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"Go," he urged, gesturing toward the still-open door. "Have a good time." He leaned forward to hand Damen the basket, briefly whispering something to Breanna as he bent past her.
Her lips twitched, but she didn't reply.
Three minutes later, Breanna and Damen were both settled in the carriage, basket and all, and the driver was urging the horses around the bend.
"Not yet," Damen warned in a hard voice. "Don't move or speak. Not until we're beyond the gates and I've drawn the curtains."
Breanna blinked in surprise, thinking at first that Damen was addressing her. Then, she followed his line of vision and smiled as she spotted the lumpy blanket beneath her seat. "Why, Lord Sheldrake, is that for me—a token of your esteem, perhaps?"
"Don't sound so enthused," he retorted dryly. "You might return it once you see how much trouble it is."
A grunt of protest emerged from beneath the blanket. Laughter bubbled up in Breanna's throat. "Does that mean you wish to return it?"
With a profound shake of his head, Damen leaned forward and stared at the blanket, all teasing having vanished. "No. You see, as fate would have it, this is one gift I can't seem to live without."
"Then, indeed, it should be yours." Visibly moved, Breanna followed Damen's gaze, her own filled with the joyful knowledge that Anastasia had found her future. "As you should be hers." She reached down, touched the blanket ever so lightly. "The gates are just ahead," she said soothingly. "We're almost there."
"Breanna, what did Wells say to you as we were leaving?" Damen asked curiously. "Or am I prying?"
"Not at all." Breanna's sparkle returned. "He said there's more than enough food in the basket to serve three."
Damen's lips curved. "So he does know."
"Wells knows everything." A smug lift of her chin. "Except when Stacie and I are switching places."
An impatient thump resounded from beneath the blanket.
"We're driving through the gates now," Damen answered. "I know you're eager. But I've got to make sure you're not seen. Concealing your presence by switching places with Breanna is one thing. But it would be a little hard to explain you away by claiming you're Breanna if you're both sitting beside me at the same time. Give me a minute or two to create the illusion that Breanna and I are seeking some privacy. Then you can come out."
The ensuing silence signified Anastasia's agreement.
They rounded the corner onto the road, and Damen rose out of his seat, jerked the curtains closed on both sets of windows. He squatted down and yanked the blanket off Anastasia's head. "You're free, little hellion." He offered her his hand. "Come on out."
Anastasia squirmed out of her hiding place, blowing strands of hair off her face. She accepted Damen's assistance, clutching his fingers and scrambling out and onto the seat beside Breanna.
The girls hugged, and Anastasia heaved an enormous sigh of relief. "Thank God you're all right."
"I? You're the one who dashed down to the London docks alone."
"I wasn't alone for long. Damen rode in and rescued me like a knight-in-shining-armor."
Her analogy made Breanna smile. "Still the same romantic Stacie. Clearly, you're none the worse for your adventure."
"And you?" Anastasia asked quietly. "Are you any the worse for yours?"
Breanna didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I'm fine. I thought you'd figure that out from Wells's note."
"I did." Anastasia drew back, gripped her cousin's hands. "But I needed to see for myself." She studied her cousin's face closely, seeing remnants of evidence that Damen had missed. "Uncle George hit you."
Breanna's shrug was nonchalant. "At first, along with a fair amount of shouting and threats. But that's over now."
"What do you mean?"
With more than a touch of pride, Breanna recounted her showdown with her father.
"You threatened to shoot him?" Damen repeated in amazement.
"I certainly did. Very convincingly, if I must say so myself. Believe me, Father won't touch me again. He's too terrified of a scandal, and of the possibility that he might lose you as an ally and future son-in-law."
