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

Daisy’s heart pounded against her breastbone as she stared at her unwelcome companion. A lamp set in the wall illuminated the interior, and the warm glow highlighted his dark features with disturbing clarity.

Her throat hurt from where his man had strangled her, but she could only have been unconscious for a few seconds. Vaughan probably hadn’t had time to find the knife she’d slipped into her boot. That was some small comfort. She hated feeling at a disadvantage, especially with him.

He was even more intimidating in such close proximity.

His body seemed to take up most of the velvet seat, and her stomach somersaulted as his masculine scent enveloped her.

It was dark and delicious, like a sandalwood-scented forest, and a sudden memory caught her like a punch to the chest: of him pressed against her, his fingers in her hair, his lips at her throat.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her mouth to banish the image.

When he moved, she flinched instinctively, raising her hand as if to parry a blow, and his brows lifted in amusement.

“So defensive.”

She scowled. He obviously didn’t see her as any kind of threat. “I can do that same chokehold, you know. Devlin taught it to me. It’s not all about superior size and weight. You just need to apply the right amount of pressure in exactly the right place.”

The corner of his lips quirked. “You think you could take me with it?”

Her skin heated at the thought of putting her hands on him, of feeling his broad back pressed hard against her chest, but she shook her head.

“Only if I managed to catch you by surprise. You’re stronger and heavier. If you decide to overpower me, there’s not much I can do about it, without my knives. Although I’d hope to give you a black eye and a bloody nose for your trouble, at least. I have no qualms about fighting dirty.”

His dark eyes studied her, as if she were some bizarre oddity, and she fought not to squirm.

“I’m not going to attack you, Hamilton. I prefer more subtle ways to get what I want.”

That was hardly reassuring.

“So, why are you here?” he repeated.

Daisy sighed. There was no reason not to tell him, she supposed.

“It’s a case I’m working on for King and Company.

We’ve been hired to stop the elopement of a young lady and return her to the bosom of her family.

” She frowned. “She was supposed to have been in this carriage. With a golden lion on the door.”

His chin dipped and he drummed his black-gloved fingers on his knee. “A case of mistaken identity, then. My ducal crest includes a golden lion.”

Daisy shrugged. “When we get to Barnet I’ll ask if they’ve already passed by. If not, I’ll wait for them and force them to return.”

“You’d ruin the happiness of two people desperately in love?” His tone was deeply cynical.

“Her family doesn’t approve. She’s an heiress—Violet Brand. Her father doesn’t want the scandal of an elopement. He thinks the man she’s chosen is a fortune hunter.”

Vaughan looked supremely disinterested. “What if they’re already ahead of you? I assume if they’re eloping, they’re heading for the Scottish border. Gretna Green, most likely. You can’t possibly ride your horse all that way.”

Daisy slumped in her seat—something that was far easier to do when wearing breeches than a skirt. “I don’t intend to. Even if they’ve already passed Barnet, I’m sure I can overtake them before the next staging post.”

His mouth curved. “You plan to force them back at pistol-point, do you?”

“If they won’t cooperate. Or I’ll think of a way to sabotage their carriage.”

“And they call me a heartless monster,” he snorted.

She glared at him. “They call you a heartless monster because you killed a man in cold blood before you even left for war.”

Her harsh words fell between them like a shock of icy water, and she cursed her impetuous tongue. She held her breath, expecting a vicious, cutting response, but while his jaw hardened, he merely shrugged.

“That’s true enough.”

She waited for him to elaborate, to explain the circumstances that had caused the rumors to swirl about him all those years ago, but he seemed in no mood to relieve her curiosity.

In truth, she hadn’t expected him to. He’d always been content to let the gossips say what they liked about him. If anything, he’d seemed to enjoy cultivating his dark and dangerous reputation.

He rested his arm along the back of the padded seat and let his gaze roam over her. Daisy forced herself not to fidget under his intense regard, even though her skin prickled uncomfortably.

She raised her chin. Let him look. She wasn’t the naive debutante who’d thrown herself at him five years ago. She was older, wiser, and considerably more cynical. He’d taught her a painful, but valuable, lesson: love was for children and fools.

The tone of the carriage wheels changed as they emerged from the forest and joined the cobbled street that led into Barnet, and she let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to endure Vaughan’s stifling presence for much longer.

When they pulled in to the first inn, a white-painted place called The Mitre, she tucked her hair up under her hat, pulled the rim down low, and left the carriage with unseemly haste.

Vaughan climbed down languidly after her, and watched as his manservant helped the wounded coachman down from the box and into the taproom. He shook his head when the hostler offered to change the horses, but Daisy took the opportunity to question the man before he returned to the stables.

“I don’t suppose another carriage has come through here recently? With a golden lion on the door?”

The man scratched his bushy beard. “Happen there was one, but it didn’t stop. It were going at a right lick too. Nearly hit old Nelson, there.”

He pointed to an ancient-looking hound that was curled up on a mound of hay.

Daisy’s spirits dropped. “How long ago was that?”

“An hour, mebbe more?” He shrugged and yawned.

Daisy cursed inwardly. She’d missed them; they must have been just ahead of Vaughan’s carriage, and they probably wouldn’t need to change horses until Hatfield. She’d have to ride another fifteen miles at least.

It was going to be a bloody long night.

She stalked back to Hero, her chestnut mare, glad to see that Vaughan hadn’t removed her leather saddlebags, but before she could untie her from the back of the carriage he appeared out of the darkness.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Going after Violet. She and Peregrine have already passed through.”

“I thought I’d explained this. You’re not going anywhere alone at this hour.”

Daisy tried to calm her temper. “You have no say in anything I choose to do, Your Grace .” She spat the title at him like a curse. “You’re neither my father nor my husband.”

“Thank God,” he drawled.

She wondered if she could reach high enough to punch him. It wouldn’t have much effect, but it would feel incredibly satisfying. “Stand aside.”

He shook his head. “You always were a stubborn little thing.”

She clenched her fist, and he smiled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Wait! I have a proposition.”

“What?”

“It’s clear that you’re determined to catch the runaways.”

“I am.”

“Then let me help you.”

Daisy snorted in disbelief. “You? Help me? Why on earth would you do that? Don’t expect me to believe you possess a single shred of decency.”

His teeth flashed in a smile. “Oh, certainly not. I’m famed for my indecency, am I not? But I also like to be entertained, and helping you might relieve a little of my boredom.”

“Was being held up by highwaymen not exciting enough?” she countered acidly.

“A mere skirmish. And besides, I’m already heading in that direction.”

“Why?”

“I’m going north to visit one of my holdings, up past Harrogate.”

Daisy squinted, trying to read his features in the poor light cast by the inn’s lanterns. Was he lying? And if so, why? It couldn’t possibly be because he wanted the pleasure of her company. He could have approached her any time in the past year to renew their acquaintance, and he hadn’t bothered.

She’d ignored the bitter sting of rejection.

“If you’re thinking of claiming the reward for yourself, you can think again. That money’s mine.”

“How much is it?”

“Five hundred pounds.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wager ten times that amount every night at cards.”

Daisy ground her teeth. He was probably telling the truth.

He was a duke, for heaven’s sake, at least as rich as her own father.

Five hundred pounds might be a fortune to her, vital to ensuring her continued independence, but it was pocket change for him.

She remembered Devlin once telling her he’d made a fortune on the Exchange too.

“I’m not here to entertain you, Vaughan. I’m here to do my job.” She bit her lip and cursed her limited options. Trying to escape him now would be almost impossible, so she might as well pretend to capitulate. When he dropped his guard, she could go on her way.

She stuck out her hand for him to shake. “But fine. I accept your offer.”

He studied her face for an endless moment, as if he didn’t trust her sudden reasonableness, but then his long fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed.

Daisy’s breath hitched as she felt the power of his grip, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he was wearing gloves. The thought of touching his bare skin made her a little lightheaded.

She turned and climbed back into his coach.