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thought! I suspected from the moment I set eyes on him that he was the shady sort. Georgie is too young to see it, and I ought to have warned her, though I suppose it would only have spurred her to rebellion. But oh, a fortune hunter! I cannot bear to contemplate it."
    As she sniffed and pulled out her kerchief, Robert sank back in his chair, putting this newest bit of information into the puzzle that was Georgie and her popinjay. To a penniless baron, a duke's beautiful daughter with thirty thousand—in addition to the estate she would inherit from her mother at five-and-twenty—must be a prize, indeed. But if he was merely after her fortune, why hadn't Georgie seen through his act?
    Rossemore was perhaps not such a fool after all.
    Fool or no, Robert would gladly have wrung his neck right then. He'd wring both their necks; Rossemore's for making off with Robert's intended bride—never mind that she wasn't precisely his anymore—and Georgie's for the deceitful thing she had become.
    "Oh, do forgive me," the duchess said, dabbing at her tears. "I am not usually such a watering pot. I simply cannot bear the thought of how miserable that wretch will make her. If I were a man, I'd go after them myself, but…" She breathed an exasperated sound and turned the full force of her red-brimmed, pleading eyes on Robert.
    The devil. She wanted
him
to chase after them. Robert squirmed and tried to think of a good reason why he ought to refuse. But it went against his nature to deny a weeping, distraught woman, especially the duchess. And then there was Georgie…
    He groaned inwardly. Damn her, anyway. She had made her bed, and she'd simply have to lie in it.
    Except it'd be Rossemore's bed, wouldn't it?
    "When did they leave?" He might as well acquiesce. As a favor to her family, of course.
    Hope sparked in the duchess's eyes. "Late last night or early this morning." Her brows knitted. "I suppose I ought to tell you. Southwell doesn't know yet. I'd ask him to go, but I know he would refuse."
    Robert nodded. He couldn't see the stoic duke chasing after anyone, let alone a runaway daughter. The task was perfect for Georgie's older brother, however. "What about Wakehurst?"
    The duchess shook her head. "He and his cousins made off for Bath a few days ago."
    "Bath?" Tony interrupted blithely. "Why, they're"—he faltered, then caught himself, clearing his throat—"in Bath, yes."
    The duchess threw him a sharp look, and Robert narrowed his eyes. But he had no time to contemplate the matter. The wayward couple must have at least a five-hour head start, and he could not afford to lose another minute. "I'll do what I can to stop them."
    "Thank you, Lord Sheffield," the duchess said, her eyes brimming with tears again. "I knew you would. Now, about what to do if you should succeed…"
    Robert listened with half an ear as the duchess informed him of her plans on how to avoid a scandal, part of his mind mapping out his own campaign. Aside from a fast horse, he'd need backup, and he knew exactly where to find it. If nothing else, Cameron ought to appreciate the opportunity to visit his native soil again.
    FOUR DAYS LATER, a weary and bedraggled Georgie entered the Queen's Head with the man she was to marry. They should not have reached Gretna Green until the next day, but Phillip had insisted they make haste. It was nearly eight in the evening, and Georgie longed for a bath, a hot meal, and a full night's sleep.
    "The innkeeper will perform the ceremony," Phillip told her after a quick discussion with their host. "The blighter is charging double on account of the hour. Says it'll be irksome to scare up witnesses so late."
    Georgie glanced at the short, gaunt innkeeper, who was engaged in an animated discussion with a middle-aged woman twice his size. He must be an anvil priest. "We
could
wait until tomorrow," she said, even though that was the last thing she wanted.
    "No, no, we cannot afford to waste a single minute."
    He looked so distracted,