‘That’s none of your concern.’
‘On the contrary. Your father’s will was rather explicit on that point. He made me responsible for you.’
‘I can take care of myself!’
‘Really?’ The eyebrow lifted even higher. ‘Have you ever done so before?’
‘No.’ She stiffened at the insinuation. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t.’
‘True, though apparently your father thought otherwise. He made me your protector.’
‘He meant your brother, not you!’
Amber eyes blazed with some powerful emotion, quickly repressed. ‘None the less, it’s me that you’ve got. Your father wanted an Amberton to look after you and I appear to be the only one left.’
She felt a burst of anger so overpowering that her body started to shake with the force of it, as though she’d been holding her temper for so long that she felt about ready to burst. Words seemed to erupt out of her suddenly, pouring out in a fierce torrent that she seemed unable to either stop or curtail.
‘My father never cared whether I was looked after or not! He only wanted me to look after him. He wanted to control me. He still wants to. That’s why he gave me to you!’
She clamped a hand over her mouth at the end of her tirade, looking around in embarrassment, but the others weren’t looking at her any more. At some point they’d moved off to one side, turning their backs to stare out at the moors as if it were a pleasant day for enjoying the view and not the start of a blizzard, leaving her effectively alone with Captain Amberton.
‘I don’t want to marry you.’ She pulled her hand away again, saying the words with as much conviction as she could muster.
‘No more than I want to marry you. But since neither of us was offered a choice, I suggest that we make the best of it.’
‘I’m going to Rosedale.’ Maybe if she kept on saying it, then he would accept it, too...
‘Not in this weather or in that cart. Given the circumstances, it would be unwise to put any further strain on the axle. Wouldn’t you agree, Driver?’
‘Oh...aye.’ The man looked over his shoulder with an apologetic expression. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but we won’t make it to Helmsley now. We might be stuck at t’mines for a bit making repairs and it’s no fit place for a lady.’
‘There you are.’ Her pursuer’s expression was glacial. ‘It seems you’ve no choice. You’ll have to come back to Whitby with me after all.’
She held his stare resentfully. It was true, she had no choice. Even if it weren’t snowing, it was too far to walk to Helmsley and, as usual, no one was paying any attention to what she wanted. Besides, she had the strong suspicion that her pursuer wasn’t going to take no for an answer. If she kept on refusing, he’d probably throw her over his saddle anyway.
She gestured towards a carpet bag on the back of the cart, trying to feign an appearance of composure. ‘My bag.’
‘Is that all you’ve brought?’ He glanced towards it and frowned.
‘Yes. Since I was going to be disinherited, it seemed wrong to take more than was rightfully mine.’
‘And those are all your belongings?’
‘Yes.’
‘How very honest of you.’ He sounded less than impressed, jerking his head at his companion. ‘Martin will bring your bag. Now might I suggest we get moving before the snow gets any worse?’
She walked stiffly towards him, unable to delay any longer, looking between him and his horse with an almost equal sense of trepidation. From a distance, she’d hoped that the scale of the animal might have been deceptive, but up close it was even bigger than she’d feared, so tall that the top of her head barely came level with the saddle.
She stopped beside it, lowering her voice with embarrassment. ‘I can’t ride.’
‘Of course you can’t.’ He let out a small sigh. ‘Just put your foot into the stirrup and pull yourself up. I won’t let you fall.’
She tensed instantly. I won’t let you fall... He’d said those words to her before, five years ago when he’d asked her to dance. She knew them by heart, had spent hours reliving every humiliating moment of that evening, wishing she’d never followed him out on to the dance floor. That had been her first taste of freedom, or so she’d thought at the time, the only time since her long-ago childhood when she’d felt happy and carefree. Whirling around in his arms, she’d felt as if she’d been breaking out of her prison at last—before reality had set in with a vengeance.
His casual mockery had made her feel even worse than she had before. She’d made a fool of herself in front of everyone, dancing with a reprobate who’d only encouraged her to rebel for his own amusement, so that he could mock her more easily. And now he was mocking her and her attempt at rebellion again, as if she were just a child who couldn’t take care of herself. He’d already said as much. It seemed that every time she tried to assert herself, he ruined it somehow.
She gritted her teeth at the thought. Well, this time she wasn’t going to let him. She wasn’t going to be small and helpless any more. He might have thwarted her escape attempt, but that was the only victory she’d allow him. She’d go back to Whitby, but she would never marry him, no matter how much he tried to convince or intimidate her. She loathed him.