Rather awkwardly, Lottie pushed her hair off her face and tried to set herself to rights, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sure what’s appropriate, given our new circumstances, but I am happy to see you.”
The feet between them felt like miles. Speaking past a tight throat, Ethan asked, “It’s no’ my business, but are you…Did he—”
Staring at her feet, she shook her head. “Montague has much to answer for. But I am safe and relatively untouched.”
Part of the worry nested in his chest unraveled. “Where is he?”
“Unwell at the moment. I planned to set off on my own at daybreak.”
“Can’t say I’m unhappy he’s sick. Although it puts a wrinkle in my plan tae beat him tae within an inch of his life.”
“He’ll be back to his evil self in a day or so. We only poisoned him a little. Mrs. Mitchell made an excellent accomplice.”
“Poisoned him? Of course you did.” In spite of the heartache, she made him laugh. “You’re brilliant, lass, but you’re also a wee bit scary. Well done.”
She wrapped her arms around herself instead of him. “I, ah, I didn’t expect you to come for me. Not after my letter.”
“Yes, your letter.” Peeling his gloves off one finger at a time, he tried to find the words to address the situation. “I’m not here tae press my suit, lass. We both know that’s over. Darling told me you’re going home, so I’ll see you tae your father safely.” The earl would probably love the opportunity to share his thoughts on Ethan’s presence in Lottie’s life, face-to-face. “I’ll let the others know where you are.” Turning to the door, he focused on the metal doorknob instead of her as he spoke. “Engaged or not, I’d come for you if you needed me, Lady Charlotte.” Best to get back in the habit of addressing her properly. She wasn’t his anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning dawned with a heavy gray fog over the landscape. Lottie said goodbye to Mrs. Mitchell, thanking her again for her help, then joined Ethan and Lord Carlyle.
“He’s under guard. Last time I checked he was a sweaty, foul mess, drooling on his pillow. The man snores like some kind of wild animal,” Lord Carlyle said.
“Not all men make those noises when they sleep? I had wondered.” They turned to her with twin aghast expressions. “I’ll take that as a no. Ethan—I’m sorry—Lord Amesbury, I’m ready to leave when you are. Darling and Aunt Agatha are already in the carriage.”
Amesbury turned to Lord Carlyle. “Three days. That should give him time tae recover sufficiently for travel. Hire a carriage and meet me in three days.”
“Agreed. He wanted to go to Scotland so badly. Who are we to say no?” Lord Carlyle grinned.
“Where are you taking him?” Lottie wasn’t sure why she cared in the grand scheme of things, with so many other issues to worry about. Ethan’s gentle rejection last night still hurt. We both know that’s over. She’d broken them.
“We’ll bring him tae my village near the Solway Firth. I have a plan tae make sure he never touches another woman.” Amesbury’s thunderous expression would inspire fear in anyone. Anyone but her.
When he’d walked through that door last night, there’d been a moment when all was right in the world. The thump of Ethan’s heartbeat had sounded like home, and none of the events of the last few days had mattered one whit. He’d smelled of cold air and smoke.
Then he’d stepped back, and reality had reared its ugly head. Ethan wasn’t hers. He wasn’t even Ethan anymore. And that was her fault.
“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Given the mad clash of emotions warring within her, retreat seemed the best option.
Her maid sat beside Agatha on the plush seat, which thankfully smelled worlds better than the prison carriage of the last few days. “Darling, how is your head?”
Lottie had learned last night that Aunt Agatha had supplied Darling with regular draughts of willow-bark tea to make travel slightly less torturous, since, surprising no one, the maid had insisted on joining the rescue party.
“They didn’t manage to knock it off my shoulders. Hurts like the devil.” Darling touched the spot on her head with a wince. Darling’s pallor remained ashy, highlighting the livid bruise on her head, and a scabbed cut in her hair.
“Stop touching it, then,” Agatha huffed. Her godmother seemed thinner after the last several days of stress, although blessedly solid and, well, Agatha.
“Auntie’s right. Don’t touch it. I worried about you, you know.” Lottie checked the doorway at the inn. Amesbury’s shoulders filled the space as he paused to fasten his coat and run a hand through those curls she loved so much.
The carriage rocked under his weight. The only available space was next to Lottie, and judging by the smug look her maid and godmother exchanged, that wasn’t an accident.
“One more night on the road, then we can part ways at your father’s estate tomorrow before supper,” he said.
Well. Heroic rescuer or not, he clearly couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Not that she could blame him. Silence fell on the carriage for several miles. The longer they went without speaking, the sterner Agatha’s face grew, until the woman’s pointed looks at Lottie became uncomfortable. Try as she might, Lottie drew a blank, searching for a safe topic besides the weather.
“Does anyone else smell smoke?” She craned her neck to view the landscape. There wasn’t a telltale plume in a field, or even a nearby cottage to explain why she smelled fire.
Beside her, Ethan shifted farther away. “That’s me
