Page 83 of The Forbidden Lord
Jordan sat up, then groaned. “Deuce take it, my leg’s gone to sleep.” He rubbed it with both hands.
“All of you went to sleep, curse you!” She grabbed one of his arms. “Stop that! There’s no time to waste! Make him halt and turn back!”
“Who?”
If she’d had a reticule, she would have hit him over the head with it. “Watkins, of course! Your fool coachman has taken us into the country!”
As if finally comprehending what she’d been trying to tell him for the last few minutes, he glanced out the window. “I think you’re right.”
Exasperation made her voice strident. “Then stop him, for goodness sake! Make him turn back!”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can!”
“When Watkins gets it in his head to go for a drive in the country, there’s no stopping him. We’ll just have to settle back and enjoy the ride.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t have to—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. He looked entirely too nonchalant. Obviously, the wretch had planned this. “Where are we going, Jordan?”
“I have no idea.”
“Curse you, this is no joking matter. Answer me! Where are we going?”
His eyes met hers, steady and clear. “You’re right, of course. This is not a joking matter.”
“Where are we going?”
“North.”
That stymied her. “North?”
“As I said earlier, we are going to be married.”
It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. But when it did, she stiffened in outrage. “You’re taking me to Gretna Green? Against my will? You … you wretch! You despicable, deceitful?—”
“Watch it, my dear, you’re talking to your future husband,” he said with a bit of a smirk.
She pounded on the ceiling with her fist. “Stop the coach, Watkins!” she shouted. “Stop it now!”
The coach rumbled on.
“He won’t stop unless I command it,” Jordan said. “Besides, what good would it do if he set you down here in the middle of the road? Will you walk back to London?”
“If I have to!”
“You might as well stop fighting it. You know marrying me is the only solution.”
“You can’t force me to say the vows. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming into the church.”
Her vehemence seemed to startle him. Then his eyes narrowed. “If I have to,” he echoed her earlier words.
A howl of rage tore from her as she looked for something, anything to throw at him. His hat sailed across the carriage and then his leather gloves. He dodged them both, alarm crowding his features.
She’d just lifted one of the cushions when he grabbed her hands. “Pax, Emily! Good God, you’d think I was taking you to your execution.”
The fight drained out of her all of a sudden, and she slumped against the seat with a groan. What would Lord Nesfield say when he found out she was gone? How long would it be before he assumed she had simply run off? Then how long before he took it upon himself to act?
“You don’t know what you’ve done,” she whispered mournfully.
