Indeed. Alicia’s only question was what he would say, assuming, as both she and Marie had, that Tony would come after her.
Adriana, returning with Geoffrey and an invitation to visit for a few days with Lady Manningham, with whom Adriana had got on well, had been concerned, more about what was going on between Tony and Alicia than anything else. So Adriana was now at Manningham Hall; Marie had smiled and approved the arrangement.
The boys, of course, didn’t understand. They’d argued vociferously when she’d informed them they were returning to Little Compton immediately, but Marie had broken in to state, in her most imperious tone, that if they wished to return to the Chase soon, they would go without complaint.
They’d considered Marie, exchanged glances, then consented to accompany Alicia without further grumbling.
Marie had lent her traveling coach and a knowledgeable coachman; she’d also insisted on a groom. “I have no intention of drawing Tony’s fire by allowing you to set out insufficiently protected.”
So the poor groom, as well as the coachman, was getting drenched up on the box. They would have to stop at South Molton.
She had no idea how long it would be before Tony returned from London. Three days? Four? She hoped to be home in two days.
Head back on the squabs, eyes closed, she tried yet again to calm her chaotic emotions, to bring order to her mind. The greater part was still seething, the rest confused, still innocently querying: he hadn’t really intended to marry her, had he? But some part of her knew—he did, he had, from the first. She shouldn’t have overlooked how dictatorial he was—how many times had he simply seized her hand and whirled her into a waltz, or into some room? She knew perfectly well how used he was to getting his own way.
In this instance, he still would—she wasn’t so far gone in fury she’d deny herself her dreams—but not before, absolutely not before he got down on his knees and begged.
Jaw tight, she was imagining the scene when the rhythmic thunder of galloping hooves came out of the night behind them.
The coachman slowed his horses, easing to the side of the road to let the other carriage past. Disturbed by the change in rhythm, the boys stirred, stretched, and opened their eyes.
Listening to the oncoming hooves, Alicia wondered who else was out on such a night, chancing his horses at such a wicked pace.
That pace slowed as the carriage neared, then the sound of hooves lightened further, eventually disappearing beneath the steady drumming of the rain. She strained her ears but heard nothing more.
Then came a shout, indistinguishable from within the coach, but in response the coachman reined his plodding horses to a halt.
The coach rocked on its springs. The boys came alert, eyes wide.
Alicia looked at Maggs. Head on one side, he was listening intently.
No highwayman would use a carriage, surely, and it couldn’t be—
The coach door was wrenched open. A tall dark figure was silhouetted in the opening.
Tony glanced once around the coach, then reached in and locked his fingers around Alicia’s wrist. “Stay there!”
At his tone, one of rigid authority, the four males jerked upright. He didn’t wait to check their expressions, but unceremoniously yanked Alicia—stunned speechless, he noted with uncompromising satisfaction—out of the coach.
He steadied her on her feet, then stalked down the road, towing her behind him. She gasped, but had no option but to go with him.
Courtesy of her totally witless flight, he was already soaked; she was, too, by the time he reached a point out of bellow range of the coach.
Releasing her, he swung around and faced her. He glared at her through the rain. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
The question cracked like a whip. Over the miles, he’d lectured himself not to overreact, to find out why she’d run before reading her the riot act; just the sight of her in a coach leaving him had been enough to lay waste to all such wisdom.
“I’m going home!” Her hair clung to her cheeks, wisps dripping down her neck.
“Your home lies that way!” He jabbed a finger back down the road. “Where I left you—at the Chase.”
She drew herself up, folded her arms, tipped up her chin. “I am not continuing as your mistress.”
If Alicia had had any doubt that Marie had held to her promise to play the dumb innocent and not explain her complaint, it was put to rest by the expression on Tony’s face. Expressions—they flowed in quick succession from totally dumfounded, to incredulous, to believing but unable to follow her reasoning…to not liking her reasoning at all… then back to absolutely incredulous dumbstruck fury.
“You—?” He choked. Black eyes blazing, he jabbed a finger at her. “You are not my bloody mistress!”
She nodded. “Precisely. Which is why I’m going home to Little Compton.” Picking up her skirts, she went to swing haughtily about. Her skirts slapped wetly about her legs; catching her arm, he hauled her back to face him.