the last travelling cases when a conveyance pulled up the circular drive. Her eyes widened. The time she’d been in Knighton’s carriage when he rescued her, she hadn’t been in a frame of mind to notice its splendor. The enormous black coach, led by half a dozen bays with glossy manes, was like something out of a faerie tale. Its lacquered sides and spotless windows, framed by fringed velvet curtains, were dazzling.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of her.
Her brother Liam ambled over and said in fervent tones, “Gor, pinch me, Fancy, for I must be dreamin’. This be our ride?”
“Yes,” she said, equally awestruck.
While Da had accepted the duke’s offer to accompany them to Northumberland, where there was a secluded campground known only to tinkers, he had decreed that it wasn’t right for Fancy to travel alone with Knighton. Her brothers had drawn straws; Liam, who’d chosen the shortest, was to be her chaperone. He’d endured ribbing from the other lads who’d lifted their pinkies at him, calling him a bona fide nob since he would be travelling in a lord’s fussy carriage rather than a tinker’s good, solid caravan.
Liam was getting the last laugh, however, for their brothers now watched on with open-mouthed expressions as the driver opened the door to the sleek coach, letting down the steps. From what Fancy could see, the interior was upholstered in midnight velvet and outfitted with fixtures of polished brass.
Then the Duke of Knighton emerged, and she lost track of the carriage altogether. He gleamed from the top of his hat to the toe of his boots. His strapping form was clad in shades of dark blue and grey, his jaw freshly shaven above his cravat of maize silk.
Sweet Jaysus, ’e’s ’andsome, her heart sighed.
He bowed and held out a gloved hand. “Ready, Miss Sheridan?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Her heart thumping, she placed her hand in his.
His fingers engulfed hers, his masculine heat seeping through the barrier of black leather. He handed her up into the carriage, and Liam bounded in next, letting out a whoop of excitement as he took in the spacious and modern cabin. The facing benches were wide enough to fit four people apiece, with plenty of leg room.
Sprawling next to her, Liam opened the wicker hamper on the floor.
“Gor, get an eyeful o’ all ’em victuals,” Liam exclaimed.
“Mind your manners.” Fancy shot an anxious look beyond him, where Knighton was conferring with Da. “You don’t want ’Is Grace to think you’re a beggarly sort, do you?”
“This meat pie be nearly as good as yours.”
Her gaze flew back to Liam, who was munching away on a golden pastry.
“Put that back,” she said in a hushed tone. “You can’t ’elp yourself to whate’er you like.”
“That’s what it’s ’ere for, ain’t it?” Liam took another large bite. “Besides, what would ’Is Nibs do with a ’alf-eaten pie?”
“Well, just don’t eat anything else.”
“The ’ell I won’t.” Her brother looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “There be a bloody feast in front o’ me and no Tommy, Godfrey, or Oliver to fight me for it. But since you be me sister and the one who ’itched us this fine ride, I’ll share the goods with you if you ask nicely.”
“I don’t want—”
Fancy caught herself as Knighton returned. He took the opposite bench, the cabin seeming to shrink in his presence. It wasn’t just his size; his virile male aura seemed to fill any space he occupied. His expensive scent curled in her nostrils, causing her heart to thrum like a hummingbird’s wings.
“Are you both comfortable?” he inquired. “Do you require anything before we depart?”
His tone was neutral, no hint of sarcasm or condescension. Yet Fancy’s gaze strayed to the open picnic basket, then to Liam’s greasy fingers. Then to the crumbs clinging to the corner of her brother’s mouth.
Knighton must think we’re a pair o’ ill-bred bumpkins, she thought miserably.
She knotted her fingers in the worn folds of her skirts. “No…that is, thank you, Your Grace.”
“Actually, guv, would you ’ave anything to wash down this fine pie with?” Liam asked. “I’m feelin’ a might parched.”
She cringed at her brother’s boldness.
Knighton showed no sign of derision. He merely reached to the side of the cabin, opening a leather-covered compartment perfectly designed to look like part of the wall. He reached inside and pulled out a corked bottle. Even more marvelous was the fog of condensation clinging to the bottle: there must be ice in that compartment, an unheard