Lady Lyte's Little Secret. Deborah Hale

taught Felicity Lyte one thing, it was that a woman must be prepared to look after herself and take her own part against the world. No one else could be trusted to do it for her—least of all anyone who wore breeches.

      She could not afford to let Thorn Greenwood convince her otherwise.

      On the seat opposite Felicity, Thorn stretched his long limbs as a wry chuckle rippled out of him. “If young Armitage can roust my sister out of bed at a reasonable hour of the morning, he’s a better man than I.”

      The significance of his words must have struck him, for Thorn’s brow furrowed. “Your nephew would hire separate rooms for them, I hope?”

      For some reason, that question rasped against Felicity’s tightly wound nerves.

      “Of course Oliver will make certain they have separate lodgings,” she snapped. “My nephew is an honorable young man. Just because he was foolish enough to run away to Scotland with your sister doesn’t mean he’ll compromise her virtue. It’s not as though she were an heiress and he a fortune hunter.”

      For over half a century, Lord Hardwick’s Marriage Act had made it more difficult for unscrupulous men to prey on naive young ladies of fortune. A truly determined number now chanced the long journey to Scotland where underage women could still wed without the consent of their families. Many an unprincipled scoundrel took the added precaution of relieving the young lady of her virginity during the journey.

      Thorn glared at Felicity. “Are you accusing my sister of pursuing your nephew for his fortune?”

      “She would not be the first.”

      The words had barely left her lips before Felicity wished she’d bitten her own tart tongue. Whimsical and imprudent Ivy Greenwood might be. For all that, she seemed a warmhearted, unaffected little thing—unlike some of the avaricious creatures who’d stalked Oliver during their past several Seasons at Bath.

      If she and Thorn found the young lovers at the King’s Arms, as Felicity was certain they would, she might never see him again after today. Perhaps if she picked a quarrel with him and they parted on bad terms, it might trouble them both less.

      Felicity wished she could believe it.

      Instead she feared the look of injured dignity in Thorn’s expressive eyes would plague her sleepless nights for years to come.

      “It might surprise you how many men and woman form romantic attachments with no thought of fortune, madam.” He could have hurled the words at her like an accusation. Instead, Thorn spoke them in a tone of quiet forbearance that vexed Felicity even worse.

      The acid retort flew out of her before she could contain it. “When there is no fortune involved, perhaps.”

      Thorn did not flinch or strike back, yet something in his steady gaze told Felicity she had just diminished herself in his eyes.

      At that moment, her young footman pulled open the carriage door.

      Plucking his hat off the seat beside him, Thorn Greenwood prepared to debark. “Let us go collect our strays and be done with it, shall we?”

      “By all means.” Felicity let him help her down from the high carriage box, acutely conscious that the chaste touch of his hand would probably be her last.

      Once she had firm ground under her feet, she forced herself to pull her hand away. Then she swept into the King’s Arms, leaving Thorn to follow in her wake or not, as he chose.

      She found the large entry hall abustle with a party of travelers anxious to make an early departure. Felicity peered around for any sign of Oliver or Ivy among the crowd, but saw none.

      She did recognize the innkeeper’s wife, threading her way through the departing guests bearing a breakfast tray for others who would not stir from their lodgings until a more civilized hour.

      Might a dish of buttered eggs and kippered herring nestle on that tray beneath the crisp white napkin? Felicity wondered. Oliver insisted a morning diet of fish and eggs stimulated his mental processes.

      Once again, his aunt asked herself how an aloof scholar like Oliver Armitage had become entangled with such a flighty little chit as Ivy Greenwood. However it had come about, Felicity vowed to disentangle her nephew. Even if it meant threatening to disinherit him.

      The innkeeper appeared just then to present the departing patrons with their bill.

      The moment he spied Felicity, he left his other guests to tally their charges while he marched over to greet her with an exaggerated bow.

      “Lady Lyte! A great pleasure as always, ma’am. We weren’t expecting to see you back from Bath for a few weeks yet. I fear your usual rooms have been let until the day after tomorrow, but of course we will endeavor to accommodate you as best we can. I remarked to Mr. Armitage just last night that his arrival was all the more welcome for being something of a surprise.”

      “So he is here!” Dizzy with relief, Felicity barely refrained from clasping the fastidious retired soldier in an embrace that would have flustered him to death. “If you would be so good as to show us to Mr. Armitage’s room, I have an urgent need to speak with him.”

      The innkeeper’s smile faded as he shook his head. “There must be some mistake, ma’am. Mr. Armitage and his lovely bride dined here last evening. But after that they left for Gloucester to spend the night.”

      Behind her, Felicity sensed Thorn give a start at the word bride, though he said nothing.

      “Gloucester?” she repeated. “Are you certain?”

      “Indeed, ma’am. Mr. Armitage was most particular about it. I recollect thinking it a late hour for them to be on the road and hoping they’d be able to find vacant lodgings once they arrived there.”

      The innkeeper glanced at his other guests, who looked impatient to be off. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, ma’am…?”

      Felicity tried not to let her dismay show. “By all means.”

      Once the innkeeper and his guests were occupied, she turned to Thorn. “Gloucester? What could have made Oliver press on so far? We always stop at The King’s Arms on our way to Trentwell.”

      “I’d say the why is rather obvious, wouldn’t you?” replied Thorn. “They’re eager to reach Gretna as soon as they can. Besides, Armitage is a clever young fellow. No doubt it occurred to him that if you gave chase, this would be the first place you’d come looking.”

      How dare Thorn Greenwood sound so calm and rational when her whole world had turned on its head? She had so counted on finding Oliver here and putting a quick stop to this whole troublesome business.

      Felicity felt her gorge rise on a bilious tide. “If we keep driving, might we reach Gloucester before they move on?”

      “It’s well over fifteen miles.” Thorn shook his head. “With market traffic, we’d do well to get there by noon. Even Ivy isn’t that excessive a slugabed.”

      If Felicity could have got her hands on her nephew and Miss Greenwood, she would have throttled them both. The last thing she needed just then was to be chasing the length of the country after them.

      “Besides.” Thorn gestured toward the window, through which Felicity could see her carriage. “We can’t simply pile back in and keep on driving. We need fresh horses, and your poor coachman and footman must get a little rest. Then there’s the small matter of that highwayman. We have to deliver him to someone in authority and swear out a complaint.”

      Was the whole world conspiring against her? Felicity asked herself as her palms went clammy and her stomach grew more sour by the minute. If she hadn’t emptied it so thoroughly the night before, she might have been violently ill in front of a room full of strangers.

      And, worse still, in front of Thorn Greenwood.

      It would serve the woman right if he left her there, Thorn fumed. With his winnings from last night’s card game, perhaps