Chapter 1 #2
He glanced at the carriage driver, who lay slumped on the ground, and sighed.
He ought to check on the man, at least to ensure he was still alive.
Lachlan approached cautiously but stopped short when he heard the driver groan.
Well, he was alive, then, and likely regaining consciousness.
That was enough for now. Lachlan could not afford to let the man delay his plans.
The driver would manage. Lachlan had other priorities, and those did not include explaining why he was absconding with the earl’s betrothed.
Returning to the horse, he adjusted the lady as best he could, settling her so she was astride the saddle.
Then he mounted, lifting her to rest against his chest. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, and a smile tugged at his lips as he gazed down at her.
Yes, he would very much enjoy becoming better acquainted with this fetching lass.
With a nudge of his knee and a flick of the reins, the stallion began its steady pace toward Montclaire.
As the horse picked up speed, the wee lass in his arms began to stir.
She rubbed at her eyes before freezing, her body stiffening against him.
He held her firmly, preventing any foolish attempts to leap from the horse.
“Stop, now,” she demanded, her voice laced with panic.
“I canna do that,” he replied firmly. “Ye need care, and I’ll see to it once we’re safely at my estate.”
“The driver…” she began, her voice trailing off.
“Is fine,” he interrupted. “He had already stirred before we left. He’ll tend to yer carriage.
” That was not entirely false. The man had indeed been moving, and no doubt he would see to the wreckage soon enough.
Lachlan, however, had no intention of letting her know this was essentially an abduction.
It was far better if she believed she was being rescued.
“Oh…” she murmured, nibbling her bottom lip—a gesture that made Lachlan nearly groan. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and capture that lip with his and nibble on it himself. “We’re going to your estate, then?”
“Indeed,” he told her. “Tis not far tae Montclaire. It’s a fine castle, though a wee bit drafty on cold days.”
“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing in this infernal country is warm.”
“Are ye finding it difficult tae stay warm?” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips. He could think of several ways to help her with that problem, though he wisely held those suggestions for later. “Rest assured, there are plenty of hearths to keep a fire going. Ye’ll no’ be cold for long.”
“I suppose that will do,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not too cold now. You’re keeping me warm enough, for the moment.”
Her words sent a rush of satisfaction through him. She was enjoying his warmth—a very good sign, indeed. “What’s yer name, lass? I realize this isn’t a proper introduction, but I think we should at least know that much about each other.”
“You’re right, of course.” She hesitated, nibbling her lip again, testing his already fragile restraint. “I am Lady Horatia Whitaker. And what should I call you?”
“Ye can call me Lachlan,” he said. He could have given her his title—being a duke tended to impress most women—but for some reason, he wanted to keep that information to himself.
“That’s not proper…”
“Aye,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
“It’s not. But since nothing between us has been proper so far, I doona see why we should start now.
” He did not add that he hoped to make things far less proper once they reached his estate.
He imagined stripping away the layers of her gown, laying her bare, and kissing every inch of her soft skin until she screamed his name in ecstasy.
The thought nearly made him groan aloud.
“All right,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I suppose there’s no harm in informality. Thank you for finding me. I feared I’d be stranded.”
“I would never leave a lady in distress,” he assured her.
“When we reach your estate, I’ll need to send word to the Earl of Rosebery,” she said, her voice growing faint. “He’ll be worried when I don’t arrive.”
Lachlan’s jaw clenched at the mention of that dishonorable earl. Let the man worry. He would not give her up so easily. “Of course. I’ll have a message sent straightaway,” he said smoothly. “He’ll be reassured to know that ye’re safe with me.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice drowsy. “I do hope it isn’t much farther. I’m so very tired…”
“Not far at all,” he reassured her. “Rest, my lady. I’ll see to everything.”
She sighed and nestled against him, her trust warming him more than he cared to admit.
Lachlan would not think to heavily about the ramifications of those feelings.
They were not important; however, the fact he had her was far and above an achievement he was quite glad about.
Soon they would be at his estate and he would have far more control over her and her actions.
There he would set everything he had planned in motion.
She slept then—truly slept—her breathing evening out, her weight resting trustingly against him as he steered his horse forward.
Lachlan adjusted his hold, careful not to jostle her, though every instinct urged him to draw her closer still.
She fit against him with an ease that unsettled him more than he cared to acknowledge.
Women had leaned upon him before—too many to count—but never with such unguarded faith.
It made little sense. She shouldn’t trust him.
Horatia had never met him before he had absconded with her, and there should be no misunderstanding, he had taken her.
She just had not realized that fact yet.
He stared across the landscape of muted greens and grays as dusk crept ever closer.
The road wound upward now, climbing into more rugged country.
The air had grown cooler, sharper as they headed toward his home.
His country. His land. Each mile brought them nearer to the place where he held absolute command—where walls and stone would close around them, and her choices would narrow to what he allowed.
It had been his plan from the start, and yet, it had started to not sit well with him.
Something about the way her fingers curled faintly into his sleeve stirred a disquiet he did not welcome.
He told himself it was nothing more than possession taking root—a familiar satisfaction at having secured what the dastardly earl coveted. Yes. That was all.
Still, he found himself studying her face in the dim light: the gentle curve of her cheek, the soft fall of lashes against her skin, the faint crease between her brows as though worry lingered even in sleep.
She was not fragile in the way some ladies were, all simpering delicacy and empty airs.
There was strength here. Fire. He had seen it flicker in her eyes earlier, even through fear and fatigue.
It would make matters more…interesting.
She stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips.
Without thinking, Lachlan murmured low assurances—words meant to soothe, to bind.
Her body relaxed once more, and that strange tightness in his chest returned, sharper this time.
Foolishness. He straightened slightly, schooling his expression even though she could not see it.
Sentiment had no place in what came next.
Control required clarity, not indulgence.
Whatever warmth she inspired was irrelevant.
He had his purpose, and he would not be swayed from it.
Soon the dark outline of his estate would rise before them—stone against sky, ancient and unyielding.
When she woke, she would be under his roof, subject to his protection…
and his will. Lachlan allowed himself a thin smile as the carriage pressed on through the gathering night.
Rest while you can, Lady Horatia, for when dawn comes, nothing will be as simple as it once was.