She looked offended, so he softened his tone. “Why don't you return to your guardian like a good girl and stop this imprudent behaviour?"

A look of hope flashed in her eyes. “That is precisely what I need to do, sir. Will you help me?"

Taken aback, Charles hesitated. He had no intention of embroiling himself in this girl's problems, but he could not very well leave someone who was clearly a lady to the mercy of unscrupulous men. Perhaps she had come to Gretna Green unexpectedly or on the wrong day. That would account for her carriage not having been met. Even though he found the notion unpleasant, he acknowledged that a few miles out of his way would not inconvenience him overmuch. His journey had already been delayed, and he had little hope of making it home before Christmas.

“I suppose I could escort you,” he said, trying not to sound too put out, “if your destination is not far. But my carriage is being mended just at the moment. You will have to wait."

A look of desperation crossed her features. “Shall it be many minutes?” She was turning blue now about the lips, and he wondered just how long she had been standing there.

“It could be any time. But here, why don't you step inside the inn until it's ready?"

“Oh, no,” she said in a near whisper. Her eyes filled with dread. “I cannot do that!” She took a step closer and leaned toward him in confidence. “Geoffrey might see me!"

Suspicion, like a slow leak, seeped into Charles's mind. “Who is Geoffrey?” he asked warily.

She answered with a look of surprise, “The gentleman I eloped with, of course.” Then, at the sight of his horrified expression, she added, “On the way here, I discovered that we would not suit, but he refused to turn back! Can you believe that, sir? He would force me to marry him against my will!” A flash of indignation crossed her face. “I have never been so deceived in anyone's character!"

“Good God!” Charles said. He drew one fine hand across his forehead. The incipient headache threatened him again. This was precisely the sort of mischief he had dreaded in stopping here-not that he had ever expected such an impossible situation as this!

Flabbergasted beyond response, he glanced at the girl again. Her lips were still trembling, but Charles could not know for certain whether this was inspired by the cold or by the onset of tears. He was in a quandary. If he left the girl, God only knew what fate might befall her. On the other hand-

Just then, Charles heard the sound of a coach approaching, and the girl retreated quickly to her hiding-place. He turned in time to see his own vehicle sweep through the gate to the inn yard, repaired much sooner than he had been led to expect. Charles was relieved to see it and eager to be gone from this nest of lunatics. But the girl's dilemma remained to be solved.

When his horses pulled to a stop with a brusque order from his coachman, Charles called up, “Good work, Timothy. How did you persuade the villain to mend it so soon?"

“Wasn't any of my doin's, yer lordship,” his servant answered, climbing down. “The couple as ‘e'd been waitin’ to marry never showed itself. Seems like the girl's up and runned off."

Charles smiled grimly. He thought he knew just where she had gone, too. He turned back with the intention of a questioning the young lady further, but she must have heard him talking to Timothy, for she reappeared round the back of the coach.

“Is this your carriage?” she said, beaming at the stately coach with his crest upon the door. “Then we can be off before he finds me!"

She flashed him a brilliant smile and held her hand out to Charles, as if she expected him to help her up with no more ado. In doing so, she completely missed the startled expression that had come over Timothy's face. Charles found himself growing warm under the surprised glance of his coachman.

Charles had always conducted himself with the greatest propriety. And his servants knew it. Everyone knew it. That was why the prime minister called on him when no one else could be trusted, least of all the Regent's friends. Charles's reputation as an upright fellow had earned him early respect. A successful political career was thought to be a certainty.

He remembered now that he had agreed to escort the girl to her guardian. However, that was before she had told him of her elopement, and now he was hopeful that some more proper solution could be found. He decided he must first try to persuade her to reconsider.

“My dear young lady,” he said again, this time as much for Timothy's ears as for his own, “you must think about the consequences of such an act. If you travel even for a short distance in a closed carriage with a gentleman, your reputation could easily be damaged."

She turned round eyes upon him-her eyes were remarkably blue, the same shade as her spencer-and laughed with an incredulous twinkle. “I should think that has already been done, shouldn't you?"

She put out her hand again. Stunned by such improper sentiments, Charles supported it quite unconsciously while she climbed into his carriage. He had never been quite so taken aback by anyone before.

Standing as if frozen, he suddenly became aware that Timothy was still gaping at him. Charles frowned until his worthy servant closed his mouth and offered him a hand into his carriage.

Angry, embarrassed and feeling generally ill-used, Charles ignored Timothy's hand and his inquisitive stare. He resented being made to look so foolish in front of his coachman and wondered just what Timothy would say to his fellow servants about this escapade. At the same time, Charles realized suddenly, the girl had made him feel unreasonably prudish for being so cautious.

Charles pulled himself into the coach and seated himself with his back to the box. Owing to the season and the haste of his journey, he had travelled without his valet, so he had ample opportunity to examine his young passenger.

She had placed herself in the forward-facing seat and now looked at him with chagrin. After a slight hesitation, she reached out and patted the bench beside her.

“Wouldn't you rather face forward?” she said. “I should not at all mind being crowded, and I would hate for my presence to render you uncomfortable in your own carriage."

Her heedless invitation astonished him. “My dear young lady,” he said, “you must take more care with what you say. After all, you don't even know me. To be quite frank, you can have no certain notion of my intentions!"

She opened her eyes wide, as if he had startled her. He was glad to see that his words had made some impression on her at last.

“Oh, dear!” she said, sighing. “Do you have any dishonourable intentions? I had somehow imagined you quite indifferent to me. Well, then-” She picked up her reticule, wrapped her arms tightly about her and prepared to step down.

“No, wait.” She turned. “You misunderstand me,” Charles said. Exasperation was now added to his list of reeling emotions. “My dear Miss-Confound it! What is your name, anyway?"

She arched her brows. “I am not certain, sir, that I should give you my name. You seem to be under the impression that I am not a proper person to know."

Charles swallowed his irritation. The truth was that he was abominably worn out, but that was no excuse for abusing this young lady in need of his help. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

He said, “Please. You must pardon me and make yourself comfortable.” He gestured towards the bench. “Please."

After hesitating a few moments, she seated herself again, and Charles reached for a lap rug to make her warm. She snuggled under it with a grateful sigh and thanked him, so he spread another over her for good measure.

“Now, then,” he said kindly, “you have no reason to fear my intentions. I shall be happy to return you to your guardian unharmed, if you will only tell me who you are, Miss-?"

“Louisa. My name is Louisa Davenport,” she said, smiling again. “And I am truly grateful, my lord. At least… I assume you are a lord from the crest on your carriage, but if you would prefer not to give me your real name, I shall understand perfectly."

A brief twinge of shame stung him. He had just been thinking that perhaps he should give her a false name in the event she did prove to be a fortune-hunter. But her astute perception, coupled with his realization that no one could have expected to waylay him or any other wealthy noble in such a spot, made him answer honestly, “Not at all. I am Charles Beckworth, Lord Wroxton, at your service."

His kindness made her blush when his arrogance had not.

“You must not think,” she said warmly, “that I do not know how shocking my behaviour must seem to you. And I am painfully aware of the inconvenience I have caused. I can only blame myself for my folly. If you return me to my guardian, I shall promise to be as little burden to you as possible.”

The tears he had seen before twinkled on her eyelashes before splashing onto the silk of her spencer. With an impatient gesture, she wiped them away and sat facing him, the healthy colour returning to her cheeks.

Charles bent forward, his resentment momentarily replaced by sympathy. He patted the hands folded in her lap.

“There, there,” he said, feeling chastened for his earlier ill feelings. “We shall have you home in a trice."

He lowered the window of the coach, just far enough to call to Timothy. “If I may just have your direction, Miss Davenport, I shall give it to my servant and we can be on our way."

Already recovered from her moment of sadness, she beamed at him again and said, “To be certain, I was fortunate you came along. In such a well made carriage, I am sure we shall get there in no time. Tell your coachman, if you please, that my aunt and uncle Davenport reside at number 57 Half-Moon Street, Mayfair."