In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster Read Online Free PDF

glanced at the window, and realized that more than an hour had to have passed.
    They were crossing a reasonable-sized bridge; the different sound of the wheels on the wooden planks had woken her.
    Heart pounding, she sat up and looked out to see houses lining the road. Relief poured through her. They must be heading into Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. She hadn’t missed her moment.
    Wriggling on the seat, she eased her shoulders and back, then, spine now straight, settled to once again stare out of the window.
    Willing someone she knew to be there, walking the pavements of the town. Perhaps Minerva, Duchess of Wolverstone, might be there shopping.
    Preferably with her husband.
    Eliza couldn’t think of anyone more able to effect her rescue than Royce, Duke of Wolverstone.
    She felt Scrope’s watchful gaze on her face but paid him no heed. She had to keep her eyes peeled. Once she saw someone, she would act, and it would be too late for Scrope to stop her.
    Only … the further they went, the houses thinned, then finally ceased altogether.
    She’d woken only as they’d left the town, not, as she’d thought, as they’d rolled into it.
    She’d missed her chance.
    Her best, and very likely last, chance to attract the attention of someone who knew her.
    For the first time in her life, she actually felt her heart sink.
    All the way to the pit of her stomach.
    She swallowed; slowly, she eased back against the seat.
    Her mind in turmoil, she didn’t look at Scrope, but sensed when he looked away, when he relaxed his vigilance.
    He knew there was little likelihood she could do anything to upset his plans now.
    “That,” Scrope said, ostensibly speaking to Genevieve, “was the last large town before the border. It’s mostly open country between here and Jedburgh — Taylor should have us there well before dusk.”
    Genevieve made a humming sound in acknowledgment.
    Eliza wondered if Scrope could read her mind. If his purpose was to deflate and deject her, he’d succeeded.
    She continued looking out of the window, staring out even though she’d lost all hope. This was definitely not the Great North Road; she’d traveled the stretch from Newcastle to Aln wick several times. She’d never traveled this way before, but fields already bordered the ditches. What roofs she spied belonged to cottages and farmhouses.
    The coach bowled steadily on, carrying her further north, its wheels rumbling in a constant, unrelenting rhythm. Now and again, another conveyance rolled by, mostly farm carts.
    Gradually, the road narrowed. Every time the coach encountered another vehicle going the opposite way, both had to slow and ease past.
    Eliza blinked. She didn’t straighten, instead counseling herself to remain relaxed — dejected. To give no sign that might trigger Scrope’s watchfulness.
    If by any chance at all someone useful might happen along, in a carriage, gig, or cart driving south to New castle … she was sitting on the right side of the coach to attract that person’s attention.
    Her situation was desperate. Even if she saw a country squire — any gentry at all — she had to be prepared to seize the moment and scream for help. As matters stood, her family wouldn’t know where she was being taken. Even if the person she alerted did nothing more than write to someone in London, that would be enough. Someone would tell her parents.
    She had to believe that.
    She had to alert someone, and this stretch before the border was her very last chance.
    If an opportunity presented, any opportunity at all, she had to seize it.
    Gaze fixed, apparently unseeing, on the road ahead, she vowed she would. She might not possess Heather’s stubborn determination, she might not have Angelica’s reckless lack of fear, but she’d be damned if she’d allow herself to be handed over to some Scottish laird without making even one bid for freedom.
    She might be the quiet one; that didn’t mean she was meek.
     
     
    Jeremy Carling tooled his curricle