Charles turned back to the window before the meaning of her words fully struck him. When they did, he gasped and had to swallow several times before he found his tongue.

“Mayfair!” he said, whirling to face her. “Dear God! Do you mean to say you came all the way from London at this time of year?"

Louisa's eyes, round with surprise, looked fearfully back at him.

“Why, of course, dear sir… didn't you?"

Charles blustered, “Yes-that is to say I am returning to London from Edinburgh, but-"

She sighed with relief. “Then, isn't it fortunate! For a moment, I thought you were about to say that London would be out of your way."

Charles opened his mouth and then closed it. He collected himself and started again. “My dear young-” He tried again. “Miss Davenport! It would be highly improper for a gentleman, such as myself, and a lady of your tender years to spend all of four days enclosed together in a carriage!"

She spoke as to a child. “Yes, you have already told me so and I agreed, but I thought we were also agreed that my reputation had suffered already?"

“But the implication-The rumours that are sure to result-"

She laughed. “I am in no position to reflect on that now. But I daresay,” she added comfortably, “that they will all blow over. I am not so green that I do not know that heiresses are forgiven much."

This information caught him off guard. “Are you an heiress?"

She nodded. “A considerable one.” Then she added regretfully, “I greatly fear that my fortune might have been Geoffrey's object in eloping with me. But perhaps, in my present circumstances, a large fortune might not be such a bad thing to have."

Charles reflected that at least he, as a marquess, would not be accused of trying to steal her fortune. But as he looked at her-her dazzling curls clustered about her pretty face, her attractive figure-he realized that other motives might quite likely be attributed to him.

He swallowed again. “Miss Davenport, I'm afraid that your innocence keeps you from recognizing your full peril. Why… my own purposes might even be called into question! Improper notions are certain to be roused."

“Lord Wroxton!” She fixed him with a look of assumed shock. “Do you mean to tell me you are getting improper notions?"

“No! Not at all! It is just that-"

She chuckled. “I thought not.” She shook her head, and her curls bounced with the motion. “If neither you nor I have an improper idea in our heads, my lord, then I do not see what there is to be concerned about."

Thinking of his own reputation, and his honour, which might be compromised by such an interlude, he stammered, “But Miss Davenport, how shall we explain such a compromising situation?"

The imperturbable Miss Davenport smiled carelessly at him. “I shall be happy to leave that up to you, Lord Wroxton. For myself, I shall just tell the truth-that you found me in great distress and saved me from my folly."

Then, as if the discussion were over, she settled back on her seat, raising the lap rugs to cover her shoulders.

“Hadn't we better get under way?” she suggested. “My aunt and uncle will gladly reimburse you for whatever expenses you incur on my behalf, so you need not worry on that score."

Her mention of this put Charles forcibly in mind of the accommodations they would need to seek on the road. The day was already quite advanced. Charles could not possibly make it to Lord Northridge's estate, nor would he dare show up on his lordship's doorstep with an unknown lady on his arm. Such conduct would surely ruin him. He would never have the government's confidence again.

But the journey to London was far too long to make without breaking, and if they did not hurry, they might find themselves without suitable lodging for the night.

Still suffering from the jolt Miss Davenport had dealt him, Charles did the only thing he could think to do at the moment. He called up to Timothy to make haste and not to spare the horses.

Timothy called down, “Where to, my lord?"

Charles gritted his teeth. “To London, you dolt!” he said unreasonably.

He slammed the window shut and felt his anger gradually fading. He was not accustomed to abusing his servants and already regretted his harsh tone. But, by Jove, this Miss Davenport had a talent for making him do things he had never done before. He glanced at her balefully, but discovered that she had already tucked her feet up under the rugs and had closed her eyes to rest.

The coach gave a lurch and a bump. Putting a hand over his brow, Charles gave in at last to the headache that had been dogging him.

Chapter Two

The coach travelled as swiftly as it could over snow-covered hills; but to Charles, with his head splitting, the ride seemed interminable. He could not remember the last time he had been so overcome by a headache that every dip in the road caused him agony. His companion, however, appeared not to feel all the jerks that tortured him. She dozed snugly on her bench and remained quiet, even after the sun disappeared over the bleak horizon and the coach was plunged into darkness.

By this time, they had stopped twice for horses already, but on neither occasion had Charles stepped down for refreshment, nor had he offered Miss Davenport any. His anxiety to get to London had increased with each mile, and every stab in his head only served to strengthen his sense of urgency. The enormity of the scandal that would certainly follow this escapade burgeoned in his mind until he was convinced his whole career would be ruined by it. That Miss Davenport seemed blissfully unaware of the damage she had done to his prospects did not improve his temper.

Eventually, the call he had expected from Timothy floated down from the box. “Shall I stop at the next village, sir?"

Charles lowered his window and felt a blast of cold air that made him wince. “How bad is it?"

“It's that bad, sir. Even wif a lantern, I don't think I'll see me own nose much longer. I'd fear to cross the moors in the dark."

Charles sighed. “Push them as far as Brough, if you can."

“Aye, sir."

“Pardon me, Lord Wroxton.” Miss Davenport spoke hesitantly across from him. “But are you particularly known in Appleby, sir?"

“No.” Charles realized that in the past four hours he had not given her one chance to step down. A lady might very well feel the need to stop more often, and if that were the case, she had been exceedingly stoic. The awareness of his own thoughtlessness made him feel guilty; but he was too annoyed with her to let guilt soften his tone.

“I had thought we should make as much haste to London as possible,” he said, trying not to clench his teeth. “But if you have needs that must be met sooner, I shall certainly give the order to stop.” Not a gracious way of putting it, he thought, but he trusted that would not stop such a forward chit from demanding what she wanted.

After a diffident pause, she surprised him by saying, “It is not that I require anything in particular, and I quite understand the need to hurry. It is simply that I am rather known in Brough."

“Good God!” Charles said, unable to help himself.

“Precisely, sir. Brough was one of the stops we were forced to make on our journey northward. And by then, you see, I was quite convinced that I wanted to return. It was only the knowledge of my own blame that kept me from making a fearful scene in the inn there. I could not very well expose Geoffrey to public insults.

“But if we stop there, too,” she continued in an apologetic voice, “and I appear with quite a different gentleman at my side, I'm afraid I shall acquire something of a bandbox reputation, indeed."

Charles swallowed the exclamations that rose to his lips. With his head pounding, he had not reflected on all the hazards likely to face him on this journey. He had never thought that they must avoid, at all costs, not only the inns where he habitually stayed, but also the ones in which Miss Davenport had stopped with her erstwhile fiancé. With little hope, he wondered what comfort would be left to them.

Without another word to her, he lowered the window again and called up to his coachman, “I have changed my mind, Timothy. I want you to stop in Appleby, after all!"

“Very good, yer lordship.” Timothy sounded so relieved that Charles was reminded of how disagreeable this trip must have been for his coachman, as well. At least he and Miss Davenport had four walls to shelter them from the north wind and furs to keep out the worst of the cold. But poor Timothy had nothing but his layered capes and rugs. He must be nearly frozen by now.

These thoughts reconciled Charles to the need to stop even more than the welcome prospect of getting treatment for the pain in his head.

Miss Davenport's voice came again from the dark. “Have you given any thought to how we should present ourselves, Lord Wroxton?"

Charles grimaced wryly. “I'm afraid I have not, Miss Davenport. But with my crest on my carriage, I can hardly present myself as anyone other than who I am."

“Precisely what I was thinking, my lord,” she said. And with rather excessive cheerfulness, Charles thought. “And if I might make a few suggestions, I think we may overcome any suspicion of our circumstances."

“Pray go ahead, Miss Davenport. I am all ears. I trust you shall inform me of any other villages we must avoid on our journey, as well."

Ignoring the irony in his tone, she said, “Willingly, my lord. Well, as I was saying, I think it would be best if we said I was your cousin, Louisa, and you were escorting me home for Christmas when our baggage coach broke down outside Carlisle.

“I considered being your niece,” she confided, “but I hardly think that would serve."