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  Cold gusts of wind blew through the carriage. The windows and doors which had seemed sturdy on the drive through London and into the countryside, when the coach had moved at fast speeds of five miles an hour, now seemed at risk of blowing off, even though they’d stopped moving. The door rattled against the latch, groaning in a manner not conducive to sleep and in no ways reminiscent of a lullaby. If only they’d stayed at the last posting inn. Georgiana shouldn’t have insisted they continue on.

  “You were right,” Georgiana said mournfully. “I thought there would be something else, another place to stay.”

  “There probably is something else,” Hamish said magnanimously. “Eventually. Maybe even quite soon.”

  Georgiana nodded.

  “Take my coat.” He stripped the woolen material away, and even in the dim light she could see his shirt. The ivory color glowed under the moonlight, and his sleeves billowed in ways quite unlike the refined, polished look of his tailcoat.

  “I can’t wear that,” she said.

  “And I can’t wear it when I know you’re cold,” he said.

  She hesitated for a moment, but then he said. “I’ll help you.”

  He moved across the narrow seat, and in the next moment she was aware of long legs beside hers and that masculine smell of cotton that seemed more distracting than any floral combination a parfumist in Paris could conjure.

  He slid his tailcoat over her shoulders and lifted her arms. The action shouldn’t have caused her pulse to quicken. His movements didn’t differ from when her maid dressed her. The sleeves reached to her wrists, and his hands never touched her skin, and yet the action felt impossibly intimate.

  “Now rise,” he whispered, and his voice sounded close to her ear.

  She shivered.

  She did so, and he pulled the tails straight to keep them from wrinkling.

  She huddled inside the new material, conscious that the tailcoat’s shoulders collapsed over her smaller ones. “I must look ridiculous.”

  “Nonsense. No one can see you.”

  *

  That part wasn’t true.

  The fact she was ridiculous was nonsense, but she wasn’t quite in the dark. Moonlight drifted through the windows of the coach. It seemed to play on Georgiana’s cheeks, illuminating the contours of her face in a manner that sent an ache of something that seemed awfully like longing tumbling through his body.

  At some point she’d removed the pins from her hair, and the auburn locks, the color now muted, hung over her shoulders, as if to tempt him to touch it.

  Vanilla inundated his nostrils. Whoever made coaches should be scolded for their narrow length, for no sensible distance separated them.

  He found the blanket she’d used earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her hair over it. The silky strands contrasted with the coarse wool. She shouldn’t be here. He should have taken her straight home to her family once he’d seen her.

  “Let’s get you warm,” he whispered.

  “I’m f-fine,” she said, her voice more high-pitched than normal.

  “Your teeth are chattering.”

  “P-perhaps.” Her voice seemed small.

  God in heaven.

  He couldn’t let her freeze here. He cursed modistes and their habit of making overly thin dresses for women. He placed his arms around her shoulders tentatively. She tensed at his touch, and he almost moved back, but then she relaxed against him.

  “Better?” he murmured, tucking a strand of her silky hair behind her ear.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good.”

  They were silent. At some point her teeth stopped chattering, and she no longer shivered. He could have moved his arm away, but it felt right to have it there.

  Well.

  He’d hardly want her to start shivering again. Leaving his arm about her shoulder was truly the sensible thing to do.

  “If I hadn’t been here, you wouldn’t be sleeping in this coach,” she said in a small voice.

  “Don’t worry about me, lassie. It’s much better than a tent at Waterloo.”

  The blanket rustled, and he felt her turn toward him. “I’m sorry you had to go.”

  “I’m glad I was there.”

  He’d helped. He’d led troops into battle. His life had been meaningful, in a way that now, focused on helping unborn Vernons, his life lacked.

  “So you didn’t sneak into my coach in the hopes of compromising me?”

  “Me compromise you?” Amusement rippled through her voice, and it was easy to imagine the manner in which her lips would be breaking into a wide smile.

  God in heaven. If only it were light and he could see her.

  Except… If it were light, he would probably be doing something foolish like turning away from her and pretending that she didn’t affect him at all.

  He didn’t want to pretend anymore.

  Not when they would be in Gretna Green in a few days. Not when he would then disappear.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Nineteen

  Georgiana woke to the feel of something warm against her, and for a moment she snuggled closer to the pleasant sensation. Raindrops pattered, and her back felt stiffer than it normally did. She had a moment of sympathy for her aunts who sometimes complained of back pain. She shifted again, trying to gain a softer position.

  Normally this wasn’t difficult. Normally she could move her cover, and for some reason she couldn’t feel a cover—

  She opened her eyes.

  She was in a coach.

  Not her bed.

  And the soft sensation beside her was not some helpful pillow or scrunched up blanket, but a real, live person.

  Hamish MacTavish.

  She swallowed hard and jerked away from him.

  The sensation was evidently enough to cause him to wake up, for in the next moment he was blinking and rubbing his eyes. Then he realized where he was, and she noted the moment when horror flooded his eyes.

  Obviously the man was feeling guilty.

  She raised her chin.

  That had to be good.

  She rather wished though he were still sleeping. The problem with men who were awake was at some point they decided they wanted to speak, and she didn’t know how to best respond to him.

  All the same, he was different than she’d imagined.

  He’d been almost sweet last night, even though she supposed that did not make up for the fact that he had most certainly not returned her to her family.

  He stood up, ducking his head down low once he’d managed to open his eyes and take in the impropriety of their surroundings.

  “I—er—should go outside.” His voice sounded husky, and he raked a hand through his hair.

  She nodded.

  He paused. “You should come with me. We’ll need to find someone to repair the wheel.”

  She removed the man’s tailcoat and followed him out. The surroundings did not seem as intimidating as they had last night. She noted the wooded area, but she could see that they did not stretch out for miles in every direction. In fact, she could see precisely where they did end. Tall hedges surrounded the road, but on the other side were fields that stretched on either side of them. The right-hand side was something that looked very similar to homes.

  “I think that’s the start of the village,” she said.

  He grinned. “Aye, lassie. Let’s go.”

  They proceeded toward the dwellings. The road went through the thick woods, but if they cut through the fields, then they could reach the buildings soon. Some tall hedges separated most of the field from the road, but there was one section which had a stone fence. Hamish smiled and marched her toward it. He then bowed and extended his hand.

  “It’s perhaps not Almack’s but—”

  “It’s just what I desired,” she said with a laugh. She took his hand, and a sizzle of energy seemed to come through at the contact. Evidently thi
s was why everyone always insisted young women where gloves. She suspected the thrill that thrummed through her at the briefest of contact with him was something more unique to him.

  She trod over the stones.

  He frowned. “I have some spare boots in the carr—”

  She grinned. “Your feet are massive.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Though I would say rather that yours are extraordinarily small.”

  “Extraordinarily is perhaps an unnecessary word.”

  “That is debatable,” he said.

  He’d spoken so lightly to her and with such good humor, that somehow she hadn’t noticed that she’d clambered over the wall. He’d made it over as well, and he smiled at her.

  She smoothed her dress. She was a country girl, after all, and wasn’t supposed to be flummoxed at the sight of a field, even though she’d never approached them with such bad footwear before.

  She strode into the field, taking a dirt path that some farmer had made. When they reached a gate, Hamish extended his hand and helped her over it. The rain started to drizzle down, but despite her rehearsed words to the contrary in London, she did not mind.

  *

  The wheel was fixed, and Hamish settled into the carriage. This time Georgiana climbed up after him, and he was happy for the company. They needed to press on to get to Gretna Green. With any luck they would meet his brother before they reached Scotland.

  Unfortunately, Callum didn’t seem to want to be found. Georgiana and he stopped at every posting inn, and though Hamish searched each inn’s public spaces, he spotted neither Callum nor his intended bride.

  His brother’s absence should have been frustrating, but for some reason relief prickled through him. He wasn’t ready for a protracted argument about the merits of Callum marrying or not. Postponing that discussion was fine. After all, he didn’t want to break Georgiana’s heart if he won the argument, and he did not want to force any embarrassment or dishonor on the Butterworth family.

  The journey to Scotland was proving vastly more pleasant than his journey away from it had been, and he suspected he could not explain that fact simply because Scotland was a far nicer destination.

  He suspected that it also had something—a great something—to do with Georgiana herself.

  That fact was not something upon which to linger.

  It was natural to feel some attraction to an unattached woman of a certain age with whom one was spending long periods of time, even if the woman in question was not Scottish, and even if she was the sister of one’s brother’s inappropriate fiancée.

  Still, the lassie made him laugh like no other, and the tips of his lips were gaining more exercise than he’d thought possible.

  “It’s so pretty here,” she mused.

  “Is that why you sneaked onto the coach?” he teased.

  She stiffened “No, of course not.”

  “I know,” he said, his tone more serious. “And we will find your sister.”

  She nodded.

  “So where have you been before?” he asked.

  “Norfolk and London. And now Cambridgeshire.”

  “Do you miss Norfolk?”

  She giggled. “I don’t think any people from Norfolk would admit to missing it, though to be honest, it is nice. I do prefer the countryside, no matter how much grander and imposing the buildings in London are. I can see that they’re special, but I would still rather be outside, in nature. Façade admiration is really less enjoyable than flower admiration.” She smiled. “Though you would perhaps disagree.”

  “Are you volunteering to drive this contraption, lassie, so I can sit inside and appreciate the architectural interior?”

  She laughed.

  “I’m going to get you to your sister,” he said. “But if the gossips do find out about it—”

  “Then it won’t matter,” she said firmly. “I will already have helped her.”

  “But what about your future?”

  “Family is what is important. I couldn’t let her think she was fleeing to happiness, when I knew that you were going after her to stop the wedding and remove that happiness from her.”

  “But I wasn’t fleeing after her. I didn’t know she was planning to elope.”

  Georgiana gave a small sad smile. “That was my mistake. But my intention hasn’t changed.”

  He nodded.

  He’d thought her quite mad for her actions, but in truth she’d only done what perhaps he would have done in a similar circumstance. They were both seeking to protect their siblings.

  She’d done what very few people might do, and the thought filled him with respect for her.

  “Tell me about your parents,” Hamish asked.

  “You’ve met them.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “You’re surprised what inspires such loyalty?” Georgiana tilted her head at him.

  “I don’t remember mine,” Hamish explained.

  “Oh. Of course.” Her mood changed, as if she were discussing some tragedy. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s sad when anyone dies. I didn’t know them well enough to be sad.” He gave a laugh that somehow managed to sound jarring. “Callum and I were largely raised by nursemaids anyway, so when we had a guardian instead of a parent to instruct them, it didn’t make much of a difference.”

  “Who was your guardian?”

  “One of our neighbors. A distant relative.” Hamish smiled. “Lord McIntyre. He and his wife raised us. Though they’re both dead now too.”

  “McIntyre?” Georgiana asked. Her voice sounded faint.

  He sighed. “Callum is supposed to marry Lady Isla McIntyre. Our next door neighbor. Her parents were our guardians after our parents died.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Comprehension dawned on Georgiana.

  Lord McIntyre, likely the father of Lady Isla McIntyre, the woman whom Callum was supposed to marry. She hadn’t dwelled on Lord McIntyre, envisioning him as some crotchety neighbor pressuring Hamish to ensure his brother fulfilled some long forgotten contract to whom Hamish was beholden for sheep grazing privilege or something equally unimportant when compared with true love and everlasting happiness.

  She hadn’t imagined Lord McIntyre had passed away, but that Hamish still felt honor bound to see his desires fulfilled. Surely the man’s pull must extend beyond that of a wealthy landowner to be appeased.

  Perhaps she had it wrong, though. “McIntyre. Isn’t that the family that your brother was supposed to marry into?”

  She kept her voice steady and light, but Hamish’s face immediately darkened as he nodded. Evidently the reminder that he was not going to fulfil his late guardian’s desire saddened him.

  “Lord McIntyre did so much for Callum and me,” Hamish said, and Georgiana averted her eyes. “He raised us, much more than our parents did when they were alive. He taught us horseback riding and chess. He taught us the names of plants and trees. He loved Scotland. It was always his desire that Callum and Lady Isla should marry. He trusted Callum to provide for Lady Isla.”

  “What is Lady Isla like?” Georgiana asked, curious despite not wanting to know the answer. Perhaps Hamish would rush home to his castle in the Highlands, away from the pettiness of the ton, and propose to her out of some familial duty or actual desire. She must be wonderful, perhaps even spectacular, if he thought she would make such a good match for his brother.

  Or perhaps he loved Isla, and simply wanted her to fulfil her desire?

  The notion was overly romantic. She shook her head. Perhaps she had been reading too many Loretta Van Lochen novels lately, and her sense of chivalry and the power of love had been overly heightened, but for some reason she still felt tense.

  “Lady Isla is everything my brother should marry,” Hamish said.

  The tension in Georgiana’s spine did not ease.

  “She’s intelligent and pretty,” Hamish continued on. He may have listed more such
positive traits, but Georgiana had no desire to hear them.

  “Lady Isla has long dark hair and green eyes that all the other men are always complimenting.” Hamish, though, seemed to think it important to describe Isla in greater detail, a fact no doubt spurred on by the fact that Georgiana had asked about her. “I still don’t understand why Callum did not want to marry her. Everyone adored her, even other women, and I know you know how demanding their expectations can be.”

  Georgiana stiffened, but Hamish continued.

  “I could understand if he was reluctant to marry her if there was anything unappealing about her, but there isn’t,” Hamish concluded.

  Perhaps Hamish had not really thrown ice over her, but her limbs remained stiff. She had the feeling that she should laugh, as if to express wonder at his brother’s foolishness, but when she attempted the action the voice sounded jarring, even to her own ears.

  It would have been far nicer to hear that Lady Isla was imperfect. Georgiana cursed herself for being so uncharitable, but the fact remained. When the duke and Charlotte married—Georgiana had little doubt that they would—would the duke be forever musing about the life he could have had? With a woman who would have been an adept host, making excellent conversation with all the lairds and their families effortlessly? With a woman who would know what meals to serve and who would be confident that she would not pass any negative traits to her children?

  Such as red hair.

  Georgiana pushed away the thought. She was thinking about her sister’s happiness. Her own hair color had nothing to do with it, naturally. Georgiana had relatives who shared her hair color; it must be something common in her family.

  Red hair did not seem common in other people’s families.

  She certainly was not imagining anything for herself.

  After all, she abhorred Hamish. She’d told him so herself.

  But that seemed no longer true.

  She didn’t despise him, and she might even miss him later.

  She’d not contemplate the precise degree that she would miss him: she had the feeling that she might find the answer unpleasant.