The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh (The Cavanaughs 1)

Eventually, she did, momentarily slumping.

Ruthlessly, he thrust her onward.

As she staggered before him—still resisting every step of the way—he lowered his head and spoke by her ear. “Stop struggling, you little fool.” His words were clipped, his tone beyond tense. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just need you for leverage to ensure your damned brother doesn’t finish his steam engine and get it to Birmingham. I’m sure once he realizes you’re missing and gets the note I’ll have delivered, he’ll see the sense in doing as he’s told. Once the day of the exhibition rolls around and the Throgmorton engine fails to make an appearance, I’ll let you go.”

She was accustomed to people with one-track minds. “And until then?” She managed to make the words intelligible despite speaking around his palm.

“I’ve rented a cottage—you and I will be safe enough there.”

Safe? All he was worried about was physical safety?

What about my reputation?

She didn’t bother wasting breath wailing the words. He was an artist, right enough. She’d already noted how like inventors the species was, and this only proved it. Their world revolved about themselves, and they never even thought to consider the welfare of anyone else.

Anyone else affected by their plans, by their actions.

A thought struck. She shoved her head back into his shoulder and managed to mumble, “Mrs. Makepeace and the staff—they know who you are.”

Mayhew softly snorted. “They won’t raise any hue and cry—not with your reputation at stake. And they won’t make any fuss later, either. Once you return home, everyone—you included—will consider the incident best buried and never mentioned.”

So he’d thought of her reputation in that regard—as a threat to ensure his subsequent safety.

He didn’t know about Rand. About her and Rand.

If she was locked away with Mayhew for days, when he released her, her reputation would be effectively nonexistent among those who knew. That included Rand. And while she might hope that he would still wish to pursue his “later” with her—she was fairly certain he would trust her word regarding her virginity and, after all, she could prove it—he was a man who had reason to distrust women; this wouldn’t help. And then there was Rand’s brother, the marquess, let alone his sister-in-law! Rand hailed from the upper nobility. If his family ever found out about her sojourn in a cottage with an artist—and she had no faith the incident would remain buried for all time—she would be ostracized.

Even if Rand married her, she would still be looked down on and sneered at, and any children they had...

She couldn’t let that happen—not to her or to him.

She felt her resolve harden, like steel infusing her spine.

There’d been no sound of pursuit. It was up to her to get herself out of this.

Her first step had to be breaking from Mayhew’s hold.

Drawing every bit of determination she possessed to her, she focused her mind on the path. She traced it in her memory.

Thus far, the path had been more or less level, but not far ahead, there was a left turn where the lie of the land was deceptive. Beyond the turn, the path sloped steeply downward. And at the lower end of the incline, where the path swung right, a huge beech, standing above the path to the left, had spread a tangle of roots over and across the path. The roots were usually at least half buried by leaf mold, but the hard, contorted lumps were there, just below the loose surface.

If she could manage to unbalance Mayhew just there...

She held herself back, conserving her strength, yet she didn’t cease her ineffectual resistance. Didn’t make his task any easier. If she had, he might have started to suspect she was planning something, so she still pushed back against him, forcing him to exert his strength to keep her staggering and stumbling on before him.

The crucial bend in the path drew nearer. She strained her ears, but could still detect no hint of pursuit.

They reached the turn. She drew breath and dug in her heels, balking for all she was worth—Mayhew hissed through his teeth and shoved her on, following close on her heels.

As she’d hoped, the incline caught him by surprise.

Instinctively, his feet moved faster as he tried to catch his balance. She added to their momentum by forging ahead herself, pulling him further off balance, until they were rushing toward the end of the incline and the looming beech.

In a skidding swoosh of dead leaves, they reached the crucial spot beside the beech.

The instant she felt the hardness of a root beneath the leaves, she wrenched to the side, flinging all her remaining strength into twisting from Mayhew’s hold.

He didn’t let go. He clutched her tighter.