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Authors: Isobel Carr
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petticoats like a foul sprigging.
“I need to use the privy.”
Gareth glanced around the busy yard, eyes tracking the chaos. “Be quick about it and hurry back.”
Beau clenched her teeth and wove her way through the throng that seemed to have filled the inn’s courtyard to the bursting
point. She stepped into the taproom to askdirections to the privy, and a harried-looking maid thrust a rough stoneware cup of tea into her hands.
Beau drank it without hesitation. Lord knew when Gareth would see fit to feed her next. He’d refused to stop to eat or sleep,
paying extra for a new team to push on through the night. They’d changed teams again just before dawn, but all she’d got was
a cup of ale and a stale muffin without so much as butter or jam.
She finished the tea, scalding her tongue in the process, and got directions to the inn’s privies from a group of female passengers.
Once the call of nature had been answered, Beau stepped out and hurried toward the back door of the busy inn. A harried woman
with a child in tow passed her, scolding the child under her breath.
The door of the privy snapped shut behind them, and Beau was suddenly hauled off her feet. Her scream was cut off by a large,
gloved hand covering her mouth. Beau wrenched her head to one side and bit down. The man cursed, wrapping his arm more securely
about her waist.
Beau flailed, catching him a glancing blow with her elbow and a more solid one with her heel. His grip slackened, and she
pulled loose. She threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder as she rushed inside. Nowlin. Not one of her brothers. Thank God.
Heart in her throat, Beau pushed through the crowd and into the busy yard. Sandison was impossible to miss, pale head shining
above the rest. His brows drew sharply together as he spotted her. Beau fought the tears that she could feel building behind
her eyes.
A groom ran past, leading a steaming bay, and she lost sight of Sandison for a moment. Beau forced herselfto stand calmly. To wait. Sandison was right there. With a flick of its tail, the horse was gone, and Sandison was striding
toward her.
He swept her across the yard, arm wrapped protectively about her. “I think one of your brothers has just arrived, so best
hurry. No one’s stepped out of the coach yet, but I swear that’s Sampson on the box.”
Beau’s stomach turned over, and her hands went cold. “Mr. Nowlin as well. He tried to grab me.”
“Here?” Sandison glanced hurriedly around. “Whatever happens, I promise you”—his voice dropped, the tone turning dark—“Mr.
Nowlin will be dealt with.” His grip tightened, the pressure welcome and reassuring. “Don’t you dare vomit on my boots, brat.
We’ll brush through this. Thankfully the yard is still overrun. We should be able to slip away if we’re quick about it.”
Beau held her breath and ducked her head. Please let it not be Leo. Please let it not be Leo. The single thought burned through
her like a prayer.
As Sandison thrust her into the coach, she heard her elder brother’s voice, loud and brusque. “Get the team changed. I’m going
inside to look for her.”
Sandison stepped in, the door closed, and he knocked hard against the roof to signal the coachman to set off. “Glennalmond,”
he said. “I don’t think he saw either of us.”
“He wouldn’t,” Beau replied. “Glennalmond’s looking for what he’s found before: a trail of wreckage, woe, and blood, leading
to a man who’s rapidly coming to the realization that he’s made a profound mistake.”
Lord Leonidas Vaughn stood rooted beside his horse, rage and betrayal crawling up this throat to choke him. Glennalmond had
missed Beau entirely. Leo had very nearly done so himself. It hadn’t been the woman in the ill-fitting gown who had caught
his eye. It had been the tall, familiar figure of his closest friend.
Sandison. The man he’d left in charge of keeping an eye on Beau. A man he’d
“I need to use the privy.”
Gareth glanced around the busy yard, eyes tracking the chaos. “Be quick about it and hurry back.”
Beau clenched her teeth and wove her way through the throng that seemed to have filled the inn’s courtyard to the bursting
point. She stepped into the taproom to askdirections to the privy, and a harried-looking maid thrust a rough stoneware cup of tea into her hands.
Beau drank it without hesitation. Lord knew when Gareth would see fit to feed her next. He’d refused to stop to eat or sleep,
paying extra for a new team to push on through the night. They’d changed teams again just before dawn, but all she’d got was
a cup of ale and a stale muffin without so much as butter or jam.
She finished the tea, scalding her tongue in the process, and got directions to the inn’s privies from a group of female passengers.
Once the call of nature had been answered, Beau stepped out and hurried toward the back door of the busy inn. A harried woman
with a child in tow passed her, scolding the child under her breath.
The door of the privy snapped shut behind them, and Beau was suddenly hauled off her feet. Her scream was cut off by a large,
gloved hand covering her mouth. Beau wrenched her head to one side and bit down. The man cursed, wrapping his arm more securely
about her waist.
Beau flailed, catching him a glancing blow with her elbow and a more solid one with her heel. His grip slackened, and she
pulled loose. She threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder as she rushed inside. Nowlin. Not one of her brothers. Thank God.
Heart in her throat, Beau pushed through the crowd and into the busy yard. Sandison was impossible to miss, pale head shining
above the rest. His brows drew sharply together as he spotted her. Beau fought the tears that she could feel building behind
her eyes.
A groom ran past, leading a steaming bay, and she lost sight of Sandison for a moment. Beau forced herselfto stand calmly. To wait. Sandison was right there. With a flick of its tail, the horse was gone, and Sandison was striding
toward her.
He swept her across the yard, arm wrapped protectively about her. “I think one of your brothers has just arrived, so best
hurry. No one’s stepped out of the coach yet, but I swear that’s Sampson on the box.”
Beau’s stomach turned over, and her hands went cold. “Mr. Nowlin as well. He tried to grab me.”
“Here?” Sandison glanced hurriedly around. “Whatever happens, I promise you”—his voice dropped, the tone turning dark—“Mr.
Nowlin will be dealt with.” His grip tightened, the pressure welcome and reassuring. “Don’t you dare vomit on my boots, brat.
We’ll brush through this. Thankfully the yard is still overrun. We should be able to slip away if we’re quick about it.”
Beau held her breath and ducked her head. Please let it not be Leo. Please let it not be Leo. The single thought burned through
her like a prayer.
As Sandison thrust her into the coach, she heard her elder brother’s voice, loud and brusque. “Get the team changed. I’m going
inside to look for her.”
Sandison stepped in, the door closed, and he knocked hard against the roof to signal the coachman to set off. “Glennalmond,”
he said. “I don’t think he saw either of us.”
“He wouldn’t,” Beau replied. “Glennalmond’s looking for what he’s found before: a trail of wreckage, woe, and blood, leading
to a man who’s rapidly coming to the realization that he’s made a profound mistake.”
Lord Leonidas Vaughn stood rooted beside his horse, rage and betrayal crawling up this throat to choke him. Glennalmond had
missed Beau entirely. Leo had very nearly done so himself. It hadn’t been the woman in the ill-fitting gown who had caught
his eye. It had been the tall, familiar figure of his closest friend.
Sandison. The man he’d left in charge of keeping an eye on Beau. A man he’d
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