A Rogue to Avoid (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 2) by Bianca Blythe

Author:Bianca Blythe [Blythe, Bianca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction/romance/historical/regency, fiction/historical
Published: 2016-09-18T18:30:00+00:00

*

The van lurched over the windy road, and Cordelia straightened. Heat stung her cheeks. She’d intended to stay awake.

“Go back to sleep, lassie.”

Cordelia refused to give into the impulse to yawn. “More sleep will not be necessary.”

Lord Rockport chuckled. The sound was warm and velvety, contrasted by the cold breeze that rippled relentlessly against her and the clomp of the horses’ hooves against the muddy road.

They passed more sheep and cows than Cordelia thought possible. They passed thatched cottages, wooden farms, and stone mills. They passed people toiling in the fields and women hauling water. They passed bare-footed children, even though Cordelia shivered in her slippered feet.

Lord Rockport yawned, and something tinged in her chest. He’d let her sleep with no complaints.

She frowned at the reins. “Perhaps I can drive for a while.”

He blinked. “Truly?”

“You should be sleeping.”

He chuckled. “Clearly you won’t miss my conversation.”

She smiled, and he handed her the reins. The leather felt strange against her palms, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. “I should perhaps tell you that I don’t know how to drive.”

He smiled at her, and she turned away. It was cold outside. She wasn’t supposed to feel warmth rush through her. She was sure.

“It’s easier than riding a horse, lassie. Don’t you drive carts in Hampshire?”

“I am always able to make use of my family’s phaeton.” She frowned. “Which our coachman drives.”

“How very conventional.” Lord Rockport yawned, and something in her stomach tumbled down.

She didn’t want him to think her conventional.

She tightened her fingers about the reins, careful to heed his warning not to let the horses veer from their predictable, clodding pace.

“If the horses gallop away, you’re finding us new transport,” Cordelia said.

He snorted. “It’s a deal.”

Towering mountains loomed over her, their surfaces dark, as if not even grass or wildflowers could cling to their steep slopes.

She glanced at the marquess. His eyes were shut, a definite improvement from the glare he usually directed toward her. The steely expression of his face had softened, and she was glad at Lord Rockport’s ability to sleep despite the horses’ noisy trots a few feet away and the now constant swerve as they wound round the Dales. The road worsened, making the road from London to Yorkshire look like a jaunt.

She shivered and attempted to focus on the other scenery. Yet every chapel that they passed, every steeple, every cross, reminded her of the marriage that would soon occur between her and the marquess. They’d already spent more time together than most engaged couples did before their more lavish ceremonies.

Horses’ hooves thundered behind her, joined by the unmistakable sound of wheels crushing against the narrow lane, and Cordelia glanced over her shoulder, interrupted from her musings.

Rows of horses galloped over the road, pulling a stagecoach behind them. Men and women perched on the roof, attired in sensible brown and gray linen, as a cloud of dirt billowed around them.

Goodness, they hadn’t seen anyone, and now there was an entire speeding, jostling coach behind them. Drystone walls,

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