Winnifred had made her choice. There was no going back. No getting married. And absolutely no going forward with a scoundrel like Asher Holt.
She only wished her dress would cooperate. This voluminous, impossible-to-manage meringue was not designed to enter or to leave—as she was attempting now—these narrow carriage doorways with any haste whatsoever.
Of course, it would be simpler if she could gather up her skirts to get them out of the way. But the dishonest, dark-haired devil had slipped out the other door and was now standing on the sloped ground. Directly in her path.
“Winn, will you please stop this nonsense? You’re filling Portman’s head with the wrong notion.”
“Right, because this is my fault entirely. The men shooting at us had nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”
He had the nerve to hiss through his teeth with impatience. “Let’s talk this over before it starts to rain again.”
“A deluge wouldn’t entice me to linger in your company.”
Yet even as she spoke, she cast a quick glance up to the clouds. Surveying them, she decided they appeared more like the pale lavender color of freshly squeezed clouds, rather than the dark bloated gray of imminent rain.
Not that it would matter either way. She’d made her decision. And the sooner she started, the better.
Turning around, she tried to descend backward. At least that way, she wouldn’t have to worry about exposing her undergarments to the viscount. Not only that, but her corset was pinching again, the busk digging into her navel, and she didn’t want him to see her wince.
Folding the thick hem around one wrist, she took a hasty sip of air, and clutched the meager strip of framing on either side of the door. Then, clenching every muscle inside her body, she lowered her bottom through the opening.
A pair of strong hands settled over her hips and she squeaked with surprise.
“As much as I enjoy this view,” the blackguard said in a low drawl, “I will not stand by while you hurt yourself.”
Winnifred paid no attention to the warm tingles spreading down her limbs and up her torso. And didn’t give a passing notice to the quick flutters low in her midriff.
Or at least, she tried not to.
Momentarily breathless, she said, “I will manage perfectly fine . . . on my own. Kindly remove your . . . hands from my person.”
He growled but obeyed, stepping aside.
She lowered one foot to the ground, then the other, and planted her slippers securely beneath her. Proud of her accomplishment, she cast him a smug look over her shoulder and took a step back . . . but without realizing that a portion of her dress refused to leave the carriage.
A tug. A rip. And before she knew it, she was flat on her rump, her teeth clacking together, her hands full of rocks and dirt and grass.
Angry, she batted down the cloud of tulle and taffeta and blew the mass of fallen hair from her forehead. “I despise this dress!”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think the lace is quite nice.”
“There isn’t any lace on—”
She gasped. With a glance, she saw that the hem had risen above her knees, exposing the two rows of Belgian Point de Gaze that edged her sheer white linen drawers. Squeezing her legs shut, she hastily shoved down her skirts.
“Cad,” she muttered. He had the nerve to flash a grin that made heat climb to her cheeks. And when he extended his hand to help her up, she glared at him. “Don’t you think you’ve taken enough liberties today?”
“It’s still early,” he teased with an impatient waggle of his fingers.
She shooed his hand away and awkwardly stood on her own, brushing off her skirts the best she could. “If I didn’t find you so utterly reprehensible, you would make the ideal subject to study.”
“If that’s a reference to the book your insane friends mentioned, then I want no part of it.”
“You needn’t worry, regardless. A man like you would only deserve a small mention in the chapter ‘How to Spot a Scoundrel.’”
She was sure that Jane and Ellie would understand that she could no longer offer insight into the reasons that gentlemen marry. But she had to contribute something. She may as well use the horrid man at her disposal.
He scoffed. “You didn’t even know who I was until I told you.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged, pursing her lips. “But I knew you were a scoundrel right off with the way you . . . And then how you . . .” She waved a hand toward the carriage and arched her brows with meaning, recalling every improper touch. Her cheeks caught fire, flushing crimson, and she cleared her throat. “Well, you know what you did.”
The rascal had the nerve to chuckle.
Without warning, the sound touched a raw wound inside her. The one that reminded her of every disappointed sigh from her mother. Every grunt from her maid tying up her laces. Every look of disgust from Mr. Woodbine.
And suddenly she realized that she’d been intimating that the excessively handsome Asher Holt had been attempting to seduce her—freckled Winnifred Humphries with the impossible hair and plump figure.
That chuckle told her she was a fool, and it reminded her that a man could only be interested in her father’s money.
“What was your aim in kidnapping me, hmm?”
He shook his head and glanced up to his driver. “There was no kidnapping, Portman. I merely aided in her escape.”
“By deceiving me!”
He returned his attention back to her with a frown. “If that was true, then I’d hardly have told you my name, or revealed that I was the one your friends accosted. All I wanted was to get back the money they stole from me.”
“Jane and Ellie may have used less than sound judgment the other night, but they never would have robbed you.” She set her hands on her hips and eyed him shrewdly. “The truth of the matter is, you thought to ransom Lord Waldenfield’s daughter to gain a fortune.”
He scowled back at her.
“I dunna want any part of this, my lord,” Mr. Portman interjected from his perch, his brow knitted beneath a brown beaver hat. He clutched the reins so tightly that the horses shifted nervously on the rain-softened path. “My wife is about to have our first babe. I canna go to gaol! And, if you’ll permit me to say it, you canna either.”
“No one is going to gaol,” Asher said with the steady assurance that only a blackguard—far too familiar with such episodes—could summon. “We’re simply going to step back into the carriage and figure out a way to return Miss Humphries to her father before any permanent damage has been done to her reputation. After all, I don’t want to end up married to a willful, spoiled little heiress for the rest of my life.”
“Ha! My father would sooner sell me to a shopkeeper than a profligate like you. At least then he’d gain something of worth in return,” Winnifred hissed. “And for your information, I would have paid handsomely for you to escort me to my aunt’s. Far more than you claim to have lost. Oh, and by the by”—she narrowed her eyes—“just how were you intending to recuperate your money, kidnap my friends as well?”
“Are you admitting that your friends stole my money, then?” he asked, his tone gaining volume as their argument progressed.
“Absolutely not! Though you were certainly quick to suggest selling my necklace to a jeweler and, I imagine, eager to take your share of it.”
“We’ll never know, will we?” He sneered. “And this is the gratitude I receive for having saved you from a pair of ruffians!”
“For all I know, they were after you!”
He arched a brow. “As far as I am aware, you are the only one of us who has recently absconded from her own wedding. Moreover, if not for my assistance, you would likely be married to that philandering Mr. Woodbine this instant. Do you think he planned to share a bed with you and his mistress this evening?”
Winnifred gasped. He’d crossed a line. By the ever-so-slight widening of his eyes, she could tell he knew it, too.
“You. Are. Despicable.” She’d had enough. “I’m leaving! You can go to my father if you like. Or, better yet, go to the devil. All I know is that I never, ever, want to see you again. Now, hand over my necklace.”
“I don’t have it. You probably left it in the . . .”
They both turned toward the carriage. But it wasn’t there.
Apparently, at some point during all their shouting, the driver had pulled away. And worse, with her necklace.