With a new burst of speed, he sprang in her direction, whacked through a dead bush, and gained on her within seconds. Breathing hard, he caught her elbow and swung her against him.
She gasped at the impact. “Let me go.” Pounded at him with her fists. “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go—”
“I have no intention of doing anything, Miss Gillingham, aside from bringing you to Monbury Manor.”
“I won’t go.”
“You haven’t a choice.”
“I’ll run away.”
“I care very little what you do, so long as you stay long enough to meet my one demand.” He circled her wrist and yanked her back toward the smoldering ashes of camp. “But we have no time for that now. Our main dilemma, at hand, is how we intend to get anywhere without a horse. You might have at least handled the reins instead of letting him throw you.”
“’Twas your gunshot that frightened the—”
“Are you hurt?”
A pause, then a quiet, “No.”
“Well, you deserve to be. Now go put on my tailcoat and sit over there. If I cannot find the deuced animal in the next hour, you might as well prepare yourself for a long journey ahead. The next village is not for another four and twenty miles.”
She said nothing in return, as seemed to be her way, and Felton marched back into the wooded darkness. The cool night air pushed away some of the tension in his gut. That had been too close. This whole thing was…ludicrous. If anyone knew what he was doing, Lord Gillingham included, they would have his neck.
Well, they would find out soon enough, and any repercussion would be no price at all.
Because Eliza Gillingham knew what no one else in the world did. She knew what happened that night, those fourteen long, wretched years ago. She knew how to clear his father’s name from the filthy stench of murder.
And she was going to do just that, whether she liked it or not.
Because he’d been living in shame long enough.
They all had.
Eliza kept her pace with the fast, longer strides of the stranger who had yet to impart his name. Not that she wanted to know. She didn’t. She would rather think back through Captain’s stories, choose the most odious character, and call him as such.
Nonsense, that.
But it was easier to think of stories—ones with familiar, happy endings—than the unknown of her true life. What was her true life anyway? Who was she?
Not that she doubted Captain.
Never.
But there was something…a niggling sensation every time this stranger spoke certain words. LikeLord Gillingham. AndMonbury Manor.
AndMiss Gillingham.
“I should have taken my chance with you at Weltworth.” From beside her, the man swept a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “At this rate, we shan’t be in Poortsmoor until dark.”
The walking bore no effect on her. After all, she’d been running and ambling through Balfour Forest for as long as she could remember—and despite the slight throb in her ankle, this was no different.
But the hunger pains, which had been cramping her stomach since daylight, grew more intense with each step. Why hadn’t she taken the bread when he’d offered it last night?
“You favor your left foot.”
“It is nothing.”
“Even so, we shall have a doctor take a look when we reach Poortsmoor. I’ll not be presenting you to your father injured.”
