She heard Rupert take a chair nearby. He sighed loudly, but Anna ignored him. After several more sighs, he said, “I’ve messed up everything.”

A tear slipped from beneath Anna’s lashes and fell down her cheek. She wiped it away, fairly certain Rupert hadn’t seen, for he said in a dismal voice, “I should have listened to you and been more careful.”

“How…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How will we get to London now?”

“I’ve asked to hire a curricle. It’s old and it will be uncomfortable, but the phaeton is a complete loss. One rear wheel was crumpled and the shaft was broken in two. It will take weeks to fix it.”

Anne pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. Good God, but this was untenable, she never cried. Yet another tear joined the first, closely joined by something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Anna gulped, miserable and embarrassed, but unable to stop.

“Anna, don’t.” Rupert moved to the edge of the settee and pulled her head to his shoulder, all brotherly solicitude. “Damn my pride. I should never have driven so wildly.”

Rupert’s shoulder wasn’t as broad as Greyley’s. Nor was he able to make her feel completely and totally surrounded, yet it was comforting to have a shoulder to cry on and Anna made the best of it, sobbing loudly against his coat and letting the tears fall. They finally subsided and Anna was left with nothing more than a hiccupping gulp. Still, she pressed her face against Rupert’s shoulder while he rested his head against hers, taking comfort in the embrace as much as she.

Thus it was that Anthony, following the mangled trail of the runaways, found Rupert and Anna sitting in a little ivy-covered inn, enfolded in what appeared to be a lovers’ embrace.

Anthony froze on the spot, his wet greatcoat dripping a steady stream of water onto the worn carpet, his heart thudding painfully. He’d arrived at the scene of the accident just as they were hauling the ruined phaeton away, and the sight had chilled him to the bone, especially when no one seemed to know the condition of the occupants, except that someone seemed to think the young lady had been injured, for she’d been carried from the scene.

For the next twenty minutes as he galloped wildly for the nearest inn, Anthony had been haunted with visions of Anna pale and injured, calling his name, or worse, cursing him with her last breath. Which was why seeing her locked in Rupert’s embrace was something more than a rude shock.

“What the hell is this?” Anthony roared.

Rupert stumbled to his feet, his face pale. “Anthony! I didn’t think you’d—I mean, I never thought you—”

“Obviously,” Anthony growled, all pretense at civility burned away in one hot second. “She’s mine, damn you!”

“Yours?” Anna stood, forcing her weak knees to stiffen. “Since when?”

“Stay out of this,” Anthony ordered, his attention on his opponent. He yanked off his greatcoat and threw it in the corner, then undid his coat.