“Keep your voice down,” the man—Darcy, the prince had called him—hissed, barely glancing at her. He moved quickly, efficiently, his grip firm but not cruel. He was not manhandling her, exactly—but neither was he giving her a choice.
Elizabeth dug her heels into the stone. “This is madness—”
“Yes,” he bit out. “It is.”
Her head spun. She had barely had time to process the absurdity of what had just happened. She had been summoned for a second audience, ushered into a room where—instead of the Queen—she found herself face-to-face with the Prince Regent, and then tossed like a parcel into the hands of a man she did not know.
And now she was being marched into the London streets in the dead of night, while her own carriage—her own attendants—were nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my carriage?” she demanded.
“Dismissed,” he said shortly, never breaking stride.
Elizabeth stumbled in shock. “Dismissed? You cannot mean—you had no right to dismiss it!”
“Idid not dismiss it,“ he ground out. “Your royal summons did. It probably left as soon as you entered the house.”
Her stomach dropped. She twisted again, trying to wrench free, but he only tightened his grip and half-led, half-dragged her past the iron gates of the palace grounds.
Elizabeth scanned the street wildly. She would find a way to set this right.Someonewould mend this nonsense.
“I must speak to the Queen,” she said breathlessly. “Or the duchess—yes, the duchess will—”
Darcy suddenly stopped short, whirling toward her so fast she nearly collided with his chest. She gasped, startled, and staggered back a step.
His dark eyes burned with frustration. “The Prince Regent,” he enunciated slowly, “has issued a command.”
Elizabeth’s breath came fast and unsteady. “Then I shall appeal to my father! He will—”
“Your father,” he cut in, “can know nothing of this.”
Elizabeth’s hands curled into fists. “Then I shall tell him!”
Darcy exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lady Elizabeth, you do not seem to comprehend the nature of what has happened.”
“I comprehend quite well,” she retorted, lifting her chin defiantly. “You are abducting me—”
“I am saving your life.”
She froze.Thatcertainly sounded melodramatic.
Darcy did notlooklike a man prone to histrionics. It must be a joke!
And yet, there was no jest in his voice. Only tightly contained anger.
Only a warning.
A cold shiver trickled down her spine. Somewhere in the distance, a carriage rumbled down the street, and the faint sound of London’s evening revelers drifted in from the squares.
Elizabeth swallowed. She could not stay here arguing. She had no carriage. No escort. And whether she liked it or not—this strange, impossible man was the only thing standing between her and the darkened city.
She took a shaky breath, forcing her voice steady. “And where,” she asked, lifting her chin once more, “do you propose to take me?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, as though only now realizing he had no answer.
Elizabeth’s heart pounded. For the first time since she had entered that royal room—since her world had been so unceremoniously upended—she saw something in him besides frustration. She saw uncertainty.
He had no plan.
