Free In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster by Stephanie Laurens Page A

yourself than it needs to be. Behave, and we can proceed civilly.”
    Eliza forced herself to incline her head. They could take it as acquiescence if they chose. This was the first time she’d had to truly make a decision to go along with their plans; until now she’d been drugged, or still too weak to resist.
    On the way to the parlor, she’d tested her limbs; to her relief, she’d regained full control, her normal strength. If she wanted to resist, she could, but …
    Scrope held the parlor door, and Eliza followed Genevieve through, very aware of Scrope following at her heels. Logically she knew she should do as she and Jeremy had arranged and go forward without protest, yet when she stepped out of the inn’s door and saw the dark maw of the coach waiting, innate resistance reared.
    She halted on the inn’s porch, then a movement to her left caught her eye. Glancing past Genevieve, who was waiting to usher her — push her if necessary — into the coach, she glimpsed …
    Jeremy, in a scruffy-looking jacket with a cloth cap pulled low over his dark hair, its bill shading his face.
    He lowered his head in an infinitesimal nod.
    He was there, watching over her. He would follow the coach to Edinburgh, as he’d said.
    He would rescue her.
    Dragging in a deep breath, she looked forward and walked to the coach. She climbed in, Genevieve followed; Scrope paused to speak to Taylor, then stepped up into the coach and closed the door.
    The coach lurched, then rumbled out of the inn yard.
    They were away.
    On the road to Edinburgh.
     
     
    As soon as the coach turned up the highway, Jeremy quit his position in the yard and strode quickly back to the tavern.
    Swiftly changing into his identifiably gentlemanly coat, raking his fingers through his hair then shaking his head to resettle the thick locks, he packed his bags, paid his shot, and went out to where a helpful young ostler, currently in his shirtsleeves, was holding Jasper the Black, harnessed and prancing, ready to be off.
    With a smile, a word of thanks, and a coin, Jeremy returned the coat and cap he’d borrowed from the ostler. A disguise would do him no good while he was driving his elegant curricle with Jasper between the shafts; someone might even think he’d stolen the carriage. And once he reached Edinburgh, he might well need to command the usual attention gentlemen of his class garnered; a disguise might be counterproductive.
    All he had to do was ensure he didn’t get close enough for the coachman — Taylor, Eliza had named the man — to get a sufficiently good look at him to recognize him as the gentleman Eliza had tried to enlist.
    Whose help Eliza had enlisted.
    Pleased enough with how matters had thus far unfolded, he climbed into the curricle, lifted the reins, then with a flourish sent Jasper pacing smartly out of the tavern’s small yard.
    Once he and Jasper had agreed on a nice, steady pace, Jeremy kept his eyes glued to the road ahead, just in case the coach had for some unforeseen reason slowed.
    The one task on his list that he’d as yet been unable to accomplish was to send word to Eliza’s family. If they’d been on the Great North Road, he’d have been able to send a message by the night mail, but there was no Royal Mail service along this lesser road. Locating a trustworthy courier to employ had likewise proved futile; such messengers plied the main highways and the major towns they linked.
    He’d considered approaching the commander of the garrison, but, as he understood such matters, it was imperative that Eliza’s days-long sojourn with her kidnappers be kept a complete secret, one shared with as few people as possible, as had been managed with Heather’s disappearance; he himself only knew of Heather’s kidnapping because he fell within a trusted circle.
    In rescuing Heather, in protecting her reputation, Breckenridge had been exceedingly wary over entrusting the truth to anyone. In a similar vein, Jeremy had no confidence