Portia preened at the compliment. "I was raised to this role."

They arrived at the door, the butler there and gesturing for them to enter. Miles stepped across the threshold, but suddenly Portia was pushed away, and Miles was yanked inside, the door slammed shut behind him.

He staggered, then regained his balance, to discover Damian Drummond sitting at the table. He'd helped himself to Miles's breakfast.

"Hello, Miles." Drummond casually held up a fork, indicating a slice of roast beef he was about to shove into his mouth. "The food in this house isn't very good. I believe I'll have to fire the cook."

Out in the hall, Portia was shouting, "Miles! Miles! What's wrong? Let me in!"

His mother and the others were shouting too. He gaped at Drummond, completely perplexed as to how he could have reappeared. And so soon too! He felt as if he was seeing a ghost. Damian Drummond could not be back! It wasn't possible!

"Drummond!" Miles snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm eating."

"You can't be here! You can't!"

"Why can't I? It's my property. It occurs to me that you're trespassing. Why is it so difficult for you to realize that you are?"

"You bastard!" was all Miles managed. "I'll show you! I'll...I'll..."

He was walloped with a heavy club, the blow so fierce that he was knocked unconscious. In his last cogent memory, he grasped that he was collapsing but was too discombobulated to prevent his descent.

When he awakened, his head was throbbing, his wrists and ankles tied with ropes. His entire body was encircled too so his arms were pinned to his sides. He was on the floor of a carriage and more uncomfortable than he'd ever been in his life.

The horses were galloping at a high rate of speed, the driver not even trying to make the ride less unpleasant. Each bump jostled him so he was tossed into the air, only to land very hard. Then he'd be tossed up again.

He struggled to take stock of his situation. He could see a man's boots and legs, and as he focused in, Damian Drummond was there on the seat.

"Drummond!" Miles croaked.

Seeming bored, Drummond glanced down. "You're finally awake. For a while there, I thought you'd died on me."

"Where are we? What's happening?"

"We're on our way to London."

"Why?"

"I'm having you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder."

"What? You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"It's my wedding day," he absurdly pointed out.

"Yes, well, your bride will have to spend her wedding night without you. I'm betting she won't miss you very much."

"Who are you claiming I attempted to murder?"

"Me, you dolt."

"I didn't do anything to you."

"No, you simply hired the men who did. We have all their confessions. They've admitted how you planned to have them slay me in the woods before we reached town."

"I never planned that!"

Drummond shrugged. "As I mentioned, we have their confessions. Are you aware that a rich man can buy any ending he desires? And I'm very, very rich."

"You're a criminal."

"I was. Once. You shouldn't have tried to harm me."

"You deserved it."

Someone was sitting on the other seat. He kicked Miles, and Miles yelped in agony.

"Shut up!" the violent oaf said. "I'm weary of listening to you."

Miles peeked up to see that it was the dark-haired stranger who'd been with Kit Roxbury.

"If you do that again," Miles blustered, "you'll regret it."

Miles was kicked even harder, and he cried out in pain.

"You're deranged!" he protested as he panted to catch his breath.

"Yes, I always have been." The brute sounded proud of it.

"Who are you anyway?"

"Don't you know? I'm Michael Scott-although I use the name Michael Blair now. I'm certain you've heard of me."

"Michael Scott of...of...Scotts gambling club?"

"The very one."

Miles moaned with alarm. Michael Scott was London's most notorious fiend. He was obscenely wealthy from owning a club that every man in London yearned to join, but he was so bloody selective. Miles had never gotten past the initial application for membership, and even if he had, he'd never have been able to afford the dues.

What was he doing with Drummond?

"I don't want to go to London," he wailed, terrified he was about to blubber like a baby.

"It's not up to you," Michael Scott said.

"Why are you taking me there?" he asked Drummond.

"I told you: You're being arrested for several felonies. Then I'll give you a choice."

"What choice?"

"I should have killed you."

"Killed!" Miles shrieked.

"We still can," Michael Scott urged. "This is a deserted stretch of road. Who's to know what happens to him?"

"I promised Kit I wouldn't." Drummond stared down at Miles. "My friend, Kit, saved your sorry hide."

"I'll be sure to thank him next time I see him," Miles sarcastically sneered.

"You won't ever see him again," Drummond vowed. "Not where you're going."

"What do you mean?"

"We're escorting you to Newgate Prison."

"You are not," Miles huffed. "I refuse to let you!"

Drummond continued as if Miles hadn't spoken. "You'll be incarcerated there while your case makes its way through the courts."

"What case?" Miles wildly asked. "What are you talking about?"

Michael Scott kicked him yet again. "Pay attention! We're having you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder."

"I am the victim"-Drummond grinned an evil grin-"so I will be allowed to request the punishment I seek. This is where your choice comes in."

"Just spit it out!" Miles begged. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"You can either be hanged from the neck until dead."

"Dead!"

"Or you can be transported to the penal colonies in Australia for the rest of your miserable life."

"Hanging or transportation? That's not a choice!"

"It's more than you gave to me when I was ten."

"I can't be transported! I can't be hanged! It's my wedding day," he repeated for no apparent reason, and he started to weep. "I'll tell my mother. She won't permit it."

"Your mother will never know what became of you," Drummond said. "Haven't you realized, Miles? You've vanished off the face of the Earth."

"Oh! Oh!" Miles howled. "You can't do this! You can't! I'll hire a lawyer. I'll sue! I'll be released, and I'll get even!"

Drummond and Scott laughed at the threat, and Drummond asked, "You'll hire a lawyer? With what money?"

"I'll find some!" Miles insisted. "I will!"

He went on in that vein for a while, pleading and cursing and swearing vengeance. Above him, Michael Scott said to Drummond, "Must we listen to this?"

"No."

"Good."

Scott punched Miles and ordered, "Be silent."

But Miles couldn't quiet down. Had any man in all of history ever been so horridly abused? Had any man ever been so mistreated? Damian Drummond and Michael Scott were criminals, but Miles was the one being carted off to prison. It was an outrage!

He was Miles Marshall, son and heir of Edward Marshall. He was the golden boy, the favored child. No one could tell him what to do. Everyone knew that. He was invincible. How had it come to this?

"Mother!" he bleated like a toddler having a nightmare. "Mother, where are you? I need you!"

"Oh, for pity's sake," Michael Scott grumbled.

He hit Miles with the club again. Miles gasped for breath, and Scott bent down and stuffed a sock in Miles's mouth.

The last remark he heard before falling unconscious again was Michael Scott saying to Drummond, "There! That's better. Now we can finish our journey in peace."

Sophia was sitting in the front parlor at the coaching inn and watching riders pass by out on the road. There was a market in the next town, which generated a lot of traffic. But she was looking for one horse and one rider in particular, that being Kit Roxbury.

She'd been at the inn for several hours, and for a few minutes, it had been debatable whether the proprietor, Mr. Turner, would let her reserve a room, but she'd won the fight.

While she typically viewed herself as being meek and polite, she actually possessed quite a bit of temper and disdain. She'd fiercely asserted herself, and after she'd put him in his place he'd told her she could stay as long as she liked.

She was acting calm and composed, but in reality she was terrified. What if Kit never came back? Or what if he returned but had changed his mind about her?

During their prior conversation, she'd been very rude to him, but she kept telling herself it had only been two days. He'd sworn he was desperate to wed her, and he couldn't shed such strong emotion that rapidly. Could he?

No. She refused to believe he could.

She glanced to the vestibule and noticed a footman from Kirkwood was there. He was whispering to Mr. Turner, and from how Turner's brows shot up it had to be shocking news. He nervously peeked at Sophia, and she couldn't imagine what chaos might have erupted.

Had someone died? Had someone been injured? To her delight, she didn't really care.

Ultimately the footman departed, and Mr. Turner approached.

"What is it?" she asked. "No, no, let me guess. There's been trouble at Kirkwood."

"Well...yes."

"Feel free to blurt it out. Whatever it is, trust me, I won't be surprised."

"Apparently Master Miles was marrying Portia Smithwaite today."

He paused, clearly hoping Sophia would provide juicy gossip he could disseminate, and she was happy to oblige him.