The squire stepped back to allow the coachman to put up the stairs and close the door.

Mrs. Bloom leaned out the window. "Miss West, Mr. West, Lord MacLean. I daresay I shall see you in London."

Venetia didn't think so but nodded anyway. Ravenscroft, apparently having forgotten that once he returned to London he had a duel to face, promptly agreed. Gregor merely bowed.

The great coach creaked to a start and left, the huge wheels cutting deeply in the mud. Moments later, Chambers and Treadwell's man staggered out, carrying the forgotten trunk.

"Good G.o.d," Gregor said, coming forward to a.s.sist the two men. "What does that woman have in here?"

"I have no idea," Chambers said, "but we're wagerin' 'tis bricks."

"Or gold." The other man gasped.

Eventually, the trunk was lashed to the back of the carriage, and they, too, set out. Gregor rode behind; Ravenscroft pretended to sleep to avoid conversation with Miss Platt. Venetia, meanwhile, leaned back on one corner, miserable and exhausted.

And Miss Platt, blissfully unaware of the currents that swirled about her, chattered on and on, delighted with events.

Venetia could only hope they'd reach Grandmama's house before any of their tenuous relationships unraveled even more.

Chapter 17.

Och, me wee la.s.sies! 'Tis important ye learn to say what ye mean. 'Tis the greatest gift ye can give yerself and the ones ye love.

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING.

G regor urged his horse to a trot. It was wonderful to be on horseback, the air cool and moist, heavy with the scent of damp earth, the trees whispering. It was a pity Venetia hadn't brought her riding habit; this was precisely the type of ride she loved, one that tugged at all the senses.

He could imagine her now, riding ahead, her horse prancing, that mischievous half smile on her face as she laughed back over her shoulder at him.

Gregor smiled for the first time since their conversation yesterday.

He glanced back at the carriage, which lumbered slowly along, Chambers meticulously avoiding the deeper ruts and muddier spots. Even from this distance, he could hear the murmur of Miss Platt's incessant chattering. Venetia and Ravenscroft would be ready to murder the woman by the time they reached Venetia's grandmother's house.

The carriage's leather curtains were pinned open. If he dropped back, he could catch a glimpse of Venetia, her brown hair haphazardly pinned, the thick curls hanging down around her neck, doubtless a pained expression on her face as Miss Platt t.i.ttered on.

Venetia couldn't walk down the sidewalk without some story of woe attaching to her skirts. He supposed he should sympathize with her. In the past-last week, though it felt like years ago-they would have laughed at the silly creature.

He would have ridden beside the carriage and met Venetia's look, and she would have instantly known his thoughts, and he hers. Now, she avoided his gaze, avoided him.

All desire to smile left Gregor. He missed those times, and part of him feared they'd never be again. He hadn't realized how much he loved to hear Venetia laugh until these last few days, when she'd done so little of it. She had the most endearing gurgle of humor, her eyes lighting to a sparkling silver, her lips curving in an entrancing way.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! It was unfair that Ravenscroft's thoughtless gesture had led to such an estrangement. Gregor's hands tightened on the reins, and he urged his mount farther ahead of the carriage.

Now, he couldn't stop being aware of her, noticing a thousand things that had been hidden to him before. How her hair curled at the nape of her neck, how she always smelled so sweetly, how she tilted her head when listening-all things that suddenly made her more than a mere friend.

It was as if all these years, he'd seen her through a dark gla.s.s, and now the shades had been ripped aside, and the brilliant sunshine was illuminating her for the first time. Venetia Oglivie, his best friend in the entire world, the one woman he'd never thought of in a sensual manner, was beautiful. Not the flamboyant, skin-thin beauty of the ton but the deep, rich, earthy beauty of a real woman.

That realization had thrown him off-balance and had caused him to be cow-handed in his dealings with her. Though she was too stubborn to admit it, she would be far better off marrying him than anyone else. He knew her, appreciated her, and cared for her. He was well established and could take good care of her. He could easily add new stables to his Lancashire estate to hold the horses he knew she'd wish to purchase. What more could she ask for?

He grimaced, remembering her outraged expression when he'd announced that she would marry him. Though she didn't really have a choice, she deserved to be asked. That was what a woman would want.

Gregor sighed. Perhaps in the peace and quiet at her grandmother's house, he could begin anew, explain to her the advantages of a match with him. She wasn't ready to admit how dire things were, but once she was, he was certain she'd reconsider his offer. She had to.

The thought cheered him, and it was with a lighter heart that he rounded a bend. "Whoa!"

A light phaeton was mired deep in the mud at the side of the road, the driver and his coachman standing beside it. The driver, a middle-aged man in an olive drab coat, lifted one well-shod foot and kicked the wheel of the phaeton.

Gregor laughed.

The man looked around, appearing embarra.s.sed when he saw Gregor. "I'm sorry you had to witness that," the man said, coming forward to proffer his hand. "I'm Sir Henry Loundan."

The man's handshake was firm and solid, his gray eyes clear and direct. There was a touch of gray at his temples, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as if he laughed a good deal.

Gregor smiled. "Good afternoon. I'm Gregor MacLean. I hope you don't mind if I remain mounted; the ground looks uncertain."

Sir Henry shook his head ruefully, indicating his muddied boots. "I should have brought my own mount and not the chaise, but in any event, I'm glad to see you. We've been here for the last hour, and not a single person has pa.s.sed. I was beginning to think we'd have to walk the four miles to Eddington."

Gregor eyed the mucky road with disfavor. "It's d.a.m.nably soft here, isn't it?"

The man nodded. "There's a firmer strip on the other side of the road. Wish we'd known that before we sank."

"I wonder if it is wide enough for both wheels of a carriage." Behind him, Gregor heard the carriage approaching. He nudged his mount to the center of the road just as it lumbered around the corner. Chambers took in the situation at a glance and pulled the carriage to a halt.

The door opened, and Ravenscroft came barreling out, regardless of mud and muck.

"Mr. West!" Miss Platt stuck her head out the window. "Do be careful! I vow you'll get your feet wet if you stand there. Are we stuck? I hope we don't have to get out and walk, for I have no walking boots with me, and it would be ruinous for my skirts. Mr. West, don't you think walking would be horrid in this weather?" She sat down again, her voice continuing, presumably now addressing her comments to Venetia.

Ravenscroft walked toward Gregor, a haunted look in his eyes. "MacLean! We should change places. Let you have a warm, toasty carriage ride, while I brave the elements in your place. It must be d.a.m.nably cold here, and-"

"No." Gregor turned back to Sir Henry. "If you'll a.s.sist us through this mud, I'm certain we can take you as far as Eddington. You might be able to hire a mount and continue your journey from there."

"That would be wonderful." Sir Henry gave Gregor a rueful look. "I am in the greatest of hurries, which always seems to necessitate some sort of breakdown, doesn't it?"

"Every time," Gregor agreed.

"My lord?" Chambers called down from his perch on the carriage. "Should the ladies alight? If we were to slide down off the road, we might overturn."

"You're right. I shall help them." Gregor went to the coach and opened the door.

The light slanted inside, turning Venetia's eyes to silver. Gregor held out his hand. "You will have to stand aside for a few moments while we guide the coach over this section of road."

She hesitated, then nodded, placing her hand in his. The light pressure of her fingers sent a wave of heat through him. He tightened his grip as she stepped forward to the edge of the door, and for a startled instant, her gaze met his.

Without thought, he slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her from the carriage, holding her flush against him, every inch of her form molded to his.

Her cheeks pinkened, her eyes widening. "Gregor!" she breathed, sending an embarra.s.sed look around.

Her unease reached through his l.u.s.t, and he set her down, stepping away reluctantly.

A strained silence held those nearby. Ravenscroft was scowling, Chambers and Sir Henry's groom were suspiciously busy with their duties, and Sir Henry was looking away, though there was a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

Gregor made a faint bow to Venetia. "I didn't want you to muddy your feet on the mud. It's, ah, less dirty here."

She looked down. Gregor's gaze followed hers. She was standing in an inch of water; he'd placed her squarely in the middle of a puddle.

Venetia lifted her skirts and walked to one side, her boots making sucking noises as she walked. "I appreciate your efforts, MacLean."

"Yoo-hoo, Lord MacLean!" Miss Platt stood in the carriage door, apparently ready to jump into his arms. "I'm ready to climb down!"

Venetia gurgled with laughter, which she tried to cover with a cough.

Gregor sent her a glare before saying over his shoulder, "Mr. West, be so good as to help Miss Platt from the carriage."

"Me? But-"

Gregor sent him a look.

The younger man gulped. "Oh, very well." He made his way through the puddles to the carriage, then stood far, far away, merely offering the tips of his fingers for Miss Platt to hold on to.

She blinked. "I can't step out there. It's muddy."

He dropped his hand. "Very well." He turned to Gregor. "Miss Platt would rather stay in the carriage and be overturned."

"I didn't say that!" she huffed.

He held out his hand, still as far away as before.

Forced to make do, Miss Platt was soon standing beside Venetia by the edge of the road, their feet muddied and wet.

Gregor turned to Chambers, Ravenscroft, and Sir Henry. "If we keep the carriage moving slowly but push a bit from this side, we should be able to keep it from slipping off the road."

"That might work," Sir Henry said. "When my carriage began to slip, I foolishly halted the horses and the wheels sunk into the mud. There was nothing to be done after that."

Gregor nodded. "Then we have a plan."

"I beg your pardon," Venetia said from the side of the road. "I wouldn't do it that way."

Ravenscroft smiled. "My dear Venetia, I am certain we know how to get this carriage over this stretch of road without-"

"How would you do it?" Gregor asked, ignoring Ravenscroft's startled glance.

"If you go slowly, it will allow the carriage's wheels to sink. I'd take it faster."

Sir Henry looked impressed. "She's right. The momentum might carry the carriage over the mud."

Gregor nodded thoughtfully. "We'll take Venetia's advice. Chambers, drive quickly and evenly across this stretch. Sir Henry, perhaps your man can run by the leader and encourage him on? Ravenscroft, you and Sir Henry and I will push from the low side to make certain the carriage doesn't slide off the road."

As soon as Gregor, Ravenscroft, and Sir Henry positioned themselves, Chambers set the horses in motion.

The large carriage rumbled forward, Sir Henry's man holding the lead horse by the bridle and urging him forward. The road slanted a bit as they entered the turn.

"Now," Gregor said, pressing his shoulder to the back panel of the carriage.

Ravenscroft and Sir Henry pressed as well. The carriage moved smoothly forward...then hung a moment and slid a bit to one side.

"Push harder!" Gregor ordered, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep the carriage from slipping into the muck.

Thank G.o.d for Venetia's suggestion. With the help of the horses, the carriage continued on. Within moments, they were out of the muck and on the firmer ground ahead, and Chambers pulled the carriage to a halt.

Gregor caught sight of Venetia's relieved expression. Without thinking, he tossed her a wink.

She winked back without pause.

Gregor grinned, suddenly feeling better about life in general.

Sir Henry blew out his breath, leaning against the back of the carriage. "That was something!" He grinned. "I wish you all had been here when I was trying to get over that same ground. The-" He shoved himself from the carriage. "Is the carriage sliding? I felt it move."

As if in answer to his words, the carriage rocked a bit.

"Chambers!" Gregor yelled.

The groom turned around and looked back over the carriage. "My lord?"

"Are you moving?"

"No, my lord. We're firm as-" The carriage rocked again, and this time, a m.u.f.fled cry came with it.

"Good G.o.d!" Sir Henry said, stepping away from the rocking carriage. "What in the h.e.l.l is that?"

"Oh, no!" Venetia ran forward, grabbing the straps at the back of the coach and frantically trying to undo them.

Ravenscroft frowned. "Venetia, what on earth are you doing?"

Gregor grabbed the top strap and quickly undid it. With a crash, the trunks came falling off the carriage in a heap. The one Venetia had offered to carry to London for Miss Higganbotham rolled to one side and then fell open. Out spilled a mound of silks and gowns, flailing slippers, and a glimpse of petticoats, as Miss Elizabeth Higganbotham rolled out head over heels, into a large puddle.

"Elizabeth!" Venetia and Sir Henry exclaimed as one.

Then they looked at each other, eyes wide.

"I-I-I'm muddy!" Miss Higganbotham wailed. Mud streamed from her golden curls and soaked her gown from neck to hem. Thick clots clung to her white skin and smeared her chin.

To everyone's shock and surprise, Sir Henry Loundan fell onto his knees in the puddle, scooped her into his arms, and breathlessly kissed her.