Sighing, she sank back into her corner and stared out at the night. The sliver of moon had slipped to the horizon and in the near-complete darkness the horses had slowed to a walk. Natalya wondered what time it was. One o’clock, two? Three? Had she been missed yet, or were the guests still filling the Pridhams’ reception rooms, disguising the fact that she was not present?
Natalya would have preferred a small party with only true friends such as the Grishams and Mrs Ancrum. And perhaps Freddie. She counted him among her friends now, although her aunt had been most reluctant to send him an invitation. However, Natalya had insisted, more out of stubbornness and a desire to have her way in at least one small thing. That little victory had resulted in Natalya issuing an invitation to Freddie’s uncle, too, and she had discovered that her aunt was not at all averse to adding such a fashionable person as Tristan to her lists.
Tristan. Leaning her head against the squabs, Natalya stared out of the window, allowing her thoughts to move away from her predicament for a while. When had she begun to think of him by that name? It was as if she had known him for ever. She wanted so much to call him a friend, to trust him, but the feelings he aroused in her were confusing and frightening.
But not as frightening as her current situation. The woman snoring in the opposite corner was strong. From the rumble of voices overhead there were at least two men on the box. She was a prisoner and being carried far away from anyone she might consider a friend. She had never felt so alone before.
Something went past, momentarily blotting out the dim light. A horseman. Natalya banged on the window and screamed. The rider had pulled ahead of the carriage. She heard shouts, raised voices from the box, then the coach came to a stand.
In the opposite corner the woman had stirred and, although she could see nothing but shadows, Natalya guessed she, too, was alert and listening. The carriage rocked as one of the men climbed down. He opened the door and Natalya almost burst into tears when she heard a familiar voice ordering the man to climb back on to the box.
The woman in the corner muttered angrily. She rose from her seat, but Natalya was quicker. She jumped up, pulling off the cloak as she did so. She threw it over the woman and pushed her back with all her might. Then she jumped out of the carriage and slammed the door shut behind her.
‘Well done, Miss Fairchild.’
Tristan’s tone was calm, reassuring. She could only see his black outline at the side of the road, the moonlight glinting off the glossy flanks of his horse. It also gleamed on the barrel of the deadly pistol he was aiming towards the driver and the guard.
‘Now, ma’am, perhaps you could pick up that shotgun and throw it into the ditch. Thank you.’ He stretched out his free hand. ‘Time to leave, I think.’
Natalya did not hesitate. She gripped his fingers and put her foot on the toe of his boot. As she pushed off from the ground, he hauled her up and across the saddle in front of him. He muttered a terse, ‘Hold on’, and then they were moving past the carriage.
She heard the coachman angrily cursing his companion and ordering him to get down and find the shotgun, but Tristan had kicked his mount on and the voices were lost in the darkness. Natalya clung on as they cantered along the road until they came to a break in the hedge. Tristan slowed the horse and pushed through into an open field.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked tersely, keeping the horse moving.
Natalya had been clinging tightly to him, but now she sat up a little.
‘No.’ She could not stop her voice shaking. ‘Frightened.’
‘You were very brave. Nimble, too,’ he added, the harsh note in his voice replaced by a tremor of laughter.
She glanced down and saw that her white skirts were still hitched up above her knees.
‘Oh, heavens!’
Somehow she managed to pull the flimsy muslin into a more decorous covering, although she guessed she was still showing an inordinate amount of ankle.
‘I am afraid we cannot stop to make you more presentable,’ he told her. ‘We need to get away from here, out of sight of the road. They might yet come after us on foot.’
‘Very true.’ Natalya glanced nervously towards the road. ‘Let us get on, then.’
‘Very well.’ He settled her more firmly across the saddle. ‘Hold on tight!
Tristan pushed the hunter into a canter across the open field towards the trees on the far side. The green, unripe heads of corn brushed against his stirrups in a protesting hiss and, as a landowner himself, he winced at the thought of the damage he was doing to the crop, but it could not be helped. He had to move quickly and put as much distance as he could between Natalya and her abductors. She clung to him, arms around his waist and her head resting against his chest. He very much wanted to hold her close, but he needed to concentrate, to keep a steadying hand on the reins lest the horse should stumble. He kept up the pace and it was not until they were sheltered within the trees, out of sight of the field and the road, that he allowed the horse to slow again to a walk.
Immediately Natalya loosened her hold and sat up.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her. ‘Do you need to stop?’
‘No, please, go on,’ she urged him. ‘It is not the most comfortable journey I have
