Page 4 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Excuse me,” Emily called through the small window to the driver. “I believe we’ve taken a wrong turn.”
No response.
“Sir?” she tried again, her voice firm despite her growing anxiousness. “This is not the road to Millfield.”
Still nothing.
The trees grew denser, and shadows lengthened as the sun began its descent. Emily calculated their direction based on the slanting light.
Northeast. Away from both Millfield and London.
“Turn this carriage around at once!” she demanded, her composed facade finally cracking. “I insist that you obey me!”
When the driver made no answer, her heart began to pound against her ribs. She attempted to open the carriage door, but it was firmly secured.
Am I being abducted?Emily’s mind raced through the possibilities.
Where is this man taking me?
The carriage slowed, then halted in a small clearing. Voices murmured outside. Most likely the driver was conversing with someone else.
Emily frantically scanned the carriage interior for anything she might use to defend herself. She reached for her reticule and her fingers closed around the brass compass hidden within. It was not much of a weapon, but it would suffice.
The door swung open, and the driver climbed inside, closing the door behind himself.
Before he could fully turn toward her, Emily lunged forward, aiming her fist at his jaw.
He caught her wrist with alarming ease. Emily felt the unmistakable strength in his grip, the ripple of muscle that made her take in a sharp breath.
“That’s quite enough,” his voice was cultured and smooth, carrying the unmistakable cadence of aristocratic education.
Emily froze, more shocked by his refined speech than by his capture of her wrist.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt. “What do you want with me?”
He released her wrist slowly, shrugging off his coat, the fine wool falling away to reveal a perfectly tailored navy jacket that clung to broad shoulders.
Emily blinked several times. High cheekbones framed a straight nose, and the man’s firm jawline was dusted with a day’s stubble. Sandy brown hair curled untamed, suggesting a man who paid just enough attention to fashion to be presentable without appearing vain.
But it was his eyes that held her.
They were green as cut emeralds, sharp and assessing, taking her measure with the cool calculation of a predator.
They didn’t waver, didn’t blink, didn’t show a hint of uncertainty or shame at what he was doing.
This was a man accustomed to power. A man who expected things to go his way.
“Good evening, Lady Emily,” he said, his voice rolling through the small space like distant thunder.
The smile that curved his lips never softened those cold eyes.
“I believe you’re clever enough to realize now that we’re not headed to London.”
Chapter Two
“Iam Lady Emily Walford, daughter of the late Earl of Ridgewell and betrothed to the Earl of Peirce,” Lady Emily declared, her voice remarkably steady despite the flush spreading across her cheeks. “Take me to London at once, or I assure you, you’ll be hanging by morning.”
Ambrose watched her press herself against the opposite side of the carriage, attempting to create distance in the confined space.
