of that. If my daughter strays from my wishes, you will inform me, Jane. Heaven knows I don’t ask much of you, but you will do this.”
Jane stood and curtsied. “Of course, Aunt.”
“Then let’s not keep your husband-to-be waiting.” Standing aside from the door, she motioned for Amelia-Rose to precede her.
She descended the stairs, just resisting the urge to break and run for the open front door. Hughes the butler had aided her previously, but not anywhere in his employer’s sight. Today he might just as easily slam the door in her face as allow her into the street.
Lionel wasn’t in the foyer. Generally he appeared with a bouquet for her and one for her mother, which made Amelia-Rose wonder just how badly he needed the money—by way of a dowry—that would be transferred along with her to Hurst’s possession. She could see the rear wheels of his coach outside, then noticed the light drizzle. Ah, that would be it. Lord Hurst did not like raindrops ruining the shine of his boots or flattening his golden curls.
As her mother continued her entreaties and threats from the Baxter House doorway, Amelia-Rose hurried to the coach’s open door. A gloved hand in an olive-green sleeve reached out to help her inside, and she took the seat beside him. He offered a hand to Jane, as well, which surprised her a little. Previously he’d barely deigned to notice her chaperone. If she’d cared enough about him to have an opinion, that might have lifted it slightly.
“My lord,” she said, scooting as far away from him on the seat as she could, noting only that he was dressed as primly as usual and that he hadn’t bothered to remove his beaver hat even inside the coach. Poor fellow, his hair must have been a wreck already.
“Miss Baxter, how very delightful to see you again,” a voice in exceedingly proper English accents and sounding half an octave lower than Hurst’s replied.
“W—”
“A moment, please.” He leaned out and waved toward the front of Baxter House, then shut the door. Sitting back, he hammered his fist against the ceiling of the coach. “Edward, let’s be off, my good man.”
Amelia-Rose stared at him. Even shadowed behind the coach’s closed curtains, the face looking back at her had more color to it than Lionel could manage in midsummer. The mouth was harder, the nose more elegant, and the brows had a slight, sardonic arch that even the hat low over his eyes couldn’t hide.
She lunged at him, dragging the hat off to reveal a tumble of disheveled brown hair and eyes of an impossibly light green. “Niall,” she sobbed, flinging her arms around him, kissing him over and over again. How he’d managed to appear in Hurst’s coach she had no idea, but at the mere sight of him all the ice in her chest melted into warm, hopeful heat.
He kissed her back, then held her away from himself. “I’ve come for ye, lass,” he said, his voice rough at the edges. “But ye need to decide if ye want to go with me. I’ve a faraway destination in mind, and ye may nae be able to come back here. Ever.”
Chapter Sixteen
Amelia-Rose sat back again, but kept her fingers twined with his. Niall didn’t want to release her at all; after what he meant to tell her, this could well be the last time he ever set eyes on her.
“Yer parents willnae consent for ye to marry me, ever. They’ve made that clear, and I cannae steal ye off to a London church firstly because ye’re nae yet twenty-one years of age, and secondly because we’d have to have the banns called for the next three weeks.”
“I considered that, too,” she replied, almost matter-of-factly. “My mother had the engagement announcement posted in the newspaper today. No pastor would read the banns for you and me, knowing that.”
“Aye. I saw the damned thing.” And had likely taught his mother a few choice words in Scots Gaelic in the process.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears shining in her eyes.
“Lass, dunnae cry. Nae until I’ve said what I mean to say.” He knew what he wanted, what he needed. Whether she would want the same thing once she understood just what would be involved, he didn’t know. He hoped, but he didn’t know.
She nodded tightly.
“I want to take ye to Gretna Green, in Scotland. I want to marry ye there. There would be nae a thing yer parents could do about it, especially