Page 15 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"I'm not going to open them," he said. "Not my business what you're carrying. But if it's something that's going to get us killed, I need to know."

A long pause. He watched her weigh her options: how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden.

"It's evidence," she said finally. "Documents. Records. Proof of crimes committed by a man who'd rather I disappeared than deliver them to the proper authorities."

"What kind of crimes?"

"The kind that would see him ruined. Possibly hanged."

"And he could be the one who ran us off the road yesterday?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, a tight movement. "I have enemies."

Enemies. Plural. What the hell kind of widow had multiple enemies hunting her?

"The carriage was unmarked," he said. "No crest, no livery. Deliberate."

"Yes."

"So he doesn't want to be identified. Wants it to look like an accident if you end up dead in a ditch."

She flinched. Just barely, quickly controlled. "That's one interpretation."

"What's another?"

"That it wasn't him at all. That it really was just reckless driving." She met his eyes. "I've been hiding for a long time, Mr Collins. Sometimes I see threats that aren't there. Sometimes I miss the ones that are."

It was the most honest thing she'd said to him. He filed it away.

“It could’ve been a warning.”

Her eyes widened. “A warning?”

He nodded curtly. “Psychological warfare. Weaken the opponent before striking.”

Colour drained from her face, but she shook it off.

"We're not going to Bath," she announced.

Matthew went still.

She crossed to her reticule and withdrew a small purse, holding it out to him. "We're going to Scotland. That's double your original fee."

Scotland. Weeks of exposure to whoever was hunting her. Crossing the border into a territory he’d rather forget.

Matthew didn't take the purse. "You lied."

"I said what I needed to say."

"Bath is three days. Scotland is three weeks." His jaw tightened. "Big difference."

"I'm aware."

"A jilted suitor?" He watched her face. "Or something worse?"

"Something worse."

He absorbed that. An irate lover, they could outrun on a fast train. Something worse meant organisation. Resources. Men at stations watching for a beautiful woman traveling north.