“Not in the least. He judged things to an inch.” He strolled forward and murmured a mild apology to her fulminating postilion and slipped something into his palm. The postilion, much to George’s fury, stopped fulminating, pocketed the bribe and with a “No ’arm done, gov’nor, pleasure doin’ business with you,” sauntered back to his horses.

The duke turned back to George and said, calm as you please, “As soon as I realized it was you in that yellow bounder I told my driver to stop you. So he did.”

George could hardly believe her ears. “You mean you deliberately forced us off the road? We might have been killed.”

“I hardly think so. Jeffries knows his business. He’s been with me for years. Besides, both vehicles were traveling at a trot. There was no question of a collision.”

She glared at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Looking for you, of course.”

“Looking for me? Why?”

A few drops of rain spattered down. He glanced at the sky. “It’s going to rain. Send your maid back to Bath. We’ll continue this conversation in my carriage.”

She bristled. “Send her back?”

“She’s not needed now.”

“You mean I should travel with you, alone?”

“We’re betrothed, are we not? In ten days’ time we’ll be married.” It started to spit. “Get into my carriage. I’ll speak to the maid and pay off the postilion.”

“No. My maid, my postilion—I’ll do it.” Furious with his high-handedness George stalked back to the post chaise, spoke to Sue and the postilion, then returned and climbed into the duke’s carriage.

Chapter Fifteen

Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?

—JANE AUSTEN, LETTER TO CASSANDRA, 1808

Hart was pleased with her obedience. He wouldn’t have been too surprised if she’d climbed back into the post chaise and driven off. He gave his coachman a signal and the carriage moved off with a slight jerk, turning around to head back to London.

Georgiana sat opposite him, her arms folded and her chin raised. She was still angry, then. So be it. “Well then, duke? What’s this all about?”

She never addressed him by name, he noticed. Perhaps that would change after the wedding. “You left London without notice, without informing me, for no reason I could fathom.”

She gave a careless shrug. “There wasn’t time. It was an emergency. I didn’t even have time to explain to my aunt and uncle—I had to leave them a hasty note.”

Her apparent indifference annoyed him. “You should have consulted me. Sought my permission. We are betrothed. At the very least you should have consulted me about your plans . . . And your reasons for leaving in such a hurry.”