“Oh, we understand each other just fine.” Even in the shadows of dusk, he could see her bristle with indignation. She might have a small rope, but she sure did throw a large loop.

Unable to resist the temptation to see just how much starch she had in her corset, he added, “You lock your bedroom door, and…just in case you get any untoward ideas, I’ll lock mine.”

His answer came in the shape of a well-placed fist on the side of his face. Rubbing his sore cheek, he stared straight ahead. The woman was a regular spitfire. He’d best watch his step.

4

Following a restless night, Emily stood in front of the cheval mirror. “What a mess you got yourself into this time!”

Since her luggage was still at the hotel, she’d slept in her petticoat. She didn’t even have a hairbrush, and her hair looked like a rat’s nest. But that was the least of it.

How could she have married the wrong man? Of all the crazy things. Chase McKnight looked nothing like the man she had imagined from Garvey’s letters. She should have known something was wrong.

Palms on her forehead, she tried to think. The wedding—and everything that had happened after—was a blur. If it wasn’t for the unfamiliar room and the gold wedding ring on the dresser in front of her, she would have thought the whole thing a bad dream.

This was no dream. The ring was real, as were her new surroundings. What a nightmare! Her only hope was to get her current marriage quickly annulled so she could marry the right man. That is, if he would still have her. The look on Garvey’s face last night hadn’t been encouraging, but maybe today he would be more forgiving. Or at least more understanding.

Her spirits lifting somewhat, she reached for her watch. Normally an early riser, she was shocked to see it was well after ten. It had taken forever to fall asleep, and even then, slumber had come in fits and starts. It wasn’t just the strange, oversized four-poster bed that had made her feel small and insignificant and, more than anything, vulnerable. It was also the stillness of the night. Never had she known such quiet. It was almost morbid.

In Boston, the sound of clip-clopping hooves and iron wheels on cobblestones was constant and sounded at all hours of the day and night.

Boston. Surprised to feel a wave of homesickness for the town that had caused her so much pain, she turned from the mirror. That was when she noticed her luggage piled up inside her door. Someone had taken it upon himself to fetch her luggage from the hotel and enter her bedchamber while she was still asleep. Mr. McKnight?

As relieved as she was at not having to appear in front of the judge in her wedding gown, she couldn’t help but worry. Mr. McKnight knew she had no intention of staying. So why would he go to all the trouble of retrieving her belongings? Unless…