Nick raised one dark eyebrow. “Ankara? I think that’s a bit extreme, considering our accommodations when last we visited Turkey.”

“Also your doing,” Rock grumbled. “We could at least move to York. This inn—and I use the term loosely—is awful.”

Nick smiled at that. “You know, for a Turk, you really have become something of a dandy.”

“It is called The Stuck Pig, for God’s sake!”

“Do you think we would find a more interestingly named establishment in York? ”

“I think we might well find a finer establishment there.”

“Perhaps, but the last we heard, she was headed here,” Nick said. “Where is your sense of adventure? ”

Rock huffed in irritation, looking toward the stables. “Lost, along with our horses. Where do you think this place is keeping them? Bath? The only excuse for taking so much time to fetch a horse is death.”

“Death of the horse? ”

“I was leaning toward death of the groomsman who went looking for it,” Rock said, and he was off, heading for the stables, leaving Nick to turn his attention to the village of Dunscroft.

They were close.

They had tracked Lady Georgiana across England to Yorkshire, where her course seemed to disappear. They’d ridden north for a day, questioning anyone who might have had a chance to witness a young woman traveling alone, and found nothing past Dunscroft, where a boy who worked at the post remembered seeing a “lady like an angel” come off the mail coach. He could not remember what happened to the angel in question, but Nick had quickly decided that she hadn’t gone far. She was in Dunscroft. Or close to it.

He was certain of it.

With a deep breath, he considered the little village that lined a single main street, where a church, an inn, and a simple row of shops marked civilization. Across from the inn was the village commons, a small patch of green that still bore an empty maypole from the May Day celebration that likely marked the most exciting night of the year in Dunscroft. As he took in the commons, Nick’s attention was drawn to a lone woman crossing them.

She read as she walked, transfixed by the stack of papers she carried, and the first thing Nick noticed was her ability to keep a straight line despite her obvious lack of awareness of her surroundings.

She was in mourning, clad in a simple black day dress, a common enough design, if slightly out of fashion, but such a thing was to be expected, considering their location. The dress indicated that she was very likely the daughter of some local landed gentry, but her movements were unselfconscious enough to suggest that she was no society miss.

He watched her carefully, taking in her uncommon height—he didn’t think he’d ever met a woman as tall as she was. Her quick, purposeful strides were entirely the opposite of the mincing little steps that young ladies were taught to believe graceful. He could not resist focusing on her skirts, which clung to her shapely legs with each long step. As she walked, the hem of her dress kicked up, revealing plain walking boots—footwear chosen for function rather than fashion.

Her black bonnet sat low over her face, shielding her eyes from the sun. Between the low brim of her hat and the placement of her reading material, Nick could not make out anything more than the tip of what looked to be a very straight, very pert nose. Idly, he wondered at the color of her eyes.

She had nearly reached the street now, having crossed the entire greensward without looking up once. He watched as she turned over a page, missing neither a step of her journey nor a word of her correspondence. Her singular focus was fascinating—he could not help but wonder what it might be like to be the object of such undivided attention. Would she bring such purpose to everything that she did?

He straightened, turning to look for Rock. Nick had been too long without a woman if he was musing about a nameless, faceless female who had simply happened into his line of vision.

And then all hell broke loose.

The loud crack sounded from nearby, followed by a combination of men shouting, horses screaming, and a banging that Nick could not immediately place. He turned in the direction of the sound and initially saw nothing, barely registering that the noise had come from farther down the main street, around a bend in the road, before the seriousness of the situation came into clear, horrifying view.

Tearing up the road was a team of enormous workhorses, hooves pounding as their muscled haunches moved with unbridled force. Behind them, they pulled a large workman’s cart that had lost two wheels and was dragging on one side. The cart was losing its cargo of flagstones, and the sound of the rocks tumbling off the wooden cart was unnerving the horses, who were now running at breakneck speed. Their driver had been lost along with the wheels, and there was no one in control of the massive vehicle; the horses cared nothing for what was in their path.

And the girl from the commons was about to put herself squarely in their path.

She remained engrossed in her reading even as Nick called out to her. She took her final, fateful step onto the main street, and it was then that he knew he would have no other choice but to save her.

Dammit.

He took off, running across the courtyard of the inn. A quick glance confirmed that he could get to her barely in time, presuming that he did not miss a step, and that she did not suddenly decide to become aware of her surroundings.

Not that the latter appeared likely to happen.

He felt the hardened earth vibrating with the thunder of the horses’ strides beneath his riding boots as he tore across the street, headed for her even as he felt the enormous animals bearing down upon them.