The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

"Yes." Another creak from the wrecked carriage had her panicking. "Quick, before the coach goes."

Plaistow rushed forward to grab Brock’s arms and heave him free. The violent movement was too much for the carriage’s equilibrium. With a volley of sharp snaps, the once-opulent vehicle lurched into the ditch, landing with a resounding crash and the tinkle of more broken glass.

Selina rushed up to support Brock before he collapsed to the ground. She staggered as his full weight rested on her.

"All set, my lord?" Plaistow asked. "We were lucky nobody was killed. I thought my time was up, I don’t mind telling you."

"Thank you for your help," Brock said, managing to stand on his own feet before she folded under him, thank goodness.

Now the immediate danger passed, Selina started to shake like a leaf. She clung to Brock’s arm and dragged in a shuddering breath to clear the fog from her head. For the first time since the accident, she paid attention to her surroundings.

They were standing on an empty stretch of road, with flat, lifeless fields extending around them. It was a cold, bleak place to be stranded. Nobody had done anything to round up the horses since Plaistow had unharnessed them from Brock’s carriage. Now the frightened animals milled around, snorting and shying and trailing broken leather straps. It was a miracle that they seemed to have survived the smash without serious injury.

Brock’s carriage was beyond repair, so she hoped Plaistow and his passengers were willing to take her and her lover up with them. At the Blue Wagon, Kitty and John would be worried sick about her.

On the edge of the road, Erskine slumped on the ground, nursing his arm. Beyond him, two well-dressed men stood in conversation in the shadow of the other carriage, which appeared to have suffered no damage.

Horror filled her when she realized one of the men was Lord Derwent. But that was nothing compared to her reaction when the other man turned toward her.

Across the distance, she found herself staring into Cecil Canley-Smythe’s appalled face. He made an uncertain step in her direction. "Selina?"

Then he took in the fact that she stood beside one of the most notorious rakes in England, and his features tautened with fury.

Chapter 11

Brock felt Selina stiffen beside him, then he heard someone speak her name. He turned from contemplating his wrecked carriage in time for Selina’s fiancé to shove him away from her.

Taken by surprise, he didn’t offer immediate resistance as Cecil grabbed her arm and wrenched her toward him. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Brock watched the confidence he loved blanch out of her face, leaving her looking ashamed and frightened. "Cecil, I…"

"Let her go," Brock growled.

Cecil sent him a haughty look. "You have no rights over this woman."

"Cecil, please don’t make a scene," Selina pleaded, wrenching back to try and break his hold.

"Canley-Smythe, what is this to-do?" Lord Derwent strode over to Cecil, then he took in Selina and Brock’s presence. Aristocratic displeasure hardened his features as he realized who had occupied the other coach. "Mrs. Martin, your servant. Bruard."

"Derwent," Brock said coldly. He struggled to come up with some unexceptional reason for him to be with Selina. "Mrs. Martin has been staying with a friend in the locality, and I arranged to collect her on my way back from my hunting box on the coast."

"I…see," Derwent said slowly. To his chagrin, Brock knew that he did indeed see. Far too much, blast him.

"Mrs. Martin has had a shock, and it’s cold out here. Could I prevail upon you to drive her to the Blue Wagon? She has a carriage waiting there to take her to London."

Cecil flung Selina off as if she was infected with some contagious disease. "Better to let the traitorous hellcat freeze."

"Cecil, as Lord Bruard said…" she began, sounding even less convincing than Brock had.

"I didn’t come down in the last shower, you lying slut. You’ve been with that lecherous bastard since I left you."

Brock saw Selina flinch, and he stepped nearer to extend his arm, but she recoiled from his protection. The frozen misery on her face had threatened to break his heart. It was worse now when she refused to accept any help from him.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to the lady," Brock snapped.

"I’ll call it as I see it."

Derwent winced. It was clear that he was eager to avoid dramatics. "Canley-Smythe, I realize this encounter is unexpected, but theatrics benefit nobody."