Page 95 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“I’m tired and cold, but otherwise perfectly well.” It was far from true.

“Thank you for your assistance, my friend,” Philippe said. “We shall return separately. If the authorities come looking, it will be for two highwaymen. I suggest you go first, as we will of necessity ride more slowly than you.”

Mr. Alexander nodded. “Goodnight, Miss Glow. Your marquis is in a foul mood, but let me assure you, I enjoyed playing highwayman. Thank you for an invigorating evening.”

How kind of him. She’d been so stupid tonight—no wonder Philippe was angry. No love or warmth or even kindness emanated from him. With an effort, she smiled at Mr. Alexander and waved him away. He cantered into the night.

“I am not in a foul mood,” Philippe said. “I was afraid for you. That is all.”

“I was afraid for myself.” No more quiver in her voice—good.

“Put your arms around me and hold on.” He urged the gelding into a canter. After a while he turned off the road and headed slowly across a field.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Avoiding Highgate.” They picked their way around a coppice and skirted another field. The moon had set. The quiet was broken by a flutter of wings in the undergrowth. A small creature skittered as they crossed its path.

Philippe’s silence unnerved her. She didn’t know him well at all and had no idea what this meant. They passed through a gap in a hedgerow. That gave her something to say. “You seem to know this route well.”

“I worked it for a while.”

“As a highwayman?”

“Yes.” Suddenly, he growled. “You should have let me shoot him, like the dog that he is.”

At least he was talking to her now. “I couldn’t have stopped you, but Mr. Alexander agreed that it was a bad idea.”

“Of course it was a bad idea,” Philippe said. “One does not murder an unconscious man. But you should not have pleaded for his life.”

That was why he was upset? “I didn’t want you to commit murder! I was pleading for your life!”

She felt his chest expand and contract as he took a deep breath—and blew it out again. “Fine, but none of this would have happened if you hadn’t got into his coach.”

“He tricked me.”

He said nothing. Didn’t he believe her?

“It’s true!” she cried. “I had just stepped out of the hackney and was approaching my door. A woman called to me from a waiting coach, asking me to help her son, for he had got into bad company, but she couldn’t afford to pay for a school. What was I supposed to do—ignore her?”

He made a rude noise. “If she couldn’t pay for schooling, how could she afford a coach?”

“That never occurred to me,” she said in a small voice.

“You knew what kind of man Hythwick is.”

“Yes, but I thought he was far away, pursuing Marianne and Freddy.”

Philippe had nothing to say to that, and rightly so.

“He was hiding in the coach,” she went on, “and when I got close, he threatened to harm her son if I didn’t get in. So of course, I did.” She paused. “But it was all a sham. She was just playing a role.”

“Didn’t you even think? Didn’t you see the crest on his coach?”

“No,” she said wearily. “Maybe it was too dark. Maybe it was because the door was open, so the crest wasn’t visible. Or maybe I just didn’t notice.” She paused. “How did you know he had taken me?”

“Turner suspected his master had foul plans, and he hurried to your house—just in time to see you get into the coach and drive away.”

Thank you, Mr. Turner.