Page 8 of Duke of Sapphire

Henry looked at the carriage door, at the latch, at the boards of the floor, and then back at her. “You are Lord Ashford’s daughter?”

“Guilty,” she said without humor.

He said nothing for a moment. The carriage yard was fully alive now; he could hear the driver’s boots on the gravel, the rattle of the water trough. If anyone came over—if anyone glanced inside and recognized either of them⁠—

The consequences assembled themselves in his mind. An unmarried Earl’s daughter. A bachelor Duke’s carriage. A night spent inside it. He did not need to calculate further. The math was ruinous.

He kept his voice level. “How old are you?”

“Three and twenty.”

“And you left your father’s house last night dressed as—” He gestured.

“A valet,” she said. “In training.”

“Without a chaperone.”

“As you can see.”

“Spent the night alone in a gentleman’s⁠—”

“I am well aware of the situation,” she said. “You do not need to remind me by making a list of my misdeeds.”

“I am listing them,” Henry said, “because I want you to understand exactly what I am dealing with here.”

“You are dealing with one person who does not wish to return home. That is all.”

“That is not all. That is the smallest possible version of what this is.” He sat forward. “Lady Charlotte. I will return you to your father at the next reasonable stop. I will arrange⁠—”

“No,” she refused quickly in a flat tone.

“I am not asking for your agreement.”

“Then you should not have explained your reasoning,” she said. “Because now I can argue with it.” She sat up straighter. “You cannot send me back. Not until you understand what I am running from.”

Henry said nothing. He supposed that was tacit encouragement.

“My father has arranged a marriage,” she said. “The settlements are already signed. I was to meet my intended today—and accept him—and be married within a fortnight.” She looked at him directly. “I did not agree to any of it.”

“Daughters of the nobility rarely do,” Henry said. “And yet the institution persists.”

“I see your sympathy has bounds.”

“I have a great deal of sympathy,” Henry said, “and a great deal more common sense. Your situation, Lady Charlotte, is not unique. What is unique is that you are currently in my carriage.”

“Then let me stay in it.”

“No.”

“You have room.”

“That is emphatically not the point.”

“You are traveling north.”

“To Scotland,” he said, “on a matter of considerable urgency. A missing friend, an estate in chaos, and a situation with a child that requires my full attention. I do not have capacity to manage a runaway bride.”

“I am not asking you to manage me,” she said. “I am asking you to let me sit here and be invisible.”