Page 72 of The Lady Was Lying
“I have horses waiting for us along the road. Our stops will be quick. Efficient. No more than a handful of minutes and we will be on our way once again.”
“They will come for me.”
“I’m sure they will. But they don’t know where we’re going, and it’ll take them time to figure out that we’ve left London.”
“Jane will tell them what happened, and they will guess where we are headed. Your estate is the most obvious place you could take me. You won’t be able to keep our whereabouts secret for long.”
“Hmm.” His lips turned up and he fell silent like he had nothing else to add.
Crossing her arms against her chest, she tapped her foot on the carriage floor. He was far too calm. Too relaxed. What was his plan? What did he hope to achieve by kidnapping her and taking her to his estate?
She was missing something.
But what?
She gasped aloud as their conversation filtered through her mind.
You said you’d refuse if I asked.
North.
“How far north?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Nearly to the border.”
“Of Scotland?”
He wouldn’t. Or would he?
“No,” she shouted, standing up and placing her hands on either side of his head so she was looming over him. It was difficult to keep her footing with the sway of the carriage, but she dug in her heels and glared. Of all the dirty rotten tricks he could have played on her, absconding to Scotland with her in tow was the dirtiest. “We are not eloping to Scotland.”
“Of course not. We’re going to Bramblewood.”
“But—”
He tipped his head back so they were nose to nose. “I’ll show you around the estate. I think you’ll like it. It’s big. Lots of land, friendly tenants. Maybe one day we’ll accidentally cross the border. One pile of rocks looks like every other, and my property extends quite far. It’s easy to become disoriented. Maybe we’ll end up in one of the villages along the border. Decide to take a respite. Chat with a friendly blacksmith. Agree to give him a bit of money in exchange for a couple of words. He’ll ask if you will take me as your husband.”
Her muscles gave out, and she collapsed back onto the opposite bench. “You won’t ask me to marry you because you know I’ll refuse, but you will take me to Scotland and let a random blacksmith ask me?”
“Not random. I’m acquainted with a few blacksmiths along the border. We can approach one of them.” He crossed his knee over his leg. “It’s a sound plan. I won’t need to ask. You won’t have to admit you want to marry me. There won’t be any pressure or expectations. The blacksmith will say the words, and all you’ll have to do is agree.”
“You believe I will agree in that situation,” she whispered, her heart hammering away. He was either insane or a genius. It was too soon to say which.
“Only one way to find out,” he responded gently.
Probably a genius.
How else could he have maneuvered her so perfectly? How else could he have concocted such a brilliant plan? How else could he have removed all obstacles?
She would have fought with herself for weeks. Months. Possibly years. She was too stubborn to admit that she had been hasty when she’d said she would never marry him.
Swallowing was difficult.
Thinking even harder.
James had outsmarted her. Outmaneuvered her. He had beaten her at her own game, and now he sat across from her seemingly confident that she would pick him.
By taking away the pressure from her family and society, he had stripped away the barrier of expectations. She couldn’t fully comprehend how being kidnapped had given her the freedom to grasp what she wanted.
