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from safety.”
    Her lips tightened, but she held to her composure.
So far he’d been reasonable and supportive. For once she’d try reason with him
and see where it got her. “As to that, strange though it seems, they have
orders—strict orders—to keep me safe. Safe, unharmed, and healthy. I used those
orders to insist on being allowed to walk by the river, so it seems they’re
taking them seriously.”
    Somewhat reluctantly, Breckenridge nodded. “I was
in the tap, on the other side of the partition separating it from the foyer. I
heard it all.” He kept slowly pacing, his face set in its usual impassive mien,
then shot her glance. “I admit that this is decidedly strange.”
    She nodded. “Indeed. And every mile we go further
from London makes the notion of ransom even more unlikely. So we’re still no
closer to learning what’s behind this—neither the who nor the why of it.” She
waited until he swung around again and caught his eye. “I believe we need to
consider the wider implications.”
    His lips twitched—she was almost certain of it—but
he didn’t stop pacing. “Meaning you want to continue on with this”—he
gestured—“quest of yours.”
    She tipped up her head. “Of course. I’m here,
already kidnapped, but they’ve provided me with a maid and are under strict
orders to see to my health and safety, orders they’re clearly committed to
obeying. On top of that”—she waved at him—“you’re here. If you continue to
follow our party, when it comes to the point where escaping becomes necessary,
I’ll be able to do so and hide behind you. God knows, you’re large enough.”
    He quirked a black brow.
    Before he could respond verbally she went on,
“Given the threat extends beyond me to my sisters, and possibly even to my
cousins, and that as yet we have insufficient information with which to counter
or nullify that threat, then while remaining with Fletcher and the other two
exposes me to no additional danger, it’s patently my duty to stay with them at
least until we learn enough to identify who’s behind this, and, if possible, his
motives.”
    Fixing her eyes on Breckenridge’s, she concluded,
“In my estimation, the reasons against continuing on with my captors are
outweighed by the reasons that I should.”
    Breckenridge studied her as he paced. He wanted to
inform her that she was wrong, that in his estimation the imperative of keeping her totally and absolutely safe—which to
his mind meant taking her back to London and depositing her under her father’s
roof—by far outweighed every other consideration. And for him, it did. But for
her . . . the damned thing was he could understand her stance. And he
could hardly accuse her of being a headstrong, willful, heedlessly selfish
female when she was driven by such a selfless, family-duty-derived motive.
    One he would feel were he in her shoes.
    Halting, he raked a hand through his hair, then
realized what he was doing and lowered his arm. He glanced at her, sitting on
his bed wrapped in his coverlet, her head high, chin tilted upward, but the
angle was not yet an outright challenge.
    He knew that challenge would come if he didn’t
agree with her direction and tried to pull her from it. He could, very easily—he
was Viscount Breckenridge after all—but she would fight him every step of the
way and hate him forever after. All of which he would accept without a qualm if
he could only be certain that he was, indeed, acting in the best interests of
her and her family.
    As things stood . . .
    “Very well.” Halting, he met her eyes, a darker
gray in the lamplight. “If you’re stubbornly determined on this?”
    Up went her chin. “I am.”
    “In that case, we’ll continue on, more or less as
we have been, at least for tomorrow.” He frowned. “We’ll have to play it by
ear.” He’d have to trust her to do so. “If you’ll give me your promise that the
instant you learn either the employer’s name or his