Angelique awoke in the night, thinking she'd heard a thump. Her eyes searched the darkness of the bedchamber. She snatched her dagger from beneath her pillow and slid to the floor behind the bed. The faint moonlight glimmering through the window did little to illuminate the room. Only embers glowed in the hearth. She caught the whiff of a masculine scent. An intruder!

A floorboard squeaked and a large dark silhouette moved forward. Parblue! Immobile, she waited for the moment when she could best strike.

When the intruder bent over her bed, she lunged toward him, stabbing her blade at his neck. Before she met her mark, he jerked back, grabbed her forearms and dragged her against him. She lost the grip on her dagger. Heaven help me.

"M'lady?"

She screamed, trying to wake Camille, sleeping on a cot in the corner. A hand clamped over her mouth.

"Release me!" Her demand came out muffled.

"Shh. 'Tis me, Lachlan. You must come with me." He uncovered her mouth.

She went limp with a bit of relief. The heat of his strong hands and solid body burned through her. Now she recognized the pleasant but disturbing male scent of him. "Why?"

"Someone is trying to kill us. We must go into hiding," he said, low and fierce in her ear, his breath fanning her hair and tickling her skin.

"You have lost your senses. No one is trying to kill me." Were they?

"Indeed, Kormad is making plans."

Kormad. Mon Dieu. "I must have my clothes, my trunks."

"We have no time. Bring one change of clothes. I'll have the others shipped to Draughon."

"Camille must come with me. I go nowhere without her." Angelique wrested away from Lachlan, hurried to the corner and shook her cousin out of a deep sleep. "Parbleu! Camille, wake up."

"Whaa?" She stirred a bit.

"She is a heavy sleeper."

Lachlan went to the door. "Dirk, we need your help. Can you carry Lady Angelique's companion?"

The fearsome man appeared at the threshold, the lantern in his hand illuminating his long red hair and exaggerating his frown. "Can she not walk?"

Unable to wait for Camille to wake, and with no maids about, Angelique quickly threw smocks, stays and a change of clothes into a sack for herself and the same for Camille.

"I must dress," Angelique said.

"No time."

She yanked a blanket off the bed to wrap around herself seconds before Lachlan dragged her from the room.

After meeting Dirk cradling the sleeping Camille, and Rebbinglen carrying a lantern and a sword, they slipped through a narrow doorway she'd never seen before, and entered a tight dark passage. The dank air and close space made her feel she would suffocate. Apparently this was one of the secret passages she'd heard about that riddled Whitehall.

They reached an exterior door—near the stables if the stench was any indication. Wind twisted the trees and bushes. The faint glow of the lantern revealed the muddy ground. Angelique hung back on the threshold. "I am barefoot."

"Come." Lachlan scooped Angelique into his arms abruptly, making her head spin, and rushed her outside. Ma foi! She did not want to notice the warmth of his breath against her hair or the hardness and strength of his body. Before she had time to decide whether or not she liked his touch, he pushed her inside a coach with her cousin and slammed the door. The team and coach took off and raced through the gate, then along King Street. Horses' hooves clomped all around them—guards, she hoped.

"Camille, wake up, damn you." Angelique shook her on the opposite seat. "You are one worthless companion."

She roused a bit. "Huh? Are we moving? Where are we?" she asked in a groggy voice.

"In a coach, heading for God knows where. Lachlan says our lives are in danger."

"Is it Kormad?" Camille sat up.

"Lachlan says yes."

"You do not think it is Girard?"

"No, I hope he is dead of a fever." Angelique slid back on the leather seat. The coach careened around a corner, and she grabbed for a handhold.

"But we cannot be certain."

"We must not speak of it." Angelique's stomach knotted with the very thought.

"Did you get…the item?"

"Of course. You know I would not leave it."

After taking another corner too quickly, the coach drew to an abrupt halt and the door opened. Lachlan now held a torch aloft. "Come, both of you. Hold this." He handed the torch to Rebbinglen.

"Where are we going?" Angelique asked.

"No time for questions now." He motioned her forward.

Again, he lifted Angelique into his arms and carried her across an alley as if she weighed no more than an infant. Amid the chaos, he seemed an island of strength and protection. She was finding, of a sudden, that she liked this feeling. She had not experienced true safety for a long time. And besides, he smelled appealing, like clean male blended with leather. In the torchlight, their gazes mingled for a moment. He was not the seductive charmer now. No twinkle of humor danced in his eyes, no smirk upon his lips. He'd transformed into a formidable warrior with a firm mouth and dark, indomitable eyes—a side of him she'd never fully seen.

They slipped through a narrow doorway, Dirk carrying Camille behind them.

"What is this place?" The scents of tallow and musty books irritated her nose.

The passage opened up and they moved through a large dim church filled with empty pews. Only a couple of candles lit the plain interior. Five of King James's retainers wearing royal livery waited near the pulpit along with a dour Protestant minister.

"What is happening?" Angelique asked.

"We are to be married, as you ken." Lachlan set her on her feet at the front of the church.

She pulled him aside. "Have you lost your mind? We cannot marry now. Not like this," she whispered loudly.

"Aye, 'tis necessary to marry in secret. Someone wishes to kill us. They are wanting your estate through any means, fair or foul." His harsh expression told her of the seriousness of the matter. "King James bid us to go ahead and marry. Now. We have the special license."

"But I must wear my wedding gown and I did not bring it. I will not marry in my shift and a blanket. Barefoot."

"No time." Lachlan dragged her before the minister. "Please begin." He placed his hand over hers, tucked against his elbow.

The minister began in a dry monotone.

Parbleu! Angelique felt paralyzed for a moment, her mind racing. What to do? She glanced aside and found Camille standing barefoot, dressed much as she was. She gave an almost imperceptible nod and faint smile, her gaze steady. She approved? Merde!

How preposterous Angelique should get married in such dishabille. Her hair was a bedraggled disaster, tousled and hanging to her waist. She was a countess, not a prostitute. Since she had been a small child she had dreamed of the day she would wear her mother's enchanting French wedding gown, say her vows and kiss her own charming prince.

Today was not that day. That day would never come. She glanced up at Lachlan, and sensed some understanding in his eyes, a silent communication she could not fully grasp because she didn't know him. Lowering her gaze, she thought of the emerald ring on her finger and how he'd given it to her on bended knee. A romantic gesture, but had he meant it in the way she hoped?

Mère de Dieu, do not let this be a mistake. Do not let him slip inside my heart and destroy it. I cannot dare trust him.