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“I believe they thought the latter.”
“And you?”
“You wish to know my thoughts on you?”
He refocused on the road. “It does sound rather vain of me, does it not?”
“Most peacock-worthy, if you are expecting a favorable answer.”
He glanced quickly at her, caught her smile. Felt his heart ease. “I see.”
Nothing more was said for a minute or two, then she clasped her hands. “I suppose it does sound ungracious to not answer your question, sir. If you must know, I … I would consider you a most kind and benevolent and courageous man. Although, apparently, a little addicted to pride and vanity.”
A chuckle escaped. “Well, ’tis kind of you to say so.”
“I was trying very hard to be kind,” she said meekly.
“Would you care to know my thoughts concerning you?”
“Not at this time, no.”
“At some time soon?”
“Sir, I really think your attention should be focused on retrieving your niece from an escapade most scandalous.”
“Then after she and Musgrave are found? May I be permitted to tell you my thoughts?”
He glanced at her profile.
Amusement faded from her face as her lips pressed together. “For what purpose, sir? You are leaving. I am staying. There can be no good to come from words that might as well be said in jest.”
“Miss Stapleton, please, I do not—”
“Sir, I am a little weary, and do not have the heart to play.”
He knew remorse. These past few days had been fraught with emotional upheaval, and he was creating even more. “Here. Rest against me if you wish.”
She made a slight protest, but soon the invitation to lean against his shoulder proved impossible to ignore, and she sank against him and closed her eyes.
And Daniel continued to pray.
The rocking of the curricle ceased, though her head felt as though she’d travelled many miles further than such weariness warranted. She caught a tang of musk, that scent that had lately infused her dreams, and her eyes drifted open. Where—?
“Oh!” She straightened, skin prickling at having rested against Captain Balfour’s shoulder in such an unladylike fashion. She smoothed down her sleeve, tidied her hair. Saw that the curricle was rolling past a coaching yard. “Are we there?”
“In Cornhill, yes.”
A turn in the road revealed a stone bridge of several arches, which led across the river to another stone structure on the right, a cottage of proportioned windows and three chimneys.
“That is Scotland, across the River Tweed.” He pointed to a stone structure. “And that is the Toll House, or the marriage house.”
“And you think we’ll find them there?”
“We shall see.”
Nerves pattered in her veins as the horses crossed the bridge and slowed before the white-painted gate. She was now in Scotland.
Scotland!
