Page 5 of Road Trip With a Rogue

“You think I’m going to leave you here, alone, in the middle of the night?”

“I do indeed.”

“So you can get yourself raped, killed, or worse, while making your way back to London? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t see what could be worse than being raped or killed.”

“That’s because you haven’t lived through a war. There’s worse. Far worse. Believe me.”

She let out a low growl of frustration. “You can’t force me to go with you.”

He smiled, showing his teeth. “I think I can.” He deliberately let his eyes roam over her body and enjoyed the angry flush that rose to her cheeks. “You weigh less than a wet rat. You can either get in that coach by yourself, or I’ll pick you up and put you in there.”

Her eyes widened in outrage, and amusement flashed through him at her impotent fury. Her gaze flicked down to his hands as she clearly imagined them on her body, and a jolt of arousal clenched his belly. He ignored it.

“Fine. But let me go get my pistol and my horse.”

She was as transparent as a window. “No. I’ll get them. I’m not having you galloping off on your own.”

“I got here on my own,” she ground out. “And if I have my knives and my pistol, I’ll be perfectly capable of dealing with whatever comes my way.”

“The same way you dealt with Finch?” he mocked.

She narrowed her eyes. “I was distracted.”

“And overpowered,” he said, just to rub it in. “And then unconscious. A less noble man would have taken advantage.”

“Noble!” she scoffed. “That’s not a word I’d ever use to describe you.”

“No? You’re alive and unmolested. You should be glad I’m such a saint. I didn’t even search you while you were insensible.”

She looked ready to slap him, and he bit back a laugh. “In any case, I owe it to your brothers not to let you endanger yourself any more tonight. Or to let you terrorize anyone else on the King’s Highway, for that matter.”

The comment clearly reminded her of the man she’d shot. She turned and walked the few paces to where he lay on the grassy verge, then bent and cautiously pressed her fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. She let out a relieved sigh when he moved and moaned.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “He’s not dead.”

“Want me to finish him off?” Lucien drawled, just to be provoking. It was clear she was suffering an horrific amount of guilt at the fact that she’d shot the bastard.

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Why not? He would have killed you without a second thought.”

“That’s not the point. Killing him would make me just as bad as him.”

Lucien shrugged, enjoying playing devil’s advocate. “I’ve killed so many men I’ve lost count. One more won’t make any difference.”

She sent him a look of utter loathing.

“He’ll hang for highway robbery anyway, if he’s caught by the authorities.”

“I’m not leaving him here to die,” she said fiercely.

“Well, he’s bloody well not coming in my carriage. My charity only extends to rescuing damsels in distress—no matter how ungrateful and undeserving they are.”

She glared at him, as if she could burn him to ash with the heat of her eyes alone, and he let out a put-upon sigh. “Fine. Finch can bandage him up and we’ll send someone back for him when we get to an inn. Does that please your majesty?”

“I suppose that’s acceptable.”