Page 50 of Road Trip With a Rogue

She sighed, regretting the change from lovers back to reluctant collaborators.

With a final glance at the rumpled bed, she hefted her bag and unlocked the door. “I’ll meet you down in the yard. There’s no time for breakfast. We can eat something when we get to Gretna. It’s only a few miles.”

Vaughan cursed fluently, and she fled.

Finch, thankfully, was already awake and in the yard, readying the horses. He declined Daisy’s offer of help, so she hopped from foot to foot to keep warm in the morning chill.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Vaughan finally emerged, clean-shaven and annoyingly well turned out. Daisy was sure her hair looked like a bird’s nest under her hat, but she’d forgotten her comb so there was nothing to be done about it.

“Let’s go. Come on!” She was practically bouncing with impatience, but he was immune to being rushed.

He shook his head in clear exasperation, and glanced up at Finch. “The innkeeper says to watch out for brigands between here and Wetherby.”

Finch nodded, unperturbed, and clambered onto the box, and Daisy heaved a sigh of relief as they finally got underway. She had no idea what time the blacksmith-cum-parson at Gretna opened his doors, but it surely wouldn’t be any earlier than eight o’clock. They ought to arrive in plenty of time.

Vaughan seemed lost in thought, so she watched the gently undulating green and brown of the heathland beyond the window. Compared to the lush fields and forests farther south, the moors seemed bleak and unwelcoming. The only trees were low and stunted, hunched against the wind, and the ground cover was mainly wild grasses, gorse, and heather.

It was definitely colder up here, too, and she suppressed a shiver and the unhelpful thought that if she were a different kind of woman—one less driven and more open to bribery—she’d still be snuggled up, warm in bed with Vaughan right now.

Just the thought of what they’d done sent a flush of heat over her skin, as if she had a sickness, a physical yearning for his touch.

They started to slow, and she peered out the window, expecting to see another vehicle up ahead, or an obstacle, but the road was clear.

“What is it, Mr. Finch?” she called up.

The carriage came to a complete stop and rocked on its springs as Finch clambered down. She let down the step and climbed out to find him examining the leather straps that secured around the nearside horse’s belly.

“The girth strap’s snapped. Never seen that ’appen before.” He shrugged fatalistically, and Daisy almost screamed in frustration.

“Can it be fixed?”

He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder at Vaughan, who had finally deigned to lean out of the carriage.

“Don’t think it can,” Finch said. “And without it, the other straps won’t stay put, so the traces won’t sit straight. It’ll hurt the horse.”

Daisy raised her eyes to the sky. “I can’t believe how unlucky we’re being.”

“Maybe the universewantsthose two idiots to be together? Have you considered that?”

Vaughan’s lazy drawl made her temper rise even more. She swung round to face him. “Don’t tell me that you, of all people, believe in fate and destiny and true love?”

His smile didn’t waver. He seemed to be enjoying her ire.

“Is that so incredible?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Well, in truth Idon’tbelieve in fate,” he admitted wryly. “At least, I don’t think I survived the war because it was somehow preordained. I think there were a million different choices and events that led to me dodging death. Some of which were my own—the decision to duck left instead of right to avoid a saber, for example—but countless others were entirely beyond my control. It was just blind luck.”

“Right. So by that reasoning, Violet and Peregrine can still be stopped.” She glanced back along the road, hoping to see another vehicle, but the road was deserted in both directions. “Fine. I’ll just have to ride.”

“We don’t have a saddle, miss.” Finch said morosely.

“I can ride bareback, with just the reins. I used to do it all the time back at Hollyfield.”

Admittedly, that was years ago, and on her trusty mare Polly, but she would not be thwarted this close to the finish line, nor admit any weakness in front of Vaughan. “We can’t be more than a mile or two from the border.”

She started to unbuckle the rest of the horse’s straps, and heard Vaughan give a deep sigh behind her. She thought he muttered, “Un-fucking-believable,” but she couldn’t be sure.