I should have killed him when I had the chance. I should have pulled the trigger when I had Alejandro’s pistol pressed to his temple. I would have saved myself so much trouble.

But now, all I can do is sit as upright as I possibly can considering my circumstances. “Would you be a dear and explain to me why I’m being kidnapped?”

It wouldn’t do to get spitting mad just yet. I am wearing nothing but a bedsheet and my hands are tied behind my back. And the bedsheet is perilously close to covering more of the carriage floor than my body. To say I lack the upper hand would be an understatement of epic proportions.

Contempt radiates out of Sebastian’s eyes. Contempt and perhaps even disappointment? Resentment? Hard to tell.

“You had no plans on following through with the marriage, did you?” He huffs out a breath that is almost a mirthless laugh. “It didn’t have to come to this, you know. You could have just done what you were meant to.”

I blink at him. “Is that what this is about?” A laugh bubbles up from deep within me, jostling the bedsheet into an even more precarious position. Sebastian will get more than an eyeful soon at this rate. “Sebastian, you’re the viceroy’s son. You can have any girl you wanted. Why go to the trouble of kidnapping me?”

He shakes his head ruefully, rubbing at his jaw with impatience. “It was never about you, Eustaquia. Trust me, you weren’t my pick either.”

“Then whose pick was I?”

He seems to have realized that he’s walked into an area of conversation that is somehow verboten. A knock on the carriage door spares him from having to answer.

Sebastian grabs me under the arms and yanks me out of the way of another body being unceremoniously tossed into the carriage. Red hair cascades against the floor as a head thunks against the boards.

“Ana!”

Now, she is spitting mad. She spares me enough of a glance to ascertain that I am in one piece before she lashes out, kicking at the delicate bits of the man who chucked her in here. He crawls in after her, grabbing her ankles with his too big meaty hands.

“Get your goddamn hands off me,” she shouts.

Something cold and sharp presses into the skin of my throat. I don’t see the knife, but Ana does. She goes still, as still as stone.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I won’t.” Sebastian’s voice is infuriatingly calm. “So long as you both behave.”

Then, like a gentleman, he tugs the bedsheet higher over my nearly exposed chest with the hand that isn’t holding the knife to my throat.

Ana’s nostrils flare, but she behaves.

“Are you hurt?” Ana asks softly, not daring to draw her eyes away from the blade.

“Only my pride,” I say.