Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue by Stephanie Laurens

able to purchase a rackety old trap with a close to broken-down horse without having to insist that yes, he really did want that horse, that trap.
    If any of his friends could see his new equipage, they’d laugh themselves into stitches.
    Shifting against the wall, pleasantly warm with the heat retained from the earlier sunshine, he continued to watch the carriages, outwardly the soul of patience, inwardly increasingly restless.
    He’d considered sending another missive south to the Cynsters. Had debated it for more than an hour, but in the end, he hadn’t. For a start, if Heather’s cousins reacted and charged north, as they were very likely to do, they would almost certainly achieve the opposite of what he’d striven thus far to do, namely keep Heather’s presence with her captors a secret.
    If the ton ever learned that she’d been in the hands of Fletcher and Cobbins for even one night, her reputation would be irretrievably shredded, Martha’s presence notwithstanding. Nothing he could say or do afterward would serve to rectify that, not in the censorious eyes of the ton. Those close to her, and him, would accept the truth; society at large would not.
    On top of that, it was too hard to explain the situation simply to someone who didn’t know the full story, to convey that Heather was still in the hands of the kidnappers, but that she was safe. That he would ensure she continued to be safe.
    It was that last that was most difficult to communicate, especially when placed alongside the information that they were on the brink of crossing into Scotland. No matter what words he devised, what glib explanation, the result read as a thinly veiled acknowledgment that he would marry her.
    But what if she refused? Until he knew what direction she would take, making any statement would be unwise.
    Of course, given the situation, compounded by his reputation as one of London’s most notable rakes, and hers as a well-connected, well-bred, and largely well-protected young lady, there was no other option. Especially as both their families moved within the most rarefied circle of the ton. And while one part of him felt he should rail at such a socially dictated fate, the larger part was surprisingly acquiescent. He suspected that was at least partly due to her being “the devil he knew.”
    Even as the appellation crossed his mind, he was recalling all the things he hadn’t known about her but had learned courtesy of the past days.
    She’d proved surprisingly quick-witted. She’d been resolute and loyal. She’d observed and acted where many other ladies would have sunk into a helpless funk. Weak she wasn’t, neither in will nor in character.
    He could do a lot worse for his bride.
    Neither of their families would raise a fuss; while it might not be a love-match, currently all the rage, after the last days he was reasonably certain that, should they agree to, he and she could rub along well enough.
    Which was more than he could say of any other lady of his acquaintance.
    Love-matches might have currently been the vogue, but he, personally, had given up on love long ago. Fifteen years ago, to be precise. And while he suspected Heather would prefer a love-match, she was twenty-five, and at this Season’s close would be formally considered on the shelf. Clearly her Prince Charming hadn’t appeared to sweep her off her feet. Given what he’d seen of her pragmatism recently, he suspected that, when he offered for her hand, once she thought the matter through, she would accept.
    But if she didn’t . . .
    He frowned, straightened, then shook aside the notion. She was a sane and sensible woman; she’d accept the necessity.
    Yet if she didn’t . . . there was that spark that had always flared between them, that he could, if he wished, fan into a compelling blaze, one fierce and fiery enough to raze her objections.
    Convincing her might even be fun.
    His imagination was engaged in assessing the possibilities when a familiar