In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

highway, and that stretch was too narrow to permit two carriages to pass at a clip.
    Reining Jasper in, he slowed the curricle until it was rolling slowly, the horse at a walk. The coach slowed, too. Carefully angling his curricle’s off-side wheel onto the verge, Jeremy raised a hand in brief acknowledgment to the coachman as the man edged his team as far as he dared the other way.
    Jeremy was concentrating, managing the reins and watching like a hawk to ensure the coach’s wheels and his curricle’s wheels slid past without touching, when a thump on the coach’s window made him look up —
    Into a pale face. A woman’s face.
    Distressed, her eyes wide, she’d struck the window with her open palms.
    He saw her lips move — distantly heard her scream.
    Male hands grabbed her shoulders and she was hauled abruptly back.
    Then the coach was past, and the road ahead lay empty.
    Jasper, wanting to run, tugged at the reins.
    Still stunned, his mind replaying what he’d seen, Jeremy absentmindedly lowered his hands, letting the black start trotting.
    Then he blinked, turned his head, and glanced back at the coach.
    It was rolling at speed again, but not rushing or racing, just steadily rumbling along at the same pace as when he’d first seen it.
    Half a minute later, the coach rounded the curve and passed out of sight.
    Facing forward, Jeremy let Jasper continue trotting.
    While his mind swiftly sorted and compared.
    He was an expert in ancient hieroglyphics, with a steel trap of a memory for such things. Faces were very like hieroglyphics, and he knew he’d seen that face before.
    But where? He didn’t know anyone in the area, other than the household at Wolverstone …
    London. In some ballroom. Several years ago.
    The scene came back to him in a rush.
    “Eliza Cynster.”
    Even as he said her name, another memory was pouring through him — of Royce reading a letter he’d received from Devil Cynster on the day Jeremy had arrived at Wolverstone, about the foiled kidnapping of Heather Cynster and the belief that her sisters were still under threat ….
    “Hell!” Jeremy hauled on the reins, halting Jasper.
    Shocked, he stared down the road.
    Heather Cynster had been taken by her captors into Scotland. The coach behind him was heading for the Scottish border.
    And he’d made out the single word Eliza had screamed.
    Help!
    She’d been kidnapped, too.
     
     
    Eliza slumped back into the corner of the coach into which Scrope had flung her. He’d snarled at her but then had quickly regained his composure, his previous stoic and stony expression cloaking the turmoil she’d provoked.
    Genevieve had hissed at her, too. Talonlike fingers locked about Eliza’s wrist, the nurse held on to her as if she might bolt.
    Small hope of that.
    Standing over her, keeping his balance with one hand on the coach’s ceiling, Scrope stared coldly down at her, then reached up, opened the hatch in the roof, and spoke upward. “That curricle that just passed us — did the driver stop?”
    After a moment, the coachman replied, “No. Glanced back once, puzzledlike, but then went on. Why?”
    Scrope glanced at Eliza. “Our precious baggage tried to attract his attention. You’re sure he isn’t following?”
    A moment passed. “There’s no one behind us.”
    “Good.” Scrope closed the hatch. Weaving slightly with the coach’s motion, he stared down at Eliza.
    She stared back, surprised to discover she felt no real fear. She’d done what she’d had to — and no longer had sufficient strength to do very much at all, even to be properly afraid.
    Eventually, Scrope shifted and sat again opposite her. “As you’ve just demonstrated, there’s no point in trying to create a scene — nothing comes of it, even if you do. So.” He eyed her coldly, measuringly. “Do we have to tie you up and tell our tale at our next stop, or will you behave?”
    Recalling the tack Heather had taken with her captors, letting them believe she was