The milk! The bloody warm milk she had asked for last night, hoping that it might help her sleep, never dreaming she would sleep so soundly she wouldn't even wake up for her own kidnapping!

"Aye, ye can see how it was done now, canna ye?" Geordie chuckled. "As soon as the lass was able, she slipped my men inside the house and hid them and went on home herself, her part over. Then when all the live-in servants had retired and the house was quiet, my men simply carried ye oout and brought ye tae me, and ye didna wake even once."

"So what are yer plans now?" she asked tightly, taunting. "Surely ye've something despicable in mind?"

"I've found me a mon of the cloth who's been persuaded he doesna need tae be hearing yer 'I do's' tae perform a wedding fer us. The gin-soaked sod'll be here as soon as my men can discover what alley he crawled into last night. But it willna be long now, cousin. And dinna think tae be causing a stir while we wait. Mrs. Pym will be keeping an ear open, and she's just outside the door."

As she watched him leave and heard the lock click on the door, she thought about calling him back. If he knew that both Nettie and Frances were aware of her abhorrence for him and that she would never willingly marry him, might he reconsider? But it was his rampant greed that held her tongue. Marrying her would bring him a fortune, and since he had gone this far, it was likely he could go the next step in eliminating anyone who opposed him. As it stood now, his plan could be to simply lock her away somewhere, and none would be the wiser. He could as likely have a "regrettable accident" planned. But it was a certainty that he wouldn't keep her alive if he knew she had friends who would disclaim a marriage between them, and they would be in danger too if she named them.

So where did that leave her?Married to the blackguard, was the loathsome answer. Hell's teeth, not while she still had her wits about her. But panic was beginning to take hold. Not long, he had said. How

much time did that give her? Even now the drunken reverend could be arriving. And where the bloody hell was she anyway?

Her eyes flew back to the window and she threw off the covers, rushing to the opening. Her heart sank as she saw the two-story drop, with nothing below to break a fall. No wonder Geordie had taken no precautions in boarding up the window. And if she tried to call out it for help, the deceived Mrs. Pym would have the door open in a flash, and Roslynn would no doubt find herself bound and gagged for her efforts.

Briefly, she thought of reasoning with Mrs. Pym, but only briefly. The woman probably thought she was insane or something. Geordie was clever that way, his schemes well thought out, to cover all possibilities.

He would leave nothing to chance, not with the fortune he had so long coveted at risk.

Hastily, she surveyed the room again, but only the water pitcher would make a likely weapon, and that only against the first person to come through the door. She had no guarantee that person would be Geordie, no guarantee either that the pitcher would hurt him enough to render him unconscious, or that he would be alone.

The window, then, was her only chance. It faced a lane of some sort, an alley really, though wide enough for traffic to get through. But there was no traffic. It was utterly deserted, dark and shadowed, as the buildings on each side rose far enough to hold back the daylight. Sticking her head out the window, at each end of the lane she could see streets brightly lit, wagons passing, a child running by, a sailor strolling arm in arm with a garishly dressed woman. A good shout could probably draw someone's attention.

Neither end of the lane wasthatfar away. But a good shout would draw Mrs. Pym's attention too.

Roslynn ran back to the bed, yanked off the scratchy blanket, and, rushing back, stuck it out the window. She waved it furiously, leaning out the window as well, until finally her arms became exhausted, her breath labored. Nothing. If anyone noticed, it no doubt appeared she was simply airing the blanket, nothing to elicit curiosity.

And then she heard the wagon. Her head swung around to see it slowly entering the lane, and her heart began to race with excitement. It was filled with barrels, possibly using the lane as a shortcut to reach the other street. The lone driver was whistling as he prodded his mule, pausing only to sweet-talk the animal.

Roslynn dropped the blanket, giving up waving it, waving her arms instead. But without her making a sound, the driver simply didn't notice. His hat was wide-brimmed, and since she was above him, she was blocked from his view. The nearer he came, the less chance there was that he would see her at all, and the more she panicked. She hissed, and saidpsst, and waved even more frantically to draw his attention, but to no avail. By the time she thought to throw the water pitcher down at him, he was already too far past her window. Besides, with the noise the wagon was making over the cobbled lane, she doubted he would have heard the crash unless she landed a direct hit, which was unlikely as sore as her arms were already.

Disappointment washed over her and she slumped back against the wall beside the window. This just wouldn't do. Even if the fellow had noticed her, how could she have explained her predicament in a whisper? He wouldn't have been able to understand her. And if she spoke any louder than a whisper, she would give herself away to Mrs. Pym.

Hell's teeth, was there nothing else she could do? She eyed the water pitcher again, but she had little hope she could succeed with it. When Geordie came again, he was likely to have the reverend with him, as well as the men who had fetched him, for witnesses to this unholy ceremony would be needed.

Roslynn was so distraught by picturing herself actually married to Geordie Cameron that she didn't hear the second vehicle passing through the lane until it was almost too late. When she turned at the sound, the hay wagon was nearly beneath her window. This driver, also alone, was cursing the two nags pulling the load of hay, emphasizing his apparent ire by shaking the gin bottle in his hand at them, swilling a long draft, then shaking it with another curse.Hewouldn't hear her for the noise he himself was making, and he was so close already.

There was nothing for it. She might not have another chance. So without thinking about it, for that would have terrified her and kept her inside, Roslynn climbed up on the window ledge, waited the few seconds until the wagon was directly below, and jumped.

Chapter Fourteen

Itwas an insane thing to do. That thought passed through Roslynn's mind as she was falling, falling, her feet flying up in front of her eyes, her hands instinctively clutching at air, knowing she was going to die.

She cursed Geordie with her last breath, but at least there was some satisfaction that he would think she preferred death to marrying him, though not enough satisfaction to make it worthwhile, for she was the one dying, while that greedy cur would probably produce a marriage certificate and claim her fortune anyway.

She landed with a bone-jarring impact, fiat on her back. Breath and wits deserted her, and for a moment she actually passed out. A missing cobblestone was responsible for the wagon's jolt that brought her back to her senses. She groaned, thinking she must surely have a dozen broken bones. But the next jarring of the wagon caused her no discomfort. Incredible. To have done something so stupid, yet come through unscathed. She was surely blessed, but then fools usually were, and she was the greatest of that number today. She could have broken her neck, and well she knew it! But thank God for the cushion of hay. If it had been any other load this wagon was carrying…

Miraculously, the drunken driver was unaware he had gained a passenger, but Roslynn supposed her impact with the wagon seemed no different to him in his sottish condition from the wagon hitting a particularly deep rut. Either that, or the man was deaf.

Scattered hay nearly covered her from head to foot, but one glance at the window she had just leaped from, and she swiftly yanked handfuls to complete the camouflage. And not a moment too soon. The wagon rolled out of the shadowed lane into the congested, brightly lit street, and Roslynn finally realized, horribly, that she was wearing nothing more than the thin white cotton nightgown she had gone to sleep in last night, and was barefoot as well.

But she could be thankful for small favors. At least the gown wasn't one of the skimpy negligees that had been made for her trousseau. It covered her from neck to ankle, with flowing long sleeves cuffed at the wrist, and she supposed if she could find something that would make do for a belt, it might pass for a dress at first glance.

Unfortunately, Roslynn had little time to think of that or how she was going to get home without money.

The wagon rolled into a stable and stopped, and she just managed to scurry out of it and hide behind an empty stall before the driver came around back to begin unloading the hay. Another man, big and burly, joined him, cursing him in a good-humored way for being late. While they both tackled the hay, Roslynn reconnoitered.

A stable wasn't such a bad place to end her journey thus far. Actually, it was ideal. If she could just rent a horse and get directions to Mayfair, for she still had no idea what part of the city she was in now, she could be home before long and without further incident. The trouble was, the only thing of value on her person was her mother's crucifix, which she wore whenever she wasn't decked out in her more costly jewels, and it was unthinkable to part with it. Still, it didn't look as if she would have much choice in the matter, unless she was closer to Mayfair than she realized. Then she could chance walking, even barefoot.

Roslynn frowned at that idea. It wasn't one of her better ones, and she was forgetting the sort of street traffic she had seen passing by the lane—delivery wagons, drunkards, sailors walking with their doxies, but not one carriage. And this stable wasn't so very far from where she had escaped. Whatever part of town this was, it certainly wasn't elite, and trying to walk through it would likely give her more trouble than she had started with. Which left her again with the desperate need to rent a horse.

Not knowing if Geordie had discovered her absence yet and might already be searching for her in the nearby vicinity made Roslynn a bundle of nerves as she waited for the gin-guzzler to depart with his hay wagon. But she had decided to risk being alone with the other fellow to state her case, for the less people who saw her in her present condition, the better. She could just imagine the scandal should any of this get out.Lady Chadwick cavorting through the slums in her nightgown. How thetonwould eat that up, and down the wayside would go her last chance for a quick, decent marriage.

Still, she had to mentally push herself out of her hiding place once it appeared she was finally alone with the stableman, mortified that anyone, stranger or not, should see her in her bedclothes. And her embarrassment increased a hundredfold when the big fellow actually noticed her and his eyes fairly popped out of his head. Standing with one bare foot unsuccessfully trying to hide the other, her arms crossed over her chest because even though she was completely covered, she stillfeltnaked, and her hair streaming about her upper torso, ribboned with straw, she was a sight to behold—a very fetching sight, actually, though she would be the last to think so.

The man must have thought so, however, because he continued to stare, unmoving, unspeaking, his mouth hanging open. He was middle-aged, brown hair feathered with gray, gray stubble on a too-wide jaw. Whether he was proprietor or employee she couldn't tell. It didn't matter, though. He was all she had to help her, and knowing that filled her with a nervousness she wouldn't otherwise have felt.

Roslynn blurted out her predicament with the briefest explanation, but so swiftly, it was doubtful the fellow understood even two words of it. And in fact, it was several long moments before he gave any indication that he had heard her at all. Then he chuckled, hitching up his pants and walking toward her.

"A 'orse, eh? Ye should 'ave said right off, miss. 'Ere I was thinking me good friend Zeke 'ad sent o'er a right fine birthday present. A orse?" He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Can't blame a man fer wishful thinking."

Roslynn was blushing furiously before he had finished laughing. "Do you have one to rent?"

"Two I 'ave, both nags, but the good stock goes out early, it does."

"Will you take this, then?" She lifted the cross off her neck and handed it to him. "It'll buy both nags plus several more, but I'll be wanting it back. I'll send someone back with the horse and the proper payment."

He turned the cross over in his hand, then had the audacity to bite on it before nodding his head. "It'll do."

"I don't suppose you'd have a pair of shoes I could borrow too?"

He took one look at her dainty feet and snorted at the request. "Not likely, miss. Me children's all growed an' gone, they are."

Desperately she asked, "A cloak, then, or something to cover myself with?''

"Now, that I can manage. Aye, an' best I do, or ye'd be causing a bleeding riot in the streets, ye would."

Roslynn was too relieved to be annoyed at the sound of his laughter as he went off to fetch her the nag.

Chapter Fifteen

The shadows of twilight grew darker with each passing second. What should have amounted to a thirty-minute ride had turned into a three-hour excursion of wrong turns, delays, and increasing aggravations. But at least Roslynn knew where she was now, and in fact she was grateful for the dark, for in her eagerness to be home she hadn't taken into consideration the ride down South Audley Street, where any number of people might have recognized her. The dark came in handy for concealment, and handier still was the hood of the old moth-eaten cloak the stableman had tossed her.

Hell's teeth, this day couldn't end soon enough for her, but it was far from finished yet. She could no longer stay with Frances, not even for tonight. And she could no longer delay getting married. Geordie's locating her had changed everything. She even expected to find him waiting on the doorstep for her, or secreted in a carriage ready to pounce on her the moment she reached the house.