“He asked me to escort you downstairs,” Lord Carlisle said, grasping her arm and pushing her toward a back door.

“Noble asked you?”

“Yes. He’s taking his son to his carriage and asked if I would see you safely down. You don’t want to go out into the main rooms—they aren’t safe for a gentle lady.”

“But my cousin—”

“Has been taken outside already,” Lord Carlisle said with a worried smile. He pushed her gently toward the servants’ stairs. “We’ll go down the back way, then meet up with Weston outside.”

Ha, Gillian thought to herself some time later. What a fool she had been to trust Lord Carlisle. She hoped Palmerston would be sure to tell Noble who had urged her away. She struggled briefly against her bonds and wished she had the common sense God gave to slugs.

He had kidnapped her! Facedown on the floor of his carriage, her arms bound at her sides, a foul taste in her mouth from the horribly musty black cloth that encased her, Gillian came to terms with the fact that the man she had thought was a friend was, in fact, a villain. Noble had been right all along.

“Just because I tried to stop the duel,” she muttered, spitting out a mouthful of the cloth and trying to work a foot out of the bottom of the canvas bag, “he decided to pay me back in kind. Well, he’ll soon see what a mistake he made in underestimating me!”

The carriage lurched over a hole in the paving stones, sending her flying into the side wall. She saw stars for a few minutes, then managed to curl herself up so her head didn’t pound against the wall interior of the carriage with each bump and jolt. Once she was satisfied she had enough air, she concentrated on trying to work her arms free of the ropes, but it would be hopeless until she could remove herself from the bag. She struggled for what seemed to be days until she had one foot free.

“Excellent,” she said to herself and spent the next two years working her second foot free. Just as she emerged from her chrysalis, exhausted and sweaty but triumphant, the carriage swayed and jounced to a halt. She cautiously peeked out the window. They were in the yard of a posting inn, and it looked as if the horses were being changed. “More than excellent,” she said as she tried the handle of the carriage door. It was unlocked. She sent up a little prayer and threw the door open, leaping out of her prison.

And straight into Lord Carlisle’s arms. Or what would have been his arms if he had known she was going to come bursting out of the carriage just as he was opening the door to check on her. Instead she hit him head-on, knocking him backwards. Together they hit the ground with a resounding smack.

Gillian scrambled off the earl and stared at him for a moment. There was a pool of blood growing from beneath his head. She prodded him. He didn’t move. She put a hand to his mouth but felt no breath stirring.