Page 51 of Road Trip With a Rogue
“Will you ride with her?” Finch asked Vaughan.
“I suppose I must. Someone has to keep an eye on her. I’ll send a man back with two horses and a new strap when we reach Gretna.”
When both mounts had been unhitched, Daisy accepted a boost up onto the gray and watched with reluctant admiration as Vaughan swung himself up and ontothe larger chestnut. He wheeled the animal around and sent her a bored glance.
“Ready?”
Daisy wasn’t ready at all. She’d forgotten how much harder it was to stay atop without stirrups or saddle. Still, she gripped the reins and pressed her heels to her mount’s sides to get him to move forward, and soon they left Finch and the stranded carriage behind.
After a mile or so she forgot her nerves as the familiar sensation of riding bareback returned, and she increased the pace, laughing as the wind tore at her hair. For a brief moment she felt like a girl again, wild and free, galloping around the estate, or heading into the village to call on Tess.
She glanced over at Vaughan, trotting easily beside her, and wished they’d had more time together. She hadn’t expected to enjoy his company quite so much.
And then the village of Gretna appeared in the distance, and she forgot about everything except the mission.
“There it is! That river marks the border between England and Scotland.”
She didn’t dare urge the horse into a canter, since she was sure she’d fall off, so she curbed her impatience as they ambled over the bridge and joined a steady stream of carts and pedestrians who all seemed to be heading toward the center of the bustling little village.
The first building they passed was the toll house—also a place where she’d heard marriages could be performed—and she checked the yard to be sure Violet’s carriage wasn’t there, then continued down the narrow street.
“What time is it?”
Vaughan took a gold pocket watch from inside his jacket. “A quarter past eight.”
The street widened as they passed a series of smallshops and inns, mostly built of pinky-gray stone, and Daisy felt almost sick with nerves as she spied the smithy up ahead at the crossroads.
The building itself was tiny, a single-story white-painted affair with black window frames, and to her utter dismay she saw that smoke was already billowing from the chimney.
She slid from her mount just as the front door opened and a small group of people came out, including a girl in a pretty lavender dress. Her heart dropped as she recognized Violet Brand’s cheery blond curls.
“Noooo!” she groaned.
Violet’s hand rested possessively on the arm of the handsome, brown-haired man Daisy vaguely remembered as Peregrine Hughes, who was gazing down at his beloved with a besotted smile. Daisy glanced at Violet’s left hand, and groaned again at the flash of a gold band on her fourth finger.
Married. She was too late.
The three people flanking them were clearly the “anvil priest” who’d performed the ceremony, and two random witnesses, paid to attend to make things official.
“Bloody, bloody hell,” Daisy growled.
Vaughan came up behind her and took the reins from her hand, then tied the two horses to a nearby hitching post.
“Too late?” he asked mildly.
She resisted the urge to take a swing at him. He sounded as if he wanted to laugh.
And then the couple at the door glanced over at them, and Peregrine’s face broke into another smile. He lifted his hand and sent them a cheerful wave.
“Uncle Lucien!” Peregrine shouted. “You’re just in time to congratulate us! Violet’s just made me the happiest of men.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“‘Uncle’?”
Daisy froze, convinced she’d misheard. She glanced over at Vaughan, then back at the lovebirds, who were now crossing the street toward them. “Did he just call youuncle?”
Vaughan took a cautious step back, but the glitter in his eyes made her heart begin to pound. A strange buzzing noise filled her ears.