“But I’m not cold,” she’d complained.
He gave her a look that said he didn’t care one bit for her comfort. “Put it on or stay in the carriage. It’s your choice.”
God how she hated that carriage. The sway of a ship as the vessel rode the waves was what she was used to, not bumps and groans and creaks over cobbles and dirt. Or the way the carriage lurched when they were off or when one of the horses lost its rhythm and tried to find it again. Swinging the cloak around her shoulders, she tied it tight, lifted the hood and followed Mrs McDougal from the nightmarish conveyance.
“We will eat a light meal and then be on our way again,” the marquess said in that tone that was not to be argued with. He pinned Daniella with a hard glare. “You will do as you’re told. You will not try to sway anyone over to your side, no thoughts of escaping me to get to your father quicker are to fill your head—and do not tell anyone your real name. Is that understood?”
“Aye aye, captain,” she said with a little salute. What an arrogant man to think he could order everyone around with nary a please or thank you in it. She wondered if he was always this cranky or if it was the situation itself rendering him unbearable. When he’d spoken to her as though she was nothing more than an incorrigible bairn she’d wanted to kick his shins or worse. He was refusing to understand that she only wanted to be on the decks of her ship. Why any woman would want to live her life according to the ton’s set of rules she had no idea. It was like a smoky prison of their own making and she didn’t want a bit of it.
But she would let men like Lasterton think they ruled all those around them if it gained her place back on the decks of The Aurora.
As much as she despised his heavy-handedness, she did like that the marquess had them on a tight schedule. If they could decrease by even one moment her time in that carriage she would be thanking God.
As they filed in to a clean and bright taproom, Lasterton ordered refreshments to be served in a private dining room—only to be told the only one the inn boasted was already occupied. While he and the landlord bartered on suitable eating areas, Daniella looked around at the occupants of the room for any sign of one of her father’s men, though she hadn’t seen a familiar face in weeks. And why was her brother taking so long to come after her? Surely he would have discovered her missing by now and be in pursuit?
Not that that was at all what she wanted.
If Saint Germaine found her first, he would drag her back to the city and a marriage agreement before she could blink. After all, she tarnished his near-perfect reputation with her schemes. Even the marquess’s superior attitude and arrogance would be preferable to that fate.
She gripped the edges of her hood and pulled the fabric farther over her face.
“This way, m’dear.” Lasterton held out his arm for her to take. She really should have been listening to the excuse he’d given the innkeeper. Were they married? Was she his sister or cousin? They should have discussed ruses before now so she knew how to act.
Rather than ruining whatever story he’d spun, she silently took his arm and let him lead her to a small but cosy sitting room. There were only soft sofas and a few chairs around a small table as furniture but the fire was built and it beckoned. She hadn’t felt the cold before but she did now. She suspected the sudden chill shivering its way down her spine had more to do with foreboding than it did the air temperature.
After the innkeeper promised sustenance and closed the door, Daniella turned on the marquess, despite the presence of his staff. “Are we working together or not? Will you please tell me what stories you are spreading around before we leave the carriage?”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t want to be followed too closely. We’ll leave a different tale each time we stop.”
He really was better at this than she had been. She refused to look at either Hobson or Mrs McDougal, already knowing the smirks they were undoubtedly wearing.
“We cannot risk someone coming to your aid. Whether you are a willing hostage or not, I’ll not let anyone interfere in this.”
Daniella nodded and turned to the fire for comfort. She wouldn’t remind him she only remained his hostage while it suited her. If at any time she thought he meant her harm, she would escape. But where would she go? She had no money. No belongings. Nothing but her name and her father’s reputation. It’s why she’d attempted to sell her virginity. It’s why she sought deeper disgrace. If she had the funds of a marquess, she would have simply booked passage on a ship and run back to him again and again.
Until they reached Scotland, where the humblest of farm boys knew and respected Captain Richard Germaine, she was at Lasterton’s mercy.
There was no more time to think about anyone’s mercy as the innkeeper’s wife came into the room bearing a tray of pies and ale. Not one of their party moved until the small-statured lady closed the door behind her.
Trelissick cleared his throat. “Everyone eat. This will be our last stop before nightfall.”
Hobson and Mrs McDougal each picked up a plate without hesitation and sank into chairs to eat.
As tenterhooks dug deeper, Daniella took a plate, but the constant tension of the day left her feeling vaguely uneasy
