A Scoundrel of Consequence. Helen Dickson

find myself looking forward to our journey together. The company will be most welcome. It will be interesting to see which of us will have expired before the journey’s end.’

      ‘Oh, you never know, Captain Lampard—perhaps we’ll be getting on so well by the time we reach Gretna Green, we too might recite our vows over the anvil.’

      ‘I doubt it, Miss Greenwood. I really do.’

      ‘So do I. Now, shall we go? I think enough time has been wasted.’

      William’s emotions veered from fury to mirth as he followed her out of the house, thinking Cassandra Greenwood to be the most provoking, insufferable female he had ever had the misfortune to meet. The idea of being bested by a twenty-year-old female in his own house was unthinkable and humiliating. In the course of twenty-four hours, she had gone out of her way to anger him and incur his displeasure with a rebellion and impertinence that both infuriated and exhilarated him.

      She was also captivating and alluring, with the kind of face and body that stirred his blood. A reluctant smile curved his lips as his eyes focused on the impudent sway of her skirts. Despite his decision not to have anything more to do with her, her sudden appearance at his home had changed everything. She was a challenge, a challenge he couldn’t resist, and the fact that she was determined to stand against him only spiced his interest.

      

      Ensconced in Captain Lampard’s sleek, well-sprung travelling coach drawn by four splendid bay horses and with two armed grooms in the driver’s seat, they were soon heading up the Great North Road. Fortunately, the roads were dry and relatively quiet, so they should make good time.

      ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ William had said when he had assisted her into the spacious conveyance, the very height of luxury. ‘Apart from the stops we make to change the horses, we’ll travel throughout the night.’

      She cast an apprehensive glance at him as he climbed in, but much to her relief he seated himself across from her. As he caught her gaze a slow smile touched his lips.

      ‘It’s safer if I sit here. I fear the nearness of you will destroy all my good intentions.’

      ‘Then I can only hope that your good intentions will continue all the way to Scotland, Lord Lampard,’ she replied archly.

      Leaning back, they made themselves comfortable against the cushions. William stretched his long legs out in front of him, wondering how he was going to endure the journey. He wasn’t made of stone, and the delectable young woman was so lovely she’d tempt any man who was alone with her for five minutes.

      One of his legs almost touched Cassandra’s own. Silently he dared his companion to object, watching her as one might observe a dew-laden flower, awed by its fragile beauty. Cassandra’s dark lashes fluttered downward self-consciously as he continued to watch her, uneasy with his boldness and his close proximity in the confines of the coach. Too masculine, his potent virility made her feel entirely too vulnerable. Furtively she glanced at the offending lean and muscular limb, casually moving further into the corner to avoid contact.

      Watching her from beneath lowered lids, William made no effort to move away, and grinned lazily when she spread a thick fur rug over her knees.

      

      After they had travelled some distance in silence, the thought came to Cassandra that if she wanted to survive this journey with her sanity intact, they must have some conversation. It was dark outside and the lanterns’ rays bathed the inside of the coach in a soft, golden light. She felt a sudden stillness envelope them. Vividly aware of the confined intimacy, she was overwhelmingly conscious of the man facing her.