Page 32 of Never Kiss a Scot
“No, love. The odds of reaching Brock and Joanna in time are slim, and there is still the matter of settling the situation. Mother will be terribly upset if she missed her youngest child’s wedding. You are the only person I trust to comfort her.”
Rosalind smiled a little. “I suspect it’s also because you’ll likely fight with Brock again, and you don’t want me to see it.”
“Smart wife.” He chuckled as he retrieved his greatcoat.
“No dueling. That’s all I ask.”
“Yes, darling.” They laughed together for a moment before she grew serious and so did he.
“I warned him, Ashton. I knew he had an interest in her, but I thought that he would court her properly if he was serious.” Rosalind sighed heavily.
“I know you did. I’m afraid it may be my fault. Joanna has been desperate to prove that society has no cause to laugh at her for failing to find a husband. She has more pride than I realized. She’s more like Rafe than she is like me.”
Rosalind chuckled. “Husband dear, you suffer from pride as well, or need I remind you how we ended up being wed?”
“I certainly don’t need any reminding.” He knew his own pride has caused many a problem over the years, especially when he had first met Rosalind.
“Take care when you find them. Brock is a good man. He won’t hurt Joanna.”
Ashton didn’t tell her that he was worried for other reasons. What if Brock later became the monster his father had been? He couldn’t let his sister marry a man who may someday lose his charms and turn on her. He gave Rosalind one more kiss before he left their bedchamber and went to rouse his friends. They would ride at once, take the Great North Road to Gretna Green. Joanna was not a natural horsewoman which would slow Brock down. They would most likely take a coach and change horses every four hours.
One by one he woke his friends, Godric, Lucien, Cedric, Jonathan, and finally Charles, who grumbled as they met Ashton out in the stables.
“We’re leaving in the middle of the night to chase down a bloody Scot?” Lucien scowled sleepily.
“Yes,” Ashton snapped. “He has my sister.”
Charles glanced at the others. Godric stifled a yawn, and Cedric rubbed his eyes wearily. “Ash, if Joanna went with him, maybe she”
“Maybe nothing.” Ashton pulled on his riding gloves as a groom brought round the horses they needed. “She’s my sister, and she’s under twenty-one. The Hardwicke Act won’t let her marry without permission in England for another year. She is most likely doing something foolish that she will regret, and I at least want to have a chance to talk to her before she ties herself forever to that damned Scot.”
Cedric chuckled behind a gloved hand. “Isn’t that what you just did? Tie yourself to a Scot?”
Ashton clenched his jaw. “I ask that each of you take this seriously.”
His friends sobered and nodded to show they would. Then he led them to their horses. It would be a long night for all of them.
12
Joanna stretched languidly in bed, forgetting for a brief moment where she was and how she’d come to be there. She opened her eyes at the sound of a rumbling male voice nearby and bolted upright, staring about the sparsely furnished bedroom in the little hunting lodge. The events of the night before came back to her. Someone knocked on her door.
“Time to wake up, Joanna,” Rafe called. “Kincade is seeing to your horses. You have time to eat some breakfast, and then you must leave.”
“I’m awake,” she called and climbed out of bed. For the first time in two days her body wasn’t stiff, and for that she was grateful, yet she felt a twinge of disappointment in not being able to sleep out-of-doors with more ease.
Perhaps I am too soft. What if Brock married her and later decided he wanted a stronger, more hardy Scottish lady, someone who could sleep with him outside beneath the stars without complaint?
No, don’t think like that. He chose you; he wants you.
She cleaned her teeth, washed her face, and saw to her needs before joining the men in the common room. Rafe had prepared a plate of apple slices and cheese along with a bit of cold cuts. She ate quickly, licking her fingers clean since there were no cloth napkins with which to wipe her hands. Rafe watched her, a smug smile on his lips.
“What?” She didn’t like that he found such amusement in her situation.
“You really intend to go through with this, don’t you?” But it wasn’t asked like a question.
“I do. I’m tired of not having a choice in my fate. I chose Brock, and he chose me.”
“I believe you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you serious about anything before. I just want you to be happy.”
