Page 18 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

Daisy pulled the travel blanket around her shoulders and stared sightlessly out the window as the carriage rattled and bounced along the road. She’d had numerous stupid ideas in her time, but this one, asking for Vaughan’s help, was definitely the stupidest.

Why had she thought she’d be immune to him after all these years? If anything, she wanted him more than she had at eighteen, now that she knew precisely what men and women could do together.

What she could do with him , if she just accepted his offer.

His words had been swirling around her head for most of the day, and try as she might, she could only find one counterargument: What if she allowed herself to make love with him and it was so good that he ruined her for any other man, ever?

That was a ridiculous hypothesis, of course, but there was just something about his innate confidence that made her think it could be a possibility.

There was no danger of her falling in love with him. He was an arrogant, high-handed beast. Even if he had procured a hot stoneware water bottle for her feet and this lovely warm blanket to ward off the chill as they traveled increasingly farther north.

He was riding again this afternoon, almost as if he was avoiding her, but every time she spied him, her body reacted with irritating predictability.

She wanted him. Just thinking about his hard frame against hers this morning made her hot and shivery at the same time, as if she had a fever.

Desire pulsed low in her belly, a wicked chant that sang in her blood.

When he returned to the carriage at Harrogate she opted to ride, but the bracing fresh air didn’t cool her ardor.

If anything, she felt invigorated, ready for a fight.

She returned to the carriage at the next stop, and her awareness of him seemed unnaturally heightened.

She tensed every time he changed position, or coughed, or turned a page of his book.

She kept sneaking glances at his long legs as they stretched out between them, kept thinking about those fingers of his, touching her skin.

This had to stop. She needed to get away from temptation.

“How far are we from your estate?” she demanded. “You said it was in Yorkshire. Past Harrogate. Aren’t we almost there?”

He glanced up from his perusal of the Racing Post and blinked, as if he’d forgotten she was even there.

Beast.

“Oh, we passed the turnoff a few miles back. Just after Scotch Corner.”

“But… why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “You’ve been extremely vocal on how you need to arrive at Gretna before poor love-crossed Verity and Percival.”

“Violet and Peregrine,” she corrected.

“Whatever. I assumed that speed was of the essence. Hiring a horse or finding a carriage would just waste even more time.”

Daisy narrowed her eyes at him, deeply suspicious. “To what do I owe this sudden helpfulness?”

His lips quirked. “Would you believe I’m doing it for the pleasure of your charming company?”

“Honestly? No.”

He snorted in amusement. “Perhaps your comment about me lacking nobility wounded me deeply. Perhaps I’ve developed a desperate need to prove myself a hero.”

It was her turn to raise her brows. “No one would ever confuse you for a knight in shining armor, Vaughan. Not even in the pitch dark.”

“Oh no, how will I live?”

She ignored his sarcasm.

“The Scottish border’s still too far away to reach tonight,” he said calmly. “Your brothers would string me up if I left you to fend for yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m capable of getting there on my own?”

“I think you’re capable of anything you put your devious little mind to, but the thought of you spending the night in a stable, or—even worse—beneath a hedgerow somewhere, makes me break out in a cold sweat.”

“Worried for my safety?” she mocked.

“Worried for any poor unfortunate soul who crosses your path. I can’t let you stab some innocent bystander in a fit of frustration.”

“I’m not frustrated.”

He sent her a knowing look that made her pulse pound. “No?”

His gaze slid to her lips, then down over her front, and her nipples tightened beneath the cotton of her shirt. He swept lower, staring at the juncture of her thighs, and she pressed her knees together, trying to ignore the flash of stomach-twisting longing that pierced her.

God, he was awful. He knew exactly how much she wanted him, and it clearly amused him to keep her teetering on the edge of sanity.

“Penrith!”

Finch’s shout jolted her from her silent fuming. She turned her hot cheek to look out the window and saw they were pulling into the bustling cobbled yard of an inn whose swinging sign read T HE G REYHOUND .

Two private carriages and a mail coach were all getting ready to depart, and there was an air of general chaos as passengers clambered up to sit on the roof, horses shook their harnesses, luggage was stowed, and dogs, chickens, and children darted underfoot.

Daisy almost turned away when a flash of color caught her eye.

The young woman being helped up into the farthest carriage was wearing a charming lavender bonnet covered with silk flowers, but it was the riot of yellow-blond curls beneath the rim that snagged her attention.

The girl settled herself on the seat in a flurry of lilac skirts as the gentleman who’d helped her in climbed up after her and pulled the door closed.

A golden lion was painted on the side panel.

Daisy gasped. The girl glanced over at her, and even from across the yard Daisy could make out wide blue eyes and a pretty rosebud mouth dropping open in a comical expression of shock.

“That’s Violet!”

She shoved open the carriage door and jumped out before they came to a complete stop, stumbling as she landed. Vaughan shouted her name, but she rushed forward, dodging luggage boxes and weary travelers.

“Stop!”

The driver of Violet’s coach snapped his whip, and Daisy gave a howl of fury as the conveyance clattered forward and out through the gates before she could make a grab for the horses’ reins or attract the driver’s attention.

She whirled around and raced back to Vaughan’s carriage. He’d already stepped down.

“That was them! Quick, we have to go!”

She grasped his lapels and tried to turn him bodily back toward the coach, but he simply looked down at her in amusement.

“Get in, Vaughan!” She growled. “They’re getting away.”

He didn’t budge an inch.

She glanced up imploringly at Finch, who was still up on the box. “Mr. Finch. Please. Go after them.”

Finch glanced at her, then looked over her head at Vaughan, and some silent communication clearly passed between them because he scratched his bristly cheek and shook his head.

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid, Miss. The cattle are too tired. Wouldn’t be right to risk ’em by carryin’ on.”

Daisy flapped her arms at her sides. “Well then, let’s get them changed and be off.” She turned and caught the sleeve of one of the hostlers who was tightening the girth of a large gray mare. “Sir, we need fresh horses immediately.”

The hostler gave her an odd glance, and she ducked her head, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t wearing her hat and that in her urgency her voice had risen far higher than that of the average male youth. She coughed into her hand and glanced back at Vaughan.

“Tell him!”

Vaughan stepped in front of her, neatly shielding her from view, and the groomsman forgot about her as he took in Vaughan’s height and noticed the ducal crest painted on the carriage door.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but those were the last fresh carriage ’orses.” He gestured vaguely after the departed carriage.

“We’ll ride, then,” Daisy said, in a deeper tone. “Quick, saddle us some mounts!”

The man opened his mouth, but Vaughan shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. My impetuous young nephew has clearly failed to notice how close we are to sunset, and I for one refuse to endanger either myself or an animal by riding in the dark.”

Daisy elbowed him in the side, hard.

He choked off a laugh, reached back, and caught her wrist in an inescapable grip. “Come, now, boy. What kind of guardian would I be if I let you to go riding about the countryside at night? I’ll not have you breaking your foolish neck while you’re under my care. Your mother would never forgive me.”

Daisy stepped on his foot and scowled up at him when he turned to her.

He bent so his lips were close to her ear. “Be sensible. Even if they make it to Gretna tonight, they won’t find anyone to marry them until the morning. We can stay here tonight, rest the horses, and still arrive in time to stop them if we leave early enough.”

She gave a soft, frustrated groan. They were so close . But Vaughan was right; they could get a few hours’ sleep and leave at dawn. All was not lost. She could still stop the wedding and complete her mission.

“Fine.”

He nodded, and she clambered back into the coach to retrieve her hat and coat. Finch collected their luggage and she kept her head down as they entered the inn.

Her spirits rose as the innkeeper informed them that there were several rooms available, but then Vaughan spoke.

“Oh, no, I don’t require a second room for my nephew. He’s quite the little tearaway. Rather unhappy about being returned to boarding school, I’m afraid, and I need to keep an eye on him. We’ll share a chamber. The best you have, please.”

The innkeeper nodded in sympathetic understanding. “These young’uns don’t appreciate how good they’ve got it, milord. That’s for sure.”

Daisy fumed silently under her hat, and trailed the three of them up the stairs and into an impressively large suite decked out in shades of warm ochre. Finch deposited their bags by the door and promptly left with the innkeeper.

As soon as they were alone, she threw off her hat and coat and turned to face Vaughan, ready to berate him about not getting her a room of her own, but his raised hand stopped her.

“Consider me duly chastened,” he said, a smile ghosting his lips.

She froze in her tracks at the sudden memory of herself saying those precise words, the night he’d kissed her. Was it a deliberate taunt? Or coincidence? Surely he didn’t remember it as clearly as she did.

Either way, she felt just she had back then: angry, humiliated, fizzing with nervous energy.

His brows arched at her silence. “What? No furious tirade about making you share a room? No threat to murder me in my sleep? Are you ill, Hamilton?”

He reached forward as if to put his hand on her forehead to test for a fever, but she deflected his arm and grabbed his wrist. Her fingers barely closed around it, and he could have shaken her off with the smallest effort, but he simply stilled.

Daisy could barely breathe. The room was huge, but he was so close the tips of his boots brushed hers and she glared up into his handsome, mocking face. Angry ferment mixed with frustrated desire in her belly.

Infuriating man.

She wanted him. Hated him.

God, he was the fever. He made her body hot and her brain stupid.

A surge of recklessness seized her. She’d thought about him all day, his closeness, his scent, his words. He was right; they didn’t need to be friends. Better to regret the things she’d done than the things she hadn’t.

She thought of all her childhood heroines: strong, fearless women like the warrior queen Boudica and the Amazons of myth. Women who took what they wanted, and followed their desires.

It was time to do the same.