If they did… if her family came searching for her, as she knew they would-Henry, their old coachman, would have alerted the household by now-then having heard she was a Miss Wallace, the landlord and his staff might not mention her.

Eyes on Fletcher, she lifted her chin. “I’ll behave.”

He smiled, but encouragingly rather than victoriously. “That’s the ticket.”

Heather inwardly sighed. Fletcher’s lack of smugness proved he was intelligent. Despite his story, if she’d been prepared to throw a screaming tantrum she might have been able to have the local constable summoned-might have been able to convince him to hold her while he checked her story against her captors’. Unfortunately, her reputation wouldn’t easily withstand being so publicly found in kidnappers’ hands, Martha notwithstanding. Especially after she had that very evening made the unspoken declaration implied by stepping into the racy world of Lady Herford’s salon.

But above and beyond all else, while she remained quiet and played the role they’d planned for her, she wasn’t, as far as she could see, under any real threat, and wouldn’t be until they reached their employer. Until then, she would put her mind to ferreting out what lay behind this very strange kidnapping.

And thenshe’d use her wits and escape.

Chapter Two

Three hours later, Heather lay on her back in a not-so-comfortable bed in a room on the second floor of the Red Garter Inn at Knebworth and stared at the ceiling. Outside, the moon had finally sailed free of the clouds; the shaft of silvery light beaming in through the uncurtained window allowed her to see the ceiling well enough, not that she was actually studying it.

“What the devil am I to do?” She sent the whispered question floating upward, but no answer came.