There was no point in trying to disguise herself now that she’d been found, and no amount of pleading would convince the coachman that she was anything other than what Lord Blackstone accused her of being-a flighty runaway. She sat in the earl’s curricle, knowing she must bide her time for the right opportunity to escape. She watched Lord Blackstone arguing with the stagecoach driver over the matter of her portmanteau. At last a coin changed hands; then the man grudgingly opened the boot to retrieve her bag. Within a matter of minutes, the coachman took his position on the box. With a loud jingle of the harness, the driver called to his team, “Walk on and be lively ‘bout it, lads. We’re late.” The York stage rolled out of the yard filling Angelica with a sense of despair. The earl strode toward the carriage, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. Angelica schooled her features into a haughty mask and stared straight ahead. She wouldn’t say another word to the man who was betraying her in this unfeeling manner.
