An hour later, he was whipping his horses up the Great North Road, cursing everything and anything that got in his way. Cursing the few minutes he'd wasted writing a short note to Devil, telling him what had occurred.
Telling him he'd bring her back.
Most of all, he cursed himself. For not saying the words she'd wanted to hear, for not having the courage to admit the truth and damn the past to perdition. He'd had the perfect opportunity last night, but had jibbed and taken the easy way out. Insisted she be the one to bend, to adjust to accepting only as much as he was willing to give. He'd had the chance to open his heart to her; instead, he'd chosen to keep it shielded. Even from her. He'd shied away from the risk-they were both close to paying the price.
His curricle flew onward, weaving around slower conveyances, racing along the flats. He changed horses at Barnet and frequently thereafter, cursing the necessity of travelling without a groom. He hadn't wanted any other witness present when he caught up with her carriage. Having to deal with Carmarthen and their coachman would be bad enough.
But she and Carmarthen wouldn't be racing, they wouldn't be constantly changing horses to keep up their pace. He'd wondered about her note, then he'd realized. It had been left to be delivered later that night, once pursuit was an impossibility. Instead, he was less than five hours behind them, and his curricle was much faster than a coach.
Fate-that fickle female-had given him one last chance. If he'd been less restless, more confident of her answer, he wouldn't have gone to Upper Brook Street at the unexpected hour of four o'clock. But he had, so he had one last opportunity to give her the words she wanted-to pay the price for her "yes." One last opportunity to convince her to be his.
And not Carmarthen's.
The light slowly faded as he flicked his whip and sent the horses careening on. He could hear Connor's cynical, mocking laugh on the wind.
Amanda closed her eyes as the lights of Chesterfield faded behind them. She'd dozed for most of the journey; she wasn't sleepy, but Reggie, seated opposite, had shut his eyes the instant they'd left Derby. At least he'd stopped lecturing her.
She'd been waiting with her plan when Louise and Amelia had returned from Lady Hatcham's morning tea. Louise had listened, then agreed, but had stipulated she had to have company on the long trip to the Vale. Louise had glanced at Amelia-who had stared, silently, at Amanda. It was then Reggie was announced; he'd arrived to escort them to Lady Cardigan's luncheon.
The instant she applied to him, he'd stiffened his spine, and like the true friend he was, declared himself willing to journey north with her. He'd visited the Vale with them before and enjoyed it; he'd shot off home to pack his bag. She'd picked him up in the coach, and they'd headed out of town.
Only after Barnet had fallen behind them did it occur to Reggie to ask why, exactly, she was heading north so precipitously. Where was Dexter?
She'd explained-entirely unexpectedly, Reggie had taken Martin's part. He'd been as angry as she'd ever seen him; he'd lectured her for miles on her "unrealistic expectations," on why holding to such an intransigent line when Dexter had shown himself willing to accommodate her in so many ways was exceedingly bad form. He'd gone on and on and on.
Luc she'd expected, not Reggie.
She'd sat there stunned and let his words flow past her. There'd seemed little point trying to argue or defend herself. On this one point, it appeared there was a masculine view, one instantly espoused by each and every male, while the feminine stance was diametrically opposed.
Reggie had finally shut up when they'd reached Derby. They dined in silence at the Red Bells, then set off again. He'd taken his seat, folded his arms, glared coldly at her, then shut his eyes.
He hadn't opened them since; she'd heard a small snore.
The coach rocked along. It was a long, tiring journey to the Vale, but she'd made it many times in the years since Richard and Catriona had married. Then had come the twins, and they now had a second little daughter, Annabelle… her mind drifted over the happiness that stood at the heart of the Vale. What she wanted for Martin and herself had never seemed so clear.
"Hold hard!"
The shout from behind jerked her to attention, jerked Reggie from his nap. He frowned. "What the-"
The coachman hauled on the reins; the horses plunged, the coach rocked wildly, then settled. Amanda righted herself, stared, stunned, into the black night, utterly unable to believe her ears.
It couldn't be. It wasn't possible-
The carriage door flew open; a large, familiar shadow filled the gap.
"There you are!" The relief that poured through Martin nearly brought him to his knees. Evoked, instead, a need to seize. He reached out, locked his hand about Amanda's wrist and hauled her out of the carriage, into his arms.
He stepped back as she wriggled furiously.
"Martin! What the devil are you doing? Put me down!"
He set her on her feet and scowled at her. "What am I doing? It wasn't me who ran away to Scotland!
"I wasn't running away!"
"Indeed? Then perhaps you can explain-"
"If you don't mind"-Reggie's cool tones cut across their altercation-"the coachman and I don't need to be regaled with this. We'll drive on around the bend and wait there." He reached out for the carriage door.