderland clad in a white linen night rail beneath a heavy quilted robe, bundled against the pervasive chill despite occupying a seat at the fire. Her maid—Staunton, wasn't it?—had helped Perkins with the bedding and gone off on her cot with Juliet’s attendant, so Nicholas allowed Perkins to make short work of his own disrobing and a cursory toilette—there'd be time for fully bathing when they reached Scotland and had time to thaw out properly.

Wrapped in his fur-lined robe, Nicholas joined his false-and-future wife by the hearth. "Now, you're ruined, darling. An entirely unfair consequence for a cup of tea and a blazing fire."

She tilted her tea to her lips. The cup's rim didn’t hide her smile. “I guess I have no choice but to marry you.” She set her cup on the small table before her, her whiskey-colored gaze lifting. “It’ll be the talk of the Ton for weeks. Until the next scandal.”

"As long as we pull it off. But from the gossip downstairs, there was a terrific storm just behind us today. A deep frustration to anyone in pursuit." He relaxed into his seat, watching her. That innocent face would make leading her into ruin all the more delicious. “You’re remarkably calm for a sheltered miss caught in the power of a fortune-hunting bastard."

Amy traced a patch on the arm of her chair. The nervous tremor was almost unnoticeable. “I put myself in his power, so I’ve no reason to be in hysterics. I only hope you’ll take a few years to waste the money.”

“I intend not to waste it at all, if I can avoid it.” He stood and turned his back to her, taking up a flask of scotch Perkins had left out for him. He drank deeply, then held it up in salute—and an offer. To his surprise, she extended her hand, so he passed it over. "If skill with money made happy matches, no banker's wife would ever sneak off to the stables with a groom. But if that is your plan, so long as you maintain discretion, we can negotiate.”

She froze with his flask almost to her lips. “You’re suggesting...?”

"Why not? If I'm back in the Peninsula, I won't notice what you're about in Clarendel Manor."

There wasn't any rancor in the thought. She struck him as capable of avoiding embarrassment as long as she learned anything regarding earthly pleasures before she went mad with boredom...