One Night with a Regency Lord. Lucy Ashford

when her head began to droop and she drifted gently into a deep sleep. The red-faced farmer beside her also slept, his snores keeping time with the rhythm of the coach, but Amelie heard nothing. Even when the stage came to rest at its designated stops, she remained undisturbed.

      She slept on, mile after mile, until suddenly just past the Chippenham turn-off the coach lurched to an abrupt halt. She was jolted awake and thought at first that they must have reached the small town of Wroxhall, which she’d noticed was just twenty miles short of Bath. Hopefully some of the passengers would alight there and leave those remaining a little more room. Craning her neck round the still-sleeping farmer to look out of the window, she received a shock that sent her senses spinning.

      Gareth Wendover wrenched open the doorway of the coach. He was smiling grimly and in his hand was her forlorn cloak bag. ‘You seem to have forgotten something, Amelie.’

      The coachman at that moment appeared at his shoulder. “Ere, ‘ere, you can’t stop a coach on the King’s ‘Ighway to give back a bag,’ he blustered.

      ‘Oh, but indeed I can,’ Gareth said smoothly. ‘You see, this isn’t any old cloak bag and I’m not giving it back. In fact, I have every intention of keeping it—it is evidence!’

      Her fellow passengers were now all wide awake and taking interested note of the proceedings. She heard the word evidence being bandied around between them and turned to face her pursuer.

      Gareth’s smile turned positively fiendish. ‘It contains some very expensive trinkets filched by this young woman from her employers. In her haste to escape justice, she left the bag behind. But I’ll make sure that she answers for her crime. I intend to deliver her immediately to the local magistrate. He is sure to have strong views on dishonest servants.’

      There was a gasp from the stout woman who had befriended Amelie. ‘Surely not, sir. This young woman can’t be a thief.’

      ‘One would not think so, I confess, but appearances can be deceptive. Unfortunately, the young and supposedly innocent may harbour evil impulses.’

      ‘How dare you,’ spluttered Amelie. ‘You know you’re telling a pack of lies. That bag is certainly mine, but it contains only a few personal items.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Gareth was maddeningly calm. ‘Then I suggest, ladies and gentlemen,’ addressing the inhabitants of the coach who were now all craning forward, intent on the play being enacted before them, ‘that you decide whether or not a maid is likely to be carrying these particular personal items.’

      And with a flourish he emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. To her embarrassment a few of her garments spilled out, but her consternation was vastly increased when she spied along with them a diamond brooch, a jewelled tiepin and a battered but expensive gentleman’s timepiece.

      ‘Now what do you think of that?’ her tormentor goaded. ‘Do they look the sort of things a lady’s maid would own? I really don’t think so. They do, however, look the sort of items she might purloin from her employer’s bedroom.’

      Amelie found her voice at last. ‘This is all lies. I’ve never seen these things before in my life,’ she cried indignantly.

      ‘And yet somehow they are in your bag. You did say it was your bag, didn’t you?’

      Her fellow passengers were muttering to themselves, the motherly lady still swearing that she was sure there was some mistake, but the acidic clerk in the corner talked darkly about the falling morals of servants these days. Even the farmer had woken up and was giving his pointed opinion that they were wasting time, and if they didn’t get moving soon it would be dark before they could get anywhere near their homes. The rest of the coach nodded in agreement and seemed to lose interest in Amelie’s plight.

      Gareth reached into the carriage and grasped her arm. ‘Now, my dear, I think you will come with me.’

      He pulled her down from the coach as the driver started to put his horses into motion once more. Smiling, he waved the stage on its way. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this young woman gets her just deserts.’

      It was all over in seconds. One minute the coach was still there, the next she was standing in the middle of a deserted country road, Gareth Wendover at her arm and his horse placidly grazing by the roadside.

      ‘You are abominable!’ she exploded. ‘What have I ever done to you to serve me so ill?’

      ‘Desertion, perhaps,’ he queried. ‘Have you never been told it’s dishonourable to make a bargain and not keep it? I thought you needed a lesson.’

      ‘I need no lesson on how to conduct myself, particularly from you,’ she raged. ‘The last time I had the misfortune to be in your company, you behaved intolerably even for someone who was clearly not in their right senses.’

      His smile faded. ‘I may have been a trifle disguised,’ he conceded, ‘but my senses were working fine. You’re a very beautiful young woman, Amelie, but too spirited by far. As a maidservant, you’re in need of some schooling.’

      She ignored the implied threat. ‘How dare you make me out to be a thief? Every feeling is offended.’

      ‘Who’s to say you’re not a thief? You’ve behaved most suspiciously.’

      She stood erect and looked him squarely in the eyes. ‘I have never stolen in my life and I have never seen those articles you tipped out of my cloak bag.’

      ‘No, of course you haven’t,’ he agreed amiably. ‘The watch and tiepin are mine and the brooch is one that belonged to my mother and that happened to be in my pocket.’

      She gaped at him. ‘Then why did you make up such a wicked story?’

      ‘To get you off the coach, of course,’ he replied blandly. ‘What else? I could hardly hold the stage up and request you to dismount. You would have refused and your fellow passengers would have supported you, but thinking you might be a thief, they just wanted to get on their way.’

      ‘You are insufferable. You’ve stranded me in the middle of nowhere because I didn’t keep some shameful bargain. Rest assured that I still won’t be keeping it.’

      ‘Now that’s where we might disagree.’ His tone was unyielding. ‘After all, what else can you do? As you so rightly point out, you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, and the only possible transport looks to be that horse over there, and that horse belongs to me. So I think perhaps you might be persuaded to keep your bargain after all.’

      ‘Then you think wrongly. I would rather walk for the rest of the day than be anywhere near you.’ With that, she stuffed her few belongings back into her bag and began marching rapidly along the road.

      ‘It’s at least six miles to the nearest village,’ he called after her.

      ‘Then I’ll walk six miles,’ she responded angrily.

      He swung himself into the saddle and sidled his horse up to her. ‘I always get my way, you know. You might as well give in gracefully and enjoy our splendid isolation together. The shoes you’re wearing hardly seem to be made for rural walking.’ The steel had given way to wry mockery.

      She looked down at the dainty pumps she still wore, annoyed that she’d not thought to change them for some of Fanny’s much stouter shoes. With compressed lips, she marched onwards, Gareth Wendover walking his horse just a pace behind. We must look like a carnival show, she reflected bitterly.

      ‘Come, Amelie, this is stupid. Get up on the horse and I’ll engage to take you to the nearest inn.’

      ‘Thank you, sir, but your offer is declined. I’m well aware of my likely fate there. I’ve had experience of what you consider fitting conduct for an inn.’

      ‘You’re an obstinate young woman, but I shall win. You might as well resign yourself to accompanying me and be saved a good deal of discomfort.’

      His manner was relaxed and