Page 12 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

The rain eased a little as they arrived at Newark for lunch. Vaughan and Finch went into The Blue Bell, and Daisy grumbled to herself at the fact that she had to remain outside.

Then she remembered the basket of food Mrs. Ward had packed, and her mood improved considerably.

She felt absolutely no guilt about eating the delicious array of pastries without saving a single one for Vaughan.

He was probably warming himself by a nice crackling fire, while she was trying to ward off the creeping chill of the damp air.

His lips quirked as he climbed back into the carriage and saw the debris of wax paper, cake crumbs, fruit cores, and cheese rinds scattered across her seat.

“It’s a miracle you still have all your teeth, considering the number of cakes you eat,” he said drily.

“Life’s too short to deny yourself something delicious.” She shrugged, then blushed at the heat that kindled in his eyes as she realized the potential for double entendre. He didn’t disappoint.

“Do you know, I’m beginning to think you’re right,” he purred.

She gave an inelegant snort. He wasn’t flirting with her, however much she might wish he was. It was simply second nature for him to tease. He’d had no problem “denying himself” five years ago, and she doubted he’d be any different now.

She busied herself with packing the picnic away.

“It might interest you to know that our fugitives stopped here a short while ago to change horses,” he said.

She glanced up quickly. “Really? How long ago? Can you tell Finch to spring the horses?”

He shook his head at her sudden enthusiasm. “No. There’s more rain expected as we head north, and the roads are already bad. I won’t risk an animal getting injured, or a broken wheel.”

Daisy begrudgingly admitted that he was right. “I don’t suppose Violet will be going any faster. At least they won’t be increasing their lead.”

“Glad to hear you’re looking at this sensibly,” he said, with a tone of teasing condescension that made her want to punch him.

But that would mean putting her hands on him, and she definitely didn’t want to do that.

Daisy opened the copy of Sense and Sensibility and did her best to ignore him for the next few miles.

She’d read the book before, of course—Ellie had given her a copy for her last birthday—and as ever she found herself wanting to give Marianne a good shake for being so foolish over Willoughby and for taking so long to appreciate Colonel Brandon.

The rain returned in earnest about an hour later, drumming deafeningly on the panels and tapping at the glass, and Daisy felt sorry for Finch, getting wet up on the box.

The roads became muddier, slowing their progress to almost a crawl, and she bit her lip, wondering if Vaughan would decree that they stop at the next change.

She was about to ask, when Finch let out a shout, and the coach lurched dramatically, flinging her forward before she had time to grab the leather strap by the window.

She threw out her arms to break her fall, and gave a strangled cry of horror as she tumbled onto the floor right between Vaughan’s parted thighs.

Her right hand landed just above his left knee, while her left clutched his other thigh, mere inches from his groin.

Her cheeks flamed as his muscles shifted beneath her hand.

She tried to rear back, but he’d reached out to catch her, too; his long fingers were gripping her upper arms, holding her in place.

Her breath hitched as she realized their faces were only inches apart, and that his lips were curving into a smile of unholy delight.

“Flinging yourself at me, Hamilton?” he chuckled. “How delightful.”

She pushed herself back and onto her own seat, curling her fingers into fists to banish the feel of rock-hard muscle and soft buckskin beneath her palms.

“Not in this lifetime, Vaughan.”

The coach was still tilted at an unnatural angle, and Finch was swearing like a sailor above them. With a sigh, Vaughan pulled on his greatcoat and stepped out into the road. A few moments later he opened the door again and held up his gloved hand to her.

“You’re going to have to get out. We’re in a deep rut, at the bottom of a particularly steep section of road. The horses need to pull the carriage out, then carry on up the hill without stopping. We need to make it as light as possible.”

Daisy groaned. She shrugged into her own great coat and stuffed her hair up under her hat, then took Vaughan’s hand and stepped down into the downpour. Her boots immediately sank into the cold, sludgy quagmire of mud and water, and rain poured down the back of her neck.

Oh, wonderful.

She squelched unhappily to the side, tugging the sides of her coat around her for warmth, and found a small patch of grass on which to stand.

They were in a deep, tree-lined lane, with steep banks of earth and tall hedges on either side, and an unusually steep incline before them. Small rivers of rainwater were flowing down the hill, filling the ruts made by previous carts and carriages and adding to the muddy nightmare.

Finch remained up on the box, trying to calm the horses, but to her amazement Vaughan went round to the rear of the carriage and placed both hands on the back panel.

“Dukes aren’t supposed to push carriages,” she called out, just to needle him. “You’re expected to get back inside and wait for someone to come and help.”

“There’s hardly anyone else out in this weather. We could be waiting for hours. And besides, I was a soldier before I was a duke. I’ve pushed plenty of carts out of ditches. At least this one’s not full of ammunition. Or bodies. Ready?” he shouted up to Finch.

“Aye. Now push!”

Vaughan let out a grunt as he leaned his whole weight into the carriage. It moved forward a few inches, then slipped back into the muddy groove. He tried again. The seams of his coat strained, and mud sprayed everywhere as the wheels slid sideways, spinning uselessly.

With a sigh, Daisy trudged over to join him, enjoying his look of surprise when she added her own weight to the effort. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

They both shoved hard, rocking the carriage back and forth to gain momentum, and the wheels suddenly found purchase.

The carriage bounced forward, out of the rut, and Daisy almost fell flat on her face.

She threw up her hands to shield against the splatter from the wheels, but it was no good.

Cold dollops of mud flecked across her face and hands as Finch sent the horses plunging on with a snap of the reins, and the carriage clattered up the hill, veering wildly.

She glanced over at Vaughan and bit back a laugh. The front of his greatcoat, from hem to collar, was covered in mud, and his face was equally dirty.

“You’ve got mud freckles.” She snorted. “I hope you’ve got a change of clothes in those trunks of yours, Your Grace, because nobody’s going to believe you’re a duke looking like that.”

He swiped his forearm over his face, but it only served to smear the muddy spots into long streaks. His previously pristine black boots were ruined, and she tried to ignore the way the rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead.

“Come on, let’s go.” He gestured up the hill, and with a resigned sigh she set off, slipping and sliding in the mud.

The track was even steeper than it looked, and when she almost turned her ankle for the second time, arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance, he gave a deep growl of impatience, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her along behind him.

Daisy was grateful for the assistance, even if the feel of his fingers made her stomach flutter. When they finally reached the crest of the hill and found the carriage waiting, she was glad to dive back inside, out of the deluge.

Her overcoat was drenched, so she slipped out of it and threw off her hat, then rubbed her hands over her arms to try to warm up.

“There are blankets under your seat,” Vaughan said as he climbed in after her, also divesting himself of his coat. “There’s no need to shiver like a drowned rat.”

Bending over to open the storage compartment put her breeches-clad rear in scandalous proximity to his face, but the embarrassment was worth it when she pulled out two soft woolen blankets.

She tossed one at him and wrapped the other firmly around her shoulders, acutely aware that the front of her wet shirt had become almost transparent where her coat had been open at the front.

Vaughan raked his fingers roughly through his hair, and she had to turn away from how attractive he looked in such ruffled disorder. The rain seemed to have enhanced his scent, too, and her stomach curled as the delicious smell of damp earth and wet pine trees filled the carriage.

A few raindrops still clung to his temple and jaw, and she bit back a ridiculous urge to lean forward and lick them from his skin with her tongue.

Dear God, was wrong with her? She’d barely thought about such carnal things since Tom, but Vaughan’s presence was making her body come alive again, all the half-forgotten feelings reemerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

“Thank God we’re almost at Doncaster,” he growled, using his blanket to wipe his face.

His cheekbones were stained pink, either from exertion or the stinging rain, and she pressed her thighs together against an unwelcome throb of awareness.

Why did he have to be so bloody attractive? It wasn’t fair.

“Will we stop there for the night?” Her voice barely more than a croak.

“Yes. I’m not dying of pneumonia just to thwart a stupid elopement. I want a hot bath, a good dinner, and a soft bed.”

She suppressed another shiver. Vaughan had seemed adamant that he wouldn’t let her sleep the night in the coach, and in truth the desire to be warm and dry was a strong inducement to comply. Perhaps if the Fates were kind, she’d be able to get her own room.