Chapter Six

Eric had made himself leave before the rest of the members of the household stirred, but enough time had passed now that they should all be up and about. He dressed impatiently, mentally rehearsing what he might say to Wilfred Brighton, Viscount Crenshaw, when he asked for Sarah’s hand.

He had to have the Viscount’s cooperation if he didn’t want to take her for a hasty elopement in Gretna Green. She had another year before she was twenty-one and could marry whomever she chose without her parents’ permission. He tried to be confident in his chances, reminding himself that if Crenshaw was willing to accept a younger son of an Earl for his daughter, he was even more likely to accept an Earl.

He made his way downstairs where he found the men assembled in the foyer, clearly dressed for a fox hunt. It was his understanding most of the guests were due to clear out today, so it was an understandable surprise to see them arranged thusly. He stifled a surge of impatience as he walked over to Crenshaw. “If I might have a word, Crenshaw?”

“Not now, not now. Dress and come with us, and perhaps we shall have a moment to talk during the hunt.”

Eric struggled to keep an appalled expression off his face. He was probably in the minority, but he found no stomach for the idea of hunting the defenseless fox on horseback with the braying hounds. It was lacking in sportsmanship, and he’d seen enough needless death for the last six years to rob him of any enjoyment in hunting. “I am afraid I must return to London. It is rather urgent.”

Crenshaw seemed oblivious to his urgency. “Nonsense, Collingsford. Surely it can wait. If it’s regarding the marriage contract with Mr. Coleville, please relay to your brother that I received his missive, and I shall stop by his club later in the week when I’m back in London. We should be able to have the first banns read this Sunday.”

Short of blurting out what his thoughts were, there was nothing he could do to keep Sarah’s father from leaving along with the other five men surrounding him, all decked out in their buckskins and Wellingtons. His stomach burned with acid at the unwelcome news that the contract was so close to being signed.

Desperation had him turning and going back upstairs, waiting on the landing of the floor of Sarah’s room for more than an hour before she finally emerged. He had paced so incessantly that he was surprised not to see a path worn in the Persian carpet. Even in his state, he could appreciate the beauty of her smile when she bestowed it upon him. He managed a shaky one for her as he walked closer. “May I escort you down for luncheon?”

She nodded, slipping her arm through his and hugging him in a discreet fashion. “It is good to see you again, Lord Collingsford.”

How he hated the need for stiff formality between them. “I spoke with your father, or attempted to, about the matter we discussed yesterday. I did not get far.”

She looked troubled, and perhaps on the verge of tears. “He denied your petition?”

“He wouldn’t even hear it. They were headed out for a fox hunt.”

She let out a long sigh. “Georgette mentioned some of the guests would be staying longer for an impromptu bit of hunting. Mother and I are returning to London tomorrow afternoon though.”

He stopped on the middle of the stairs, looking up and down the flights to make sure there was no one nearby. “Come with me to Gretna Green instead. We shall be married over the anvil, and then your father can’t give you to my brother.”

She frowned at him. “That would be dishonorable. We have time to sort this out yet. Let us not be hasty.”

“Do you wish to marry me?”

Sarah gave him a stern frown, and though she was clearly trying to be serious, the adorable downward curve of her mouth made it almost impossible not to lean forward and kiss her instead. “You know I do, or I would not have allowed…” She trailed off with a wave of her hand.

He nodded. “This is the way to make it happen. We are guaranteed to be married if we slip away quietly now. If for some reason your father objects to the union, he shall be watching you closely once we’re back in London. Come with me now, while we have this opportunity.”

She looked regretful as she sighed and pulled away. “I do not agree it’s the best course of action, Eric. Just be patient.”

He was so stunned by her words that he let her walk ahead of him, staring down at her for a moment. By the time he caught up with her, they were on the main floor, and there was a gathering of females filling the hallway. They all seemed to have decided that it was luncheon at the same time, and he couldn’t imagine sitting through an hour of their talk about inconsequential matters when such heavy thoughts weighed on his mind. Instead, he assured himself Sarah reached the table before returning to the room he’d been using. His valise was packed and ready to go, and he paced around it for several moments before a plan came to him.

He moved quickly after that, leaving a few coins for the footman who had acted as his valet during his stay, before hurrying from the house. He rode as though Hades himself pursued him, pushing Hercules so that he could have enough time to put his plan in motion.

***

Sarah still felt the sting of anger, and a touch of rejection, that Eric had departed from the estate without so much as a goodbye yesterday. Had she done irreparable harm to his intentions by refusing the idea of eloping?

The sensible side of her said that if she had, it was for the best, because his intentions had never been true, and his regards hadn’t been deep. The sentimental side of her ached to go back and change her answer, though she still believed it was the wrong course. They had to live with their behavior, and even if they both got what they wanted, it could be a bittersweet victory if they had to betray the things they held dear to get it.

She whimpered when the coach she shared with her mother hit a particularly deep rut in the road, sending a shooting pain through the area between her thighs. She still ached from the night before, and the ride back to London was not improving her disposition or the soreness.

“Cheer up, dear. Once we reach the Ton, you can soothe your aches and pains and spend the night resting.”

She blinked at her mother’s words, color filling her cheeks. Had Amelia somehow guessed what she had done with Eric? Surely not, or her mother wouldn’t have taken it in stride. “I—”

Before she could continue, Amelia cut in. “Like you, I usually get sore during the ride to and from London. The first trip of the season is always the worst, but after having been in the Ton for the last few weeks, the trip home and then back to London seems more wearing than usual to me as well.”

Sarah nodded, patting her mother on the hand. They both wore similar white gloves, so there was no actual contact. “Yes, Mother.” She let out a small sigh of relief to know her secret was safe. She wasn’t ashamed of how she felt about Eric, but she knew they were likely to face a mountain of disapproval for their choices. There was no sense making it worse by allowing her mother to learn just how far outside the bounds of decorum she had strayed.

There was suddenly a ruckus outside, and some of the coaches ahead of theirs drew up. Sarah could hear their driver cursing and struggling to get the horses to stop and knew it must be taxing if he was willing to risk his position by using such coarse language.

A moment later, their carriage shuddered to a halt without colliding with any of the others in their convoy. Ice ran through her veins when she heard a rough voice shouting, “Everyone out of the coaches, and hands where we can see them, ladies.”

“Oh dear, it’s a highwayman,” said Amelia, hands clasped to her chest. “I do wish your father were here.”

“We’d best cooperate.” She was still fearful as she helped her mother from the coach before stepping down beside her. The other ladies were arranged near their coaches in similar fashions, and all of their drivers sat on their coaches with their hands aloft. They were each being covered by masked ruffians who ensured they didn’t reach for the muskets or other weapons entrusted to the drivers to protect their passengers.

The one who was clearly the spokesperson walked down the line, examining the ladies. He wore all black, including a black hood obscuring everything but his eyes and a small hole for his nose. The hood muffled his voice, but he was still plainly audible when he nodded to Prudence and Honoria, pausing in front of them. “Step forward, ladies.”

The Hoyton daughters let out a small moan of fear, clutching each other as they stepped forward. Meanwhile, the highwayman proceeded onward, pausing to examine other ladies, but asking no more to step forward.

She held her breath as he neared them, his gaze moving quickly over her mother and then to her. He looked away just as quickly, and she let out a sigh of relief that she realized was perhaps premature when he waved his hand in her direction. “Step forward.” His voice was rough and scratchy, making it difficult to understand the words clearly, but she knew what he had said. With little choice, she squeezed her mother’s hand and stepped forward.

They stood there for what felt like forever, but was only a few more minutes, as he eyed the rest of the women before returning to her, Honoria, and Pru. He hustled the three of them together, spending a long moment looking at them each. Finally, he nodded to Pru. “Return to your mother.” He looked at Honoria. “You as well.”

Sarah stood with her shoulders straight, glad that the light-green walking dress she wore hid her knocking knees as she waited to hear her fate.

“Ye shall make a fine captive. I’ll ransom you back and end up with a pretty penny.” There appeared to be a hint of Cockney in his tone, but it was difficult to tell, because it wasn’t quite right.

Raising his voice, he spoke to his cohorts. “Allow the rest to leave.” Without waiting for a response, he pulled Sarah with him to a horse and forced her to mount before getting up behind her. He held her tightly against him, his arms wrapped around hers to hold the reins of his black horse. She trembled in fear as the horse galloped away from the safety of the carriage and her mother.

She managed to crane her neck and look back, surprised to see the robbers seemed to be letting the rest of the travelers be on their way. They weren’t even pausing to collect valuables. It was strange, though she had never been the victim of robbery before—and certainly not a kidnapping for ransom. Perhaps there was more to be gained by ransoming her back, but she feared the highwayman might be angry when he learned he had picked the daughter of a viscount when he could have chosen one of two daughters of an Earl when he had bypassed Pru and Honoria.

As they rode, she tried to put distance between them, but his arms remained firmly wrapped around her. She tried demanding that he release her, but he ignored her attempts at communication. He paid no attention when she asked nicely or when she yelled with an undignified curse. The only reaction to that was the vibration of his chest when he laughed at her. She was angry with him and his lack of response but became outright enraged when the sky let loose a torrent of rain, and the brutish oaf refused to stop. All he did was extend her the cover of his cloak, and they kept riding in the pouring rain.

Finally, when the light of day was fading, he stopped at a ramshackle stone house that looked like it had been built hundreds of years ago, during the height of the feudal system in England. She half-expected a serf to appear. The rain had finally stopped, so she was able to speak loudly enough for him to hear her when he drew up the horse in front of it. “You can’t mean to stop there. It’s likely to tumble down on us.”

“It will hold, m’lady.” The voice was still gruff, but not nearly as Cockney as it had been before.

She frowned in confusion at his change but didn’t dwell on it. He was the first down, and then he reached up to assist her. As she put her feet on the ground, she pretended to stumble and fell forward before he could brace her. Her hands weren’t bound, so it was a simple matter to pick up the crumbling bit of stone she’d seen from the corner of her eye when she had timed her fall. She held it in her hands as he lifted her to her feet, bringing it back as she whirled around and cracked it against his temple.

The robber let out hideous groan, and he started to collapse. She stepped back, planning to take the horse and ride away, but the sound of her name made her still.

“Do not leave me, Sarah.”