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O nwards to Matlock—Jacob forced himself to focus on the scenery unfolding outside the carriage window.

It had been two days since his momentary lapse of judgment at the Brown Hare Inn, two days since his relief over not having to part with Amelia over unfinished business had him presuming intimacies he had no way of justifying.

It was bad enough that they addressed each other by their Christian names. To add more kissing and touching, even the most innocent kind, was tantamount to scandal.

And chafe as Jacob might against his father’s insatiable desire to prove themselves genteel, he had good enough sense to know that scandals rarely did anyone any good.

Perhaps the occasional exception might land a woman in a marriage more preferable than she might have aspired to otherwise, but one could hardly go through life counting on exceptions.

“Such a gent, he was.” Betsy’s voice rumbled on in the close quarters of their post-chaise, most likely gushing about her latest object of infatuation.

It was a relief to have her attentions finally diverted when Jacob was busy sorting out his own complicated feelings.

But it was also a little awkward to have the maid being the only person chattering away.

Jacob had been determined to maintain a proper distance, both in heart and body, the last two days. And his coldness must have affected Amelia as well, for she’d hardly spoken anything to him since he’d started to withdraw.

The distance hurt.

He’d grown accustomed to her unique mix of innocence and pluck—the warmth that always seemed to overflow out her tapered, lively, entrancing eyes.

Every other minute, his gaze would catch upon something or someone he’d like to share a comment or a chuckle over.

Every meal, he found himself wondering if she liked the food or not.

But he’d kept to himself over all of it.

What other choice did he have? His father’s note yesterday morning had been annoying, but also sobering.

Reports tell me that you have taken that sorry hide of yours traipsing all over England.

I have no complaints, as long as my men can still find you.

But do temper your exploits. It would not do to have news going all the way to Thorncombe.

I refuse to have arranged this match for nothing.

Your weeks of freedom dwindle. Spend them circumspectly.

Jacob sighed, his mind warring between the weight of the note in his coat pocket and the draw of the woman seated across him. At least Father had the good sense to finally admit that he was expecting Jacob to essentially surrender his freedom for the sake of this forced marriage.

An unexpected hole in the road sent a jolt through the carriage. The driver hollered his apologies, while Jacob’s eyes instinctively sought Amelia’s. She kept his gaze a full five seconds before turning away. The carriage rolled on pleasantly, while Betsy chattered away.

The maid had always been a flimsy excuse of a chaperone. But Jacob had to begrudgingly admit that she was a useful enough one to at least keep him in check.

Gradually, the scenery outside their hired conveyance morphed, in both flora and topography, from the vibrance of the South to the cooler colors of the North.

Soon, they would find the elusive Sir George.

Soon, they would glean whatever it was that Amelia needed to learn from the baron.

And once they did, Jacob’s duties would be over.

He swallowed away the lump in his throat.

Trading away his little adventure with Amelia for lifelong imprisonment with some nobleman’s kin was the last thing he wanted to do—but he was also not foolish enough to think that he would be allowed to keep Amelia in his life once whatever it was she was searching for was finally found.

She was on a quest, for herself, and he was merely the diverting companion sent to help her along the way.

“And he said he’d be devastated not to ever see me again.” Betsy prattled on. Was this still about the same fellow she’d met at the last inn? Or was this someone else? It was hard to keep account of her ever-revolving objects of affection. “In fact, he asked if we were going?— ”

Their carriage careened abruptly. Jacob, remembering the last accident they’d had, reached quickly for Amelia.

She folded herself into his arms without the least reluctance.

He held her closer as Betsy screamed. Horses neighed in protest as the wheels groaned against the road, their whole conveyance screeching to an unexpected stop.

There was no toppling or swaying this time.

But there was noise, the type of noise that only humans could make. And a loud, gruff voice shouted, “Stand and deliver!”

Jacob frowned sternly, practically locking Amelia against his chest with his arms as the highwaymen approached the carriage door.

He couldn’t see particularly well from the angle of his seat, but he could glimpse at least three different men of varying sizes.

Trained for trade rather than fisticuffs, Jacob was well-aware of his own limitations if the situation were to dwindle into violence.

But he had a shuddering Amelia in his arms and a crying Betsy to their side.

Scholar or not, he would do his best to be the protector they needed.

With a harsh tug, the leader of the small gang threw the door open. His other hand waved a pistol towards them. Jacob couldn’t tell if it was loaded or not—but one did not particularly like to guess at these things at close range.

“I don’t want trouble,” said the criminal, rather ironically. “Just give me yer treasure and go. ”

Betsy wailed even louder. Jacob sent her a quelling look that finally lowered half her volume. Then he turned back to their attacker.

“I will give you all the coins on my person. Just don’t frighten the ladies,” he spoke firmly.

The highwayman shrugged, as if Jacob’s act of bravery meant nothing to him. “If ye have what we want.”

Slowly, Jacob slid Amelia to the side, still keeping an arm around her, and reached for his pocket with his other hand.

He extricated a pouch of coins—the smaller one he carried—and tossed it to the robber.

He silently thanked his father for the habit of making sure they always divided their coins into several pouches when traveling while the highwayman examined his spoils.

He nodded at the small bounty in his hand, earning grunts of approval from his two compatriots—who were occupied with guarding the driver.

The leader shoved the coins in his pocket and looked back up, pistol in hand. “This ain’t the treasure box.”

Betsy whimpered loudly again, before Jacob shushed her.

“We don’t carry a treasure box,” said Jacob.

“You don’t—but the lady does.” The pistol waved at Amelia. Jacob tugged her even closer against his side.

“I am no pirate,” said Jacob, “I don’t carry boxes of treasure with me. And neither does my wife.”

The falsehood slipped easily off his tongue, for lack of a better plan.

To his surprise, the highwayman laughed. “I know ye ain’t married, at least not until Scotland, if that’s where yer headed.”

Jacob felt Amelia’s hands tighten around his waist .

“But we only want the treasure,” the robber went on. “Hand it over and we go.”

“Again, there is no treasure,” Jacob answered, bewildered. They were nowhere near the shore. What was the criminal about?

“The treasure box,” the man repeated like a madman. “Betsy said the young miss can’t stop looking at it. Must be worth a fortune.”

Jacob’s gaze whirled around to Betsy, who had well and truly crumbled into a sobbing mess by now.

Had she betrayed them in some way? He could not think the simple-minded maid could have gotten mixed up with a gang of ruffians.

But, upon consideration, it would not at all be surprising if she’d been tricked to believe a handsome face or two.

Once more, Jacob turned to explain that there was no treasure box, but then Amelia spoke.

“There is nothing in the box,” she said softly, pushing herself up from where she’d lain against Jacob earlier. She looked the highwayman directly in the eye. “Truly, there is nothing.”

“Betsy said?—”

“I said nothing!” Betsy wailed. “Miss Amelia likes the box, but there’s not anything in it, I swear!”

Jacob watched the cogs in the robber’s mind turning.

“Ye were certain of the box,” he insisted.

“Here.” Amelia sat up and divested herself of her earrings and two bracelets. She shoved it all at the highwayman. “That is everything of value I own. Mr. Jacob has given you the rest. Truly, there is nothing.”

In the distance, sounds of well-trained horses grew louder. The highwayman seemed to consider his bounty before glancing at his companions.

Then, in a minor miracle, they decided to abscond into the nearby woods.

Jacob and Amelia fell into a relieved embrace.

Then his eyes darted towards the blubbering maid. Betsy—and perhaps Amelia—had a bit of explaining to do.

Amelia brooded, her own throat dry, as Jacob crossed his arms in the chair beside hers, both of them facing a sobbing, trembling Betsy.

They hadn’t had to travel far to reach the next inn, and their terrified driver had been more than eager to ensure their quick arrival.

Arrangements had then been efficiently made for their rooms and private parlor.

And now, it was time for a reckoning.

Amelia felt her own eyes prick with threatening tears as Betsy blubbered on. She’d never admired the maid, but she’d grown used to her, perhaps even marginally fond of her. And Betsy had been rather instrumental in figuring out that Sir George had gone on to Matlock.

One couldn’t exactly appreciate the woman’s loose lips one moment and then blame her for them the next.

“Explain yourself,” Jacob said, his tone somber.

“I didn’t mean to,” Betsy cried. “I didn’t know he was a highwayman, sir, I didn’t, I swear.”

It was an honest answer, Amelia could tell, even if a rather useless one.