Edward raked his fingers through his hair. "If she doesn't return within the hour, we'll put about that she's taken ill and has gone home for the evening."

"I'll keep Lady Mallory and your cousin occupied in the meantime," Adam said. "I'll escort them home as well. Try not to worry. We'll get her back." Again, he paused. "Assuming you want her back."

Something fierce clenched inside Edward's chest. "Oh, I want her back."

And he did.

He wanted her. And he would have her, at any cost.

God help Claire, though, when he caught up to her. For once he did, she would have a reckoning in store.

Chapter 19.

"Mayhap we should turn around now," Claire suggested from where she sat in the phaeton next to Lord Islington. "We've been gone for well over an hour now."

Time enough, she thought, for people to have started noticing her absence. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, hoping that Mallory and Cousin Wilhelmina weren't too alarmed by her disappearance. She'd considered leaving them a note, but had decided against it, not knowing precisely what to say under the circumstances.

As for Edward...she didn't want to think about his reaction, or about him. She assumed he would be livid. Or perhaps he would only be mortified instead. And once his initial outrage faded, she suspected he might be relieved. He would be free of her and of his obligation.

Given the seriousness of her indiscretion, he would have the absolute right to wash his hands of her without suffering the least injury to his conscience. Society would expect him to walk away, to turn his back and never wish to gaze upon her again.

The only thing she knew for certain was that he would hate her. From this day forward, she would be as good as dead to Edward Byron.

An ache formed as though a hole had been sliced in her chest. But better a sharp stab now than a lifetime of heartache married to a man who'd wed her for convenience rather than love. Eyes stinging, she bent her head against the light summer breeze that rushed into the open carriage.

She and Islington had traveled into the countryside that surrounded London, far enough now that night creatures could be heard singing in the fields. The air smelled sweeter here than in the city, damp and grassy. The night sky was dark, only the low-hanging half moon providing any illumination to light their way on the quiet country road.

She wished now she'd taken the time to retrieve her pelisse. She would have liked its comfort, even if she didn't require its warmth. "At the next opportunity," she said again. "I really think we should turn around."

Islington shifted the reins in his hands and turned his head to give her a smile. "There's a very nice inn up ahead. I thought we might stop and enjoy a meal. We've both missed supper and I'm sure they'll have something delicious to satisfy our palates."

"Oh, I don't know..." she began, never having considered the idea of stopping at an inn.

But now that she did, she supposed the detour would only bolster the notion of her being ruined. Once she'd taken supper alone at an inn with a gentleman, there would be no retrieving her reputation.

"Come now, Lady Claire," he said. "I thought you were up for a lark?"

"Oh, always. You know that, my lord."

"Well then, what's an hour to take refreshments? Besides, who's to know but us? A cup of tea, a biscuit, and we'll be back on the road."

She hesitated, wondering if she ought. "I suppose a light repast would not go amiss. Just tea, however," she stated in a firm voice.

"Of course. Just tea," he agreed.

As the horses continued along the road, she wondered if she was doing the right thing agreeing to his suggestion. But the inn was sure to be full of people and Lord Islington was only stopping because he was hungry. Once he'd eaten, they would be back on the road to London-back to explain exactly where it was she'd been these last few hours.

Anyway, she was safe enough with his lordship. In all the time she'd known him, he'd never attempted to so much as hold her hand. He wasn't interested in taking liberties. Even on the slight chance that he was, she could manage him. He was only rebelling against Society's rules, just as he assumed she was doing herself. They were both just having an adventure and nothing more.

Then it was too late for second thoughts as the inn appeared on the road ahead. As soon as Islington pulled to a stop, a sleepy-looking hostler trudged forward to tend to the horses. Leaping to the ground, Islington came around the phaeton to help her down. Threading her hand over his arm, he escorted her inside.

The inn was crowded, just as she'd expected, especially the common room where men were gathered to drink, smoke and carouse. For that reason, she didn't balk when Lord Islington requested a private parlor, silently relieved to be away from the drunken, ogling stares being sent in her direction.

The innkeeper was genial and polite, leading them to a pleasant room on the second floor, well away from the noisy crowd. If he thought it odd for her to be wearing an elegant ball gown rather than a carriage dress, he made no remark.

Accepting a seat at the round wooden table spread with a clean white linen cloth, she prepared to take tea. What arrived only minutes later, however, left her dismayed, as dish after dish was served in what turned out to be a full supper.

Nearly two hours later, a dessert of fruit and cheese was laid on the table, the innkeeper withdrawing with a bow before closing the door behind him.

"More wine, my dear?" Lord Islington inquired, picking up the half-empty decanter of Burgundy.

"No." She laid a hand over the rim of her glass and refused to let him pour. Despite his urgings, she'd barely touched the wine he'd ordered rather than the promised tea. He'd drunk the vintage largely on his own, keeping up a robust conversation while they ate-or rather while he ate.

She'd scarcely touched her meal, picking at her food while offering the requisite remarks and observations. Initially, she tried to be cheerful, even witty, but as the first hour elapsed and moved into the second with no apparent willingness on his part to restart their journey back to Town, she became increasingly irritated.

And increasingly worried.

By now, her plan had obviously succeeded. She was well and thoroughly ruined, and by the time she returned to London, everyone would know she'd left the party and gone night driving with Lord Islington. What worried her, though, was when Lord Islington was going to take her back to the city. Or if he was going to do so at all.

As though aware of her thoughts, he gave a slow smile. "Dear me, it's grown rather late, has it not?"

"Yes, it most certainly has, as I believe I have previously pointed out. If you are quite finished now, my lord, I should like to depart."

Rather than making ready, however, he relaxed back in his chair and swirled the wine inside his glass. For some reason it reminded her of blood, especially when the rivulets flowed downward in crimson streaks. She shuddered as he downed a leisurely swallow, then set the glass aside.

"Actually," he mused aloud, "it's a long drive back and the roads aren't terribly safe at this time of evening. Perhaps we should stay here tonight."

She stared, her muscles growing taut. Pushing back her chair, she stood, then tossed her napkin down onto her uneaten dessert. "Perhaps we should not. I wish to return to the city right now."

"Don't carry on so," he replied smoothly. "There's no need to be coy, you know."

Coy? What on earth is he talking about?

"We both know why we're here," he continued, as he took up his glass again and drained the contents. "So why continue the pretense? In fact, I've already made arrangements with the innkeeper for his best accommodations. He assures me the sheets are clean and that the mattress is very soft."

Mattress!

Her stomach lurched. "Clearly, you misunderstand, my lord. Drive me back now, or I shall find someone else who will."

He chuckled. "You won't find anyone willing to drive you to London at this time of night."

With a lowering sensation, she realized he was right. Then again, if she could secure a carriage she could drive herself back. Reassured by the thought, she held her ground.

"I must say you're talented enough to tread the boards," he said. "Your maidenly sensibilities do you every credit. If it will make you feel better, I promise to let you cry no at all the appropriate intervals tonight. You girls always like to say no, don't you, when what you really mean is yes?"

Dear heavens, was that what he thought? That she was putting on a show in order to invite his attentions? That she'd made this assignation tonight in order to climb into his bed? Her stomach flipped over again, making her glad she'd eaten so little.

Sliding his chair back, he patted his thigh. "Come here then, and let's have a sample of that fine resistance of yours."

"How dare you!"

He laughed. "No, I dare you. Claire the Dare, you delicious little hoyden."

"Lord Islington, you are quite mistaken about my intentions or my desires. I have no interest in you, at least not in an...amorous sense. Nor do I wish to stay the night with you here in an accommodation. I want to return to London, now! And when I say no, I assure you that no is exactly what I mean."

His eyes narrowed, the smile falling from his lips. "This had best be more of your game, dear girl, or I warn you that I shall be very displeased."

Head held high, she forced herself not to tremble. "Then I am afraid you must be displeased, my lord. I am leaving."

His eyes turned viciously dark. "Why you little tease. You think you can lure me here, then refuse to put out? I don't think so."

Her lips parted on a silent gasp. "I did not lure you anywhere. I merely agreed to go driving with you and that is all."

"At night! No lady goes driving with a man at night unless she expects to be taken, and for far more than a simple drive. Well, I provided the first ride and now I want the second." Springing to his feet, he strode toward her, reaching out fast to catch hold of her arm.

Leaping away, she eluded him. Moving in the only direction available, she put the dining table between them. "Stay away, my lord. Leave me alone."

He tried for her again, but she escaped him once more.

Abruptly, a thought occurred, making her cringe. "That girl, the one you were trapped with in the storm. You really did ruin her, didn't you?"

His mouth curved into a smile, one that froze her to the bone. "Of course I ruined her. But then she wanted it, same as you. And just like then, I was no more inclined to marry that little tart than I am to marry you. But I forget that you already have a fiance. I wonder what Clybourne will do? Do you think he'll take you back once I've had a chance to sample your wares?"

Breath hitched in her lungs, her chest squeezing tight. Why hadn't she listened? Edward had told her what Islington was, he'd warned her to stay away. If only she hadn't been so stupidly naive, if only she hadn't been so prideful and arrogant. But she wasn't giving up. She would never stop fighting.

"You won't be sampling anything of mine, my lord. Go away and I'll say nothing," she told him. "Leave now and we shall act as if this evening never happened."

"Leave, shall I?" He tossed his head back on a laugh. "You are amusing, dear girl. Why should I leave, especially when the fun part is just starting."

She darted a glance toward the door, knowing she'd never get it open before he caught her. And even if she did, even if she made it all the way downstairs, she didn't imagine the men she'd find below would offer her much protection. No, she would have to protect herself. Reaching forward, she grabbed a knife off the table and held it straight out.

Islington laughed again. "And what's that for?"

"Defense. Now, stay away."

"Or what? You're going to stab me with a fruit knife? Deadly for sure." Stalking forward in a quick rush, he lunged at her.

Jumping back, she slashed at him with the knife, silently horrified when she saw she'd drawn blood.

He hissed and drew back his injured hand. "So you want to play rough, do you?" Pausing, he took a moment to wipe the blood on a discarded napkin before flinging it aside. "I like it rough."

She held the knife more tightly, trying to find some means of holding him at bay while she made it past him to the door. Pointing the sharpest side of the weapon, she gestured with as much menace as she could muster. "I'll cut you again. I'm warning you."

"Oh, I'm scared," he taunted. "Trembling, in fact." His lips thinned, his eyes cold and vicious. "Come here, you little bitch," he demanded, "before I really have to hurt you."

Suddenly the door slammed against the wall. And there stood Edward, magnificent as an avenging angel. He filled the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered and more wonderful than any sight she could have imagined.

Claire nearly cried out, wanting to run to him. But she held herself back, not trusting what Islington might do. She didn't completely trust Edward's reception either, not sure how to interpret the barely banked fury smoldering deep in his gaze.

Edward's attention was fixed on Islington. "Perhaps you'd like to try hurting me," he said to the other man. "I'm more your size, after all. Or do you only have the courage to assault defenseless young women?"

"Defenseless, hah!" Islington tossed back his head on a nasty laugh. "She's about as defenseless as a cat with a full set of claws."

"Then you'd best clear out before she scratches you again," Edward remarked. "I see you're bleeding already."

Islington cursed beneath his breath, glancing between her and Edward, as though he were weighing his options. "Fine then, take her. Though you're a fool if you keep her, since she's naught but a tease and a trollop. Hardly the sort worthy of the title duchess despite her excellent lineage."

Claire gasped at the insult, nearly dropping the knife still clutched in her hand. But she refused to let down her guard with Islington so near. She waited, expecting him to leave, praying that he would just go away.

But before he could, Edward was across the room, springing into action so quickly she hardly had time to register his movements. He was on Islington, shoving the man backward across the room and slamming him hard against the wall. He rammed a fist into Islington's face-once, twice, drawing a howl of agony before his fingers wrapped around the other man's throat.

Islington fought, twisting against Edward's grip and throwing a few punches of his own. But they had little effect, Edward sloughing off the blows as he tightened his grip on the other man's jugular until Islington's face turned a ghastly red.

"Can't breathe!" Islington wheezed. "Stop!"

"Not until I hear you apologize."

Islington grimaced, clearly struggling against being compelled to do so. But Edward's relentless grip soon convinced him otherwise. "S-Sorry," he rasped.

"Don't say it to me. Say it to the lady. Apologize to Lady Claire!" Transferring his punishing hold to the back of Islington's neck, he whirled him around so he faced her.

She'd rather Edward hadn't, though, since she didn't care about Islington's apology. But she could tell there was no gainsaying Edward. In the past, she'd never seen him look anything but calmly controlled and urbane. But there was something half wild, almost ferocious about him tonight. It was a quality that made her wonder, with an inconsequential turn of mind, if this was how one of his ancestors might have looked centuries ago, when they'd sacked castles, conquered enemy lands and fought at the side of kings.

Then all such musings went out of her head as Edward shook Islington with merciless force. "Go on, you good-for-nothing scoundrel," he ordered. "Make your excuses."

Islington stared at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. "My pardon, Lady Claire, for any offense I may have caused."

With a growl of disgust, Edward dragged Islington to the door, then gave him a shove. "I ought to kill you. Or at the very least beat you to a bloody pulp. But frankly, you aren't worth the exercise."

Islington laid a hand on the door frame, resting against it as he caught his breath and his balance.

"I want you out of London immediately," Edward told him. "Don't even return to pack your clothes. You can send for them once you reach whatever distant place you plan to settle in. The farther away the better."

Reaching up, Islington rubbed a hand over his abused neck, his voice raw. "I could go to Timbuktu and everyone will still know she was here with me tonight."

"They don't know anything and they won't, not unless you tell them. And I'd strongly advise that you don't. If I hear so much as a whisper in connection with this evening, I'll make sure you're sorry. Extremely sorry. If you give me cause, I'll be administering more than a beating."

Color drained out of Islington's cheeks, making the bruises forming on his neck and jaw stand out even more. Shooting them both venomous glances, he wheeled around and stalked from the room.

Only when the pounding of his boot heels on the stairs faded away did Claire relax. Only then did she finally let down her guard. Shuddering, she let go of the knife, the wooden handle clattering against the floorboards. Across the room, she met Edward's bright gaze.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "How badly did he hurt you, Claire?"