Chapter Thirteen

“Damn it all, Francis,” Jack exploded. “At least Tubby and Drew had the decency not to outstay their welcome. Haven’t you got anything better to do than to hang around here for weeks on end, eating me out of house and home?”

Francis chuckled. “Not the least, dear boy. I like it here. The fresh air, the scenery…” he raised his eyebrows significantly in the direction of the terrace, where Kate was strolling with her cousin “…the charming company.”

He took another sip of port and added ironically, “Oh, and of course you are a superlative host, Jack, old man. Make a chap feel so welcome.”

Jack growled under his breath. “A man can’t take a step in any direction without tripping over you or that damned Cole fellow.” He glared at a hapless vase of flowers. “And the place is so cluttered up with these stinking weeds! Haven’t either of you anything better to waste your blunt on? I don’t know which of you is worse—that blasted Cit bleating platitudes all over Kate and kissing her hand until it must be quite soggy—or you, mouthing flowery compliments at her like a blasted poet.”

“I do pride myself on my poetic talents, and little Kate seems to enjoy them too.”

“Little Kate? Miss Farleigh to you! I’ll thank you not to treat my grandmother’s ward with such familiarity, Francis.”

Francis’s grin broadened. “She asked me to call her Kate, dear boy, and I hate to refuse a lady’s request.”

Jack muttered something unintelligible and stomped out of the library, leaving Francis chuckling. Jack had been acting like a bear with a sore head for several weeks now, snapping and snarling at his guests for no good reason. Or no reason he could be brought to admit to.

Francis’s gaze sharpened on the pair on the terrace. His own so-called courtship posed no danger to Jack, but that Cole fellow was a serious contender. He had visited Kate morning and afternoon for the past three weeks, bringing her flowers, books and sweetmeats, though where he found the flowers at this time of year, and in the countryside, was more than Francis could guess. The man was obviously very plump in the pocket.

Francis frowned. He liked the fellow no better than Jack, though not for the same reasons. There was a pushiness about him that Francis disliked. Cole had pursued Kate from the moment they met with a single-mindedness and determination that to Francis’s eye smacked of the calculating, rather than the lover-like. His possessive attitude towards his “charming little cousin’ was increasing daily, and Francis suspected that Kate was finding it uncomfortable.

However, Jack’s open hostility to the man made it difficult for Kate to repel her cousin’s over-familiarity, for they all knew Jack was just itching for any excuse to toss Cole out on his ear and forbid him the house. Cole was Kate’s cousin, after all, and her only living relative, and she wanted to be able to see him, even if she might not relish his possessive attitude towards her. Francis sighed and poured himself another drink.

“My dearest cousin,” Jeremiah Cole began.

Kate felt her stomach sinking. She’d known for some time that this was coming, and no amount of hinting had managed to dent her cousin’s obvious determination. Perhaps it was better to allow him to speak, and then it would be over. He took her hands in a moist grip.

“Perhaps you have been aware these last weeks of my desire, my very ardent desire, to make this relationship of ours a closer one.”

“Cousin Jeremiah, I am very happy to have you as my cousin—”

“But I am not,” he interrupted. “You must know, Kate, how I feel about you.” He pressed her hands against his broad chest. Kate tried to pull them away, but he only held them more tightly. “I am in love with you, Kate—madly, desperately—and I want you for my wife.”

“Cousin Jeremiah,” she said gently, “it is very kind—”

“Kind! It is not kindness I feel for you, my beloved. It is love! I want you to be mine. You are all alone in the world. Allow me to care for you, to protect you, to love you for the rest of your life. Only give me your hand, sweet Kate.”

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Kate’s sense of humour got the better of her. “Indeed, Cousin Jeremiah, you seem to have taken it whether I will or not,” she said, tugging to release her hands from his grip. He did not let go, but smiled, almost angrily, at her.

She said more firmly, “Please let me go, Cousin Jeremiah. You are hurting me.”

“And you are hurting me, Kate, by not answering. I asked you a question, one of the most important questions you will ever be asked in your life. Will you be my wife?”

“No, Cousin Jeremiah,” she said gently. “I am sorry.”

He frowned at her disbelievingly. “I don’t believe it!” he said, releasing her hands only to take her shoulder in a tight grip. “I don’t believe it!” he repeated, shaking her quite hard. “I love you and I am sure that you love me.” His tone softened. “That is it, isn’t it, Kate? You are teasing me.” He pulled her hard against him and though Kate tried to push him away he was far too strong.

“Naughty girl to tease your Jeremiah like that,” he crooned, and before Kate realised what he was about he had planted his lips firmly over hers and was kissing her with a wet determination that filled her with revulsion. She struggled in vain as his hands stroked down her body and his thick tongue probed to enter her mouth.

Suddenly she found herself released. She staggered back against the balustrade as Jack thrust himself between her and her cousin.

“You filthy swine, keep your paws off her!” he roared, and let swing a punch that sent Cousin Jeremiah sprawling inelegantly on the flagstones. Jack stood over him, rolling up his sleeves, the light of battle fairly blazing from his eyes.

“How dare you maul a decent girl, you cowardly scum?”

Cousin Jeremiah scuttled backwards.

“Come on, you scurvy blighter. It’s one thing to bully a helpless female, and another to stand up to a man, isn’t it? Subject an innocent girl to your filthy lust, will you? Not on my property, you won’t. I’ll teach you a lesson in how to treat a lady—one you’ll never forget.”

Jack stepped forward, murder in his eyes, oblivious to Kate’s frantic jerking on his sleeve.

“Jack, stop it! You mustn’t. He didn’t hurt me. Jack!’ she cried, but he was determined on his course. He moved purposefully towards Cousin Jeremiah, his fists bunched, blue eyes glittering with rage.

“Jack, he asked me to marry him!” screamed Kate in his ear.

At that Jack came to a dead halt. He swung around and stared at her in shock. The angry colour died from his face, leaving it a bleached grey.

“He what?” he croaked at last.

“He asked me to marry him,” repeated Kate quietly, belatedly realising she’d given Jack the wrong impression, but seeing no immediate way out—except violence. She’d seen enough violence.

“So that’s why…” Jack choked. He wrenched his eyes from her face and turned away. “I…see,” he muttered. Without looking at either of them, he left.

Kate gazed after him, biting her lip. There had been pain in his eyes. Because he thought she was to marry Cousin Jeremiah? She wanted to run after him and tell him she’d refused, but she was afraid that if she did Jack would return to his former rage and do Jeremiah a grave injury. And now that Jack had stopped her cousin she felt she could handle things herself. She might be angry with Jeremiah for the way he had forced his embraces on her, but much could be forgiven a man rejected in love, and he was still her cousin, after all.

She turned. “I think you’d better leave, Cousin Jeremiah. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

He had struggled to his feet by now. His fright had passed, and was fast turning to indignation at the way he had been treated. “I must tell you, Cousin Kate, that I am deeply offended by that man’s treatment of me. I have a good mind to report him to the nearest magistrate. He is clearly a dangerous lunatic.”

Kate’s temper finally exploded. “How dare you say such a thing? If you must know, I think you got off lightly, for if I were a man I would have knocked you down much sooner. How dare he? How dare you? To force your kisses on me, and think to overcome my refusal by brute force! Report him to a magistrate if you dare, Cousin Jeremiah, and you will find yourself reported for assault—on me!”

Cousin Jeremiah blanched and calmed down immediately. “Now, now, Kate, my dear, I did not mean it. I…I was upset. I think you must allow me the right to feel angry at being attacked so violently, but of course if it will upset you I will take no injudicious steps to have the matter followed up.”

Kate was mollified. She spoke more softly. “I am sorry it had to come to this, Cousin Jeremiah. If you please, we will never speak of this matter again.”

“No, no, of course not,” he agreed eagerly. “But now, my dear, I would like to have the matter of our marriage settled as soon as possible.”

Kate stared at him incredulously. Was the man utterly impervious? “Cousin Jeremiah,” she said firmly, “all this happened because you refused to listen to me the first time. I am sorry, but I will not marry you.”

“But I love you,” he insisted.

“Then I am sorry for you, but I do not return your love.”

“Love can grow after marriage,” he persisted.

“Not in this case,” said Kate bluntly. She had endured enough of his florid compliments and hand-kissing to last a lifetime.

“I do not mind if you don’t love me; I will marry you anyway,” he declared nobly.

Kate gritted her teeth and began to wish that she had let Jack give him a thrashing after all.

“But I do not wish to marry you.”

He took several steps towards her, and she backed away. Good God, he was going to try to embrace her again.

“Cousin Jeremiah, I am not being missish!” she almost shrieked in her frustration. “I said I will not marry you and I meant it. Nothing will make me change my mind.”

“How sweetly shy you are,” began Cousin Jeremiah, advancing on her, a determined smile on his face.

“I am not shy!”

“I think you’d better listen to the lady,” said a quiet voice from behind them. “My friend Mr Carstairs has already introduced you to the rather crude fighting methods of the Coldstream Guards. I would like to demonstrate the techniques favoured by gentlemen of the 95th Rifles.” Francis began to roll up his sleeves, then paused. “That is, unless you apologise to the lady and leave before I finish rolling up my sleeves.” He continued rolling them back, very deliberately and precisely.

Cousin Jeremiah eyed the sinewy forearms that were emerging. He already had a massive headache and a cracked jaw from just one frightful punch from Carstairs. He began to mutter indignantly about violence being offered to a man whose only crime was to woo a lady too ardently, when he caught Colonel Masterton’s glittering eye. It bore a disturbing similarity to the look that he had seen in Mr Carstair’s eye a few moments before. Hastily Cole gabbled an apology to Kate and left, almost running across the lawn in his desire to be quit of the place.

Despite the comical sight he made, Kate had no desire to laugh. She felt like a wrung-out rag. Nor did she feel up to discussing it with Francis.

“Thank you, Francis,” she said quietly, and turned to leave.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“Oh, I’ll be as right as a trivet,” she said, attempting a cheerful smile that failed miserably. “I just need to rest for a while, I think.” She turned and ran upstairs to her room.

Later that evening she went downstairs to supervise the preparation of dinner. Jack had taken himself off somewhere. The tavern, no doubt. Kate didn’t feel up to dining with Francis, so she ate in the kitchen with the servants. It was too ironic, really. Here she was, a girl who knew herself unable to marry, being courted by two gentlemen, neither of whom she wanted…

Kate sighed. For a short while, her life had been so pleasant. Now it was all changed. She still felt Jack’s eyes on her a hundred times a day, but instead of protectiveness and a lurking tenderness there was suspicion and brooding disapproval in his gaze. Whatever she did, he seemed to be furious with her. It was confusing, hurtful—and more than a little annoying.

She had no idea what his intentions or feelings towards her were. There was no denying that his kisses moved her like nothing she had ever experienced, but it was a feeling she knew she ought to fight. Even if by some wondrous chance he came to feel something deeper than lust for her, an alliance between them would not be possible. Anyone with a grain of sense would realise that in his position Jack would have to marry money.

Kate wondered what sort of a man his father had been to disinherit his son so callously. Had he not been playing cards the day he died, and won the deed to this property, Jack would be living…heaven knew where. At any rate, if he was to make anything further of his life, Jack would have to find himself an heiress, a well-born heiress—not a poor clergyman’s daughter with nothing but a tawdry scandal for her dowry…

“Miss Kate.” Florence interrupted Kate’s train of thought. “Are we goin’ to have the next bit o’ that story soon?”

Kate smiled. While cleaning the library a few weeks before, she had discovered some of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels. The vicar’s daughter had been utterly forbidden “rubbishy novels’, so naturally Kate had become addicted to them. Now, each evening, while Martha and the girls sewed and mended they also gasped with horror and delight as Kate read the heroine’s adventures aloud.

And Kate’s audience had grown. The girls’ sisters and brother, hearing each thrilling episode of The Mysteries of Udolpho retold at the farm, had soon decided that Millie and Florence needed to be escorted home. Each evening, the six Cotter siblings, Martha, Carlos, Francis’s groom, and even his very superior valet, “accidentally” arrived in the kitchen in time for the next episode.

Glancing around, Kate saw that her audience had assembled already. She hadn’t realised it was so late. She took out the book, sat down near the fire and began to read. An hour later, she closed the book, to the sighs and protests of her audience.

“Eh, Miss Kate,” said Millie’s brother, Tom. “That Sinner Montoni, ’e’s a proper villain, ain’t ’e? Our Dad allus says you can’t trust foreigners.” He tossed a dark look at Carlos.

“Sí,”said Carlos immediately. “Me, I never trust Italians…never! That Signor Montoni is a bad man. Poor Miss Emily.”

There was a chorus of agreement. The girls shuddered eloquently and chattered about the story as they filed out.

“Coming up to bed now, dearie?” asked Martha.

“No, not yet.” Kate wasn’t at all tired, after her earlier sleep. “I think I’ll just sit here for a bit in front of the fire, Martha. You go up, though.” They exchanged their good-nights and Kate was soon left alone with her thoughts.

“How many more hidden talents do you have, I wonder?” The deep voice coming out of the shadows made her leap in fright. She turned and perceived Jack leaning casually against the scullery wall, half hidden by the gloom.

“How long have you been there?” she gasped.

He moved forward out of the darkness. “Twenty minutes or so. They were all so entranced by your reading that no one noticed when I came looking for you, so I decided not to disturb things. You read well, li’l Kate.” His voice was mocking and he stumbled over a chair.

Kate’s stomach clenched. He was drunk.

“Quite the li’l actress, aren’t you?” He loomed over her. Kate pressed back in her chair as far as she could. He reached out a long finger and brushed her nose lightly. “Spot o’ flour. Damned if I ever saw a woman so inclined to messiness.”

Kate jerked her head away from his hand. She did have a tendency to splash things around when she was working, and despite all her best efforts to remain neat she usually found a splatter of flour or a smear of dust on her face or hands when she went to have her usual nightly wash. But she was sure it was not nearly as bad as he implied. She rubbed her nose vigorously with her sleeve, watching him swaying gently on his feet.

“You’re foxed,” she said bluntly.

“And what if I am? “Tis none of your business what I do.”

Kate frowned. “Where is Francis?” she asked.

“So it’s Francis now, is it?” he sneered. “Very familiar you are with my friends.”

Kate did not reply. There was no point in arguing with him when he was in this state.

“Have you told him yet of your little arrangement with that greasy Cit?”

Kate had no doubt of whom he was speaking. “Please do not call Cousin Jeremiah rude names. I know you do not like him, but he is my only living relative, however distant.”

“And soon to become even closer, eh?” he jeered. “So much for all your pious talk of not marrying! All it takes is a wealthy Cit to smother you with flowers and greasy compliments, and all your res’lutions go down the drain.” He snorted in contempt. “Women! You’re just like all the rest of them. Let some fellow dangle his moneybags in front of you, and you’re all sweetness and compliance.”

He imitated her voice mockingly. “Oh, Cousin Jeremiah, I would be delighted. Dear Cousin Jeremiah, you wish to kiss me? Please do. Oh, yes, Cousin Jeremiah, I will wed you, will allow you to put your greasy paws all over me, to plant your disgusting fishy lips on mine!” He was enraged by now. “How you can have the stomach to consider wedding such a loathsome upstart is beyond me.”

Kate glared at him. She had initially opened her mouth to inform him she had refused her cousin’s proposal, but by the time he had paused for breath, and she had an opening, she was so incensed that all thoughts of telling him had flown from her head. His close proximity was rather overwhelming, though, so she wriggled out of the chair and faced him across the kitchen table.

“How dare you speak to me in this way?” she spat. “It is no concern of yours what I do, Mr Carstairs, no concern at all. If I wish to see my cousin I will, if I wish to embrace him I will, and if I wish to marry him I will! It is nothing whatsoever to do with you!”

She stamped her foot on the hard flagstones and continued. “And how dare you impugn my honour in that way? A person’s wealth or lack of it has nothing—nothing—to do with my attitude to them, and it’s outrageous of you to suggest otherwise. It is quite irrelevant to me whether Cousin Jeremiah is wealthy or not. I have not the slightest interest in a person’s financial standing, and only a completely vulgar person would think it could ever be important.”

“If the cap fits…” he began.

“Then you must wear it,” she snapped, “for such considerations have never been mine!”

“You cannot mean you love that contemptible creature.” His voice was scornful, but his body was tense as he waited for her answer.

She tossed her head at him. “That, Mr Carstairs, is none of your business!”

“It damned well is!”

“Why?” she demanded, her mouth dry.

They glowered at each other, then he moved with unexpected speed, dragging her against him. He stared down at her for a moment, then crushed his mouth on to hers.

It was a stormy kiss, full of passion and desperation and anger. He gripped her hard, and if she had been aware of his grip she might have told him he was hurting her. But Kate too was lost in the roiling waves of passion and she returned his kiss with equal anguished desperation, clutching him fiercely, returning his every caress with interest.

Eventually they separated and stood there staring into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Kate’s lips were bruised, but she was oblivious of anything except him. She swallowed, trying to recover her poise. He watched her silently. Eventually the silence became too much for her.

“What did you mean by that?” she said in a low voice. She wondered if he could hear her heart thudding, it sounded so loud to her.

Jack stood, breathing heavily, slowly gathering his wits. He’d given her the chance to repudiate Cole and she hadn’t. Nothing was changed. She was still betrothed to her wealthy Cit. He’d be damned if he exposed himself to gratify a woman’s vanity. He had done quite enough of that already. He looked down into her eyes. He could see her waiting, willing him to say the words, so she could throw them back in his teeth, no doubt. She was no different from any other woman.

“What did it mean?” he said. “What did it mean? Why, nothing, my dear Kate. A pleasant interlude, that’s all.” He licked his lips suggestively. “I did say you are talented, did I not?”

Kate felt her throat close as the eyes, which had been blazing with fiery passion a moment before, iced over.

“You beast!” she whispered. His words were a timely reminder. It was the old story of the dog in the manger. But it had been a long, exhausting day, and for once Kate didn’t have the energy to deal with the hostility and the anger she saw in his eyes. She was feeling so miserable herself that all she wanted to do was to throw herself against his chest and sob her heart out. Only the mood he was in, he would probably rip it out of her chest and devour it. Or had he done that already?

He laughed harshly. “Haven’t you heard, my dear girl? I would have thought a parson’s daughter would have been warned many a time that all men are beasts. That’s why you like us so much.”

“On the contrary, my father taught me to love all mankind, as he did,” said Kate dully. My father, who loved all mankind—except me.

Jack took her unconscious expression of pain to be caused by his words. He recoiled and his hand reached out to her half pleadingly, but she did not notice.

Kate did not look at him again. She quietly left the room, and went upstairs to bed. She was just blowing out her candle when she realised she hadn’t made it clear to Jack that she was not going to marry her cousin. If only he would get it into his head that she would never marry! Stubborn, wretched man! And why was he drinking again? Surely not because he thought she had accepted her cousin? No—why would he, when he had been urging her to go to London and find a husband there?

Oh, well, it was cold, she was tired, and she certainly had no intention of seeking him out when he was in the state he was in, and she in her nightrobe. He would probably kiss her again, and she was feeling so lonely and miserable tonight that she would probably do absolutely nothing to prevent it, and that would be fatal.

She’d had enough accusations of impropriety in her life—she needed no more.

“Have you seen Kate today?” Francis asked Jack.

“No,” Jack mumbled. He continued reading a newspaper that had been sent by a friend. He did not even want to think about Kate. It was too distressing, imagining her wedded to Cole, forever out of sight, out of touch. It was no concern of his what she might be doing. He didn’t care. He was reading the news instead.

The paper was out of date, but it contained a detailed description of the army’s retreat from Spain back to Portugal. Both Jack and Francis had found the news very depressing, containing, as it did, news of dreadful casualties. Jack was particularly affected by the horrendous losses suffered by Anson’s brigade. They had fought together at Salamanca, and Anson and many of his officers were friends of Jack’s.

The paper criticised Wellington for allowing it to happen. The press were fair-weather friends to Old Hookey, Jack decided. He was a hero when he was winning, and a bungling fool when things were difficult. Disgusted, he tossed the paper aside. After a few moments, he recalled Francis’s question about Kate. He hadn’t seen her at all that day. No doubt she was avoiding him again, after their clash in the kitchen the previous night.

“She’s probably in the kitchen.” He got up to pour himself a glass of madeira, but was annoyed to discover the decanter empty. “Carlos!” he bellowed.

Carlos arrived and was dispatched to fetch a new bottle. As he was leaving Francis spoke. “Carlos, have you seen Miss Kate?”

“No se?or, she went off for a drive with Se?or Cole this morning.”

Both men frowned. “But it is now well into the afternoon. Are you sure she has not returned?” asked Francis.

Carlos nodded lugubriously. “Sí, se?or, for Mrs Martha and the girls have been waiting for her to come back all afternoon.”

The two gentlemen exchanged glances. Jack sullenly shrugged, endeavouring to conceal his concern. “If she wants to spend all day with her betrothed, then it is her concern. She clearly has no concern for her reputation.”

“Her betrothed?” said Francis. “She is not betrothed.”

Jack shrugged again. “She neglected to inform you? That greasy Cit had the confounded impudence to propose to her yesterday and the stupid chit accepted him.”

Francis frowned. “When exactly was this?”

“Yesterday, on the terrace. I caught him with his greasy paws all over her, kissing her. Gave him a leveller.” He clenched his fists. “Wish I’d knocked his teeth clear out the back of his head. I would have too, but the wretched girl hung off my arm, screeching that they were to be married, so then there was nothing left for me to do but go away and leave the happy couple to plan the wedding.”

Francis’s brow cleared, and he tried to hide his twitching lips. His friend was trying very hard to sound indifferent, with scant success. He took pity on him. “She didn’t accept him, you know.”

“Yes, she did.”

“No, she did not. I was here, in the library, when you knocked him down.” Francis chuckled. “I was just about to go out and intervene, but you beat me to it, for she was no willing participant in that embrace, I can assure you.”

Jack looked doubtful. “Well, she must have changed her mind later.”

Francis shook his head. “Not a chance, old boy. After you left, the fellow had the infernal cheek to persist with his suit. I heard Kate refuse him in no uncertain terms, several times. He would have forced himself upon her again if I had not intervened and sent him to the rightabout with the offer of a little of my own home-brewed.” He grinned reflectively. “You should have seen him scuttling off across the lawn. I expect his coachman caught up with him by the time he reached the front gate.”

Both men burst out laughing at the thought.

Then Jack sobered abruptly. “Then why the devil did she go driving with him this morning?” Their glances met. “And why has she not returned by now?” He ran his hand through his hair.

“I have to tell you, Francis, that I taxed her with it last night and she never denied that she and Cole were betrothed.”

“I suppose you did it in your usual tactful manner, didn’t you?” said Francis.

Jack grimaced.

“In a filthy temper, were you?” said Francis. “Doing your level best to pick a quarrel?” He shook his head. “The best way to make a woman do the opposite of what you want is to try and bully her. Especially a woman as spirited as Kate. She probably told you she was betrothed to her cousin to pay you back for your impudence.”

He met his friend’s eye. “Depend on it, Jack, it was all a hum. If yesterday was anything to go by, the little Farleigh has nothing but dutiful family feeling in her heart for that fellow, and it was pretty strained at that, after the way he tried to push her into marrying him.”

“So where the devil is she?” Jack headed for the kitchen, shouting for Carlos, Martha and the two girls. He questioned them as to why Kate had gone for a drive with her cousin when they had not parted on good terms the day before.

“’E came around this morning,” said Martha, “with an ’angdog look on ’is face and a bunch of flowers. Said ’e were sorry and would she forgive ’im and let ’im take ’er for a drive.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “But that were hours and hours ago, sir, and it ain’t like Miss Kate to stay out so long, ’specially with a gentleman.”

“Did she take anything with her, Martha?”

Martha looked puzzled. “What do you mean, sir?”

“A portmanteau, a bandbox, something like that.”

Martha shook her head firmly. “No, sir, nothing like that.” She peered suspiciously at him. “You bain’t be thinkin’ as Miss Kate’s run away, sir? Not Miss Kate. She wouldn’t worry us all like that.”

She caught his look of doubt and shook her head again. “I’ve known that girl since she was a tiny babe, Mr Jack, and it’s simply not in ’er to sneak off behind people’s backs.”

He looked sceptical, but Martha would have none of it. For once her beloved Mr Jack was wrong, and she, Martha, would put him right. “Oh, I admit, she ’as a temper, when it’s roused, sir, but to do somethin’ like that—never! I’m worried, Mr Jack, summat awful, and I don’t like ’er cousin, not one little bit. She shoulda been home long since.” Her old face crumpled with concern, and she clutched Jack’s coatsleeve.

“Find ’er, Mr Jack. Find ’er and bring ’er ’ome.”

“Carlos, saddle my horse,” snapped Jack.

“Perhaps the curricle would be better, Jack. Your leg wouldn’t stand up to riding for hours, would it?” said Francis.

“Damn my leg. A horse is faster than a curricle. Saddle the roan, Carlos.”

“And my chestnut,” added Francis.

“Does anyone know which direction they were headed in?”

“Sir, I saw the carriage turn at the gate and head north,” said Florence.

“North?” Jack turned and looked at Francis grimly. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

Francis nodded slowly. “He was damned persistent yesterday. Seemed almost desperate when she refused him so adamantly. But would he force her?”

Jack swore. “If that bastard lays as much as a finger on her, I’ll kill him!”