Page 7 of Road Trip With a Rogue

“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 callmea 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.”