Page 32 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

“I should love to. Do you have scissors?” he asked politely. He’d already had a good look at the knots.

“I did,” she said bitterly, either missing or ignoring his sarcasm. “In my reticule. I always carry them, and needle and thread, to mend a tear, should a gentleman stand on my hem. But I must have dropped it in the garden.”

“What a shame. I believe I have a loose button. We might spend the time with a little sewing.”

She grimaced. “You are angry, of course.”

“Let me see,” he said, relenting. She held up her wrists. “The twine is tightly tied with professional looking knots. I doubt we’ll even be able to loosen it.” He tested the theory.

“Ow! Stop! That will never work. We can pound on the roof and make them pull up.”

“Let’s not encourage them to shoot us. Best wait until we arrive at our destination. Wherever that is.”

“It might be Kent. Lord Elford’s estate. I overheard them talking about smugglers.”

“Tell me what they said.”

Letitia explained, while he marveled at her self-control. He’d expected her to be in hysterics by now. “That explains a lot,” he said. “Pity I couldn’t alert my superior.”

“Will he know where to find us?”

“It’s possible. He is very good at putting two and two together.” Brandon tried to sound confident, but Willard would not expect to hear from him for up to forty-eight hours. Even if he grew suspicious, there was little for him to go on. “I have no idea where we are or how long we’ve been traveling, but I imagine a lengthy journey still awaits us.”

“I expect so.” She tried again to sit up, pulling him painfully with her. “Arietta! She’ll be frantic. But if my reticule is found, she will alert Bow Street.”

He

had his doubts. “We need to rest while we can.”

She flopped down again. “How can I rest, when I’m so uncomfortable, and…” her eyes widened “… so very frightened.”

Her face was close to his. She was anxious, breathing too fast. He wished he could hold her. Impossible, and she might not welcome it. “You have a perfect right,” he said. “If it helps, lean against me.”

“I can’t do anything but lean against you.” Her sweet breath fanned his neck. “And it doesn’t help at all.”

It wasn’t easy for him either, in quite a different way, when her constant wriggles brushing against his nether region caused a certain amount of friction, but he refrained from mentioning it.

“Once they stop, we’ll find a way to escape,” she murmured. “I’ll poke Fraughton in the eye, then you can punch Marson in the stomach. Hard,” she added through her teeth.

“Sounds like an excellent plan.” He grinned at her in admiration, despite his fear this would end badly. She had no conception of the ruthlessness of these men who had taken them prisoner. That she was such a game girl somehow made it worse.

He wanted to live through this not only to restore Letitia to her family, but to get his hands on Lady Arietta, if for nothing else than her careless attitude toward a girl in her care. He moved further over on his side to give her more room. “Cover yourself with the cape to keep warm.” He needed to think of something else other than Miss Bromley’s assets.

She settled beside him and closed her eyes without a murmur of protest, despite the position of their hands, now nestling beneath the rise of her breasts. The delicate folds of her white dress hugged her slim body and long legs, her lustrous dark hair, escaping its pins, scattered flowers over the floor. Breathing in her sweet feminine scent, mingled with soap and violets, a sharp anguished pain stabbed him in the gut at his inability to free her. This helpless feeling was entirely new to him. To have to care for someone else besides himself. He would fight to his last breath to save her.

He searched beyond the window, hoping for a sight of something he recognized, but the land lay in darkness. Would they pass through Canterbury? They would need to stop at a coaching inn somewhere to change horses. He’d have to remain on the alert.

At least the constant throb in his head would keep him awake.

Chapter Twelve

Cartwright had been quiet for some time. In the dim light, Letty studied him, taking in his features at close quarters. His face was narrow, his nose straight, his well-formed mouth in repose was softer. A shadow of a beard now painted his sharp jaw. His eyes were closed, but she was unsure if he slept or remained still to allow her to rest. Rest? How could she when the future looked so bleak? There was some comfort to be had by his large warm body beside her. The carriage jostled her, and her empty stomach churned with anxiety and guilt. Cartwright must hate her. This was all her fault. Although she still hoped he would find a way to save them, she feared those ruthless men intended they never returned to London. For what other reason had they whisked the two of them away from the ball?

Cartwright opened his eyes. “All right there?”

“Do you hate me. Cartwright?”

“No, of course, I don’t, sweetheart. You should rest. They’ll have to stop soon to change the horses.”

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