Chapter 1 #2
Step by step, they slowly made their way towards the street. Jane’s muscles screamed in protest, and her shoulder was already sore, but she refused to stop.
“Where is your coach?” she asked breathlessly.
“I don’t have one,” he murmured. “Rent a hackney.”
The request seemed simple enough, but it was nearly impossible for someone like her. “I’ve never... rented one before.”
He gave a weak huff of amusement. “It’s not so hard.”
She spotted a hackney farther up the street, its driver slouched lazily on the box. With determination tightening her spine, Jane shuffled Alistair forward.
“Excuse me!” she shouted, waving with one arm. “Is this a hackney, sir?”
The driver glanced down at her, brows lifting. “It sure ain’t a flying carriage, your royal highness,” he mocked.
Jane didn’t have the energy for his humor. “We need a ride.”
At the sight of Alistair’s condition, the man sobered. “What happened to him?”
She thought it was best to lie. “My husband was attacked. He needs a doctor. We live in Mayfair. Viscount Alcott’s townhouse.”
The driver straightened. “Right. Get in.”
Jane helped Alistair up into the carriage, her limbs aching with strain. Once they were inside and the door shut behind them, she sank onto the seat across from him, her heart still racing.
What had begun as a walk to Olivia’s house had turned into something far more complicated.
And she had a feeling this day was only just beginning.
Alistair Winslow, Viscount Alcott, groaned as the hackney jostled over another rut in the cobblestone road. A sharp bolt of pain lanced through his side, and he shifted on the hard bench, cursing under his breath. What in the devil had just happened?
One moment he’d been walking along the pavement—unarmed, unguarded, and foolishly lost in thought—and the next, fists had rained down on him from all directions.
Three of them, at least. Maybe four. His vision had blurred too quickly to tell.
He prided himself on being alert—had survived two campaigns with scarcely a scratch—but now, here in London of all places, he’d been taken unawares.
Complacency. That was the real culprit. He had let his guard down, thinking the war behind him.
And now, he paid the price.
Through one swollen eye, he glanced across the narrow compartment at Lady Jane, who was seated as though this were a quiet afternoon ride through Hyde Park and not a rescue mission from a violent ambush.
Her gown was pale blue with a delicate net overlay, her blonde hair was pinned atop her head in perfect order, and a diamond-studded bandeau glinted with every flicker of sunlight through the windows. She looked lovely, as she always had.
But it was the look in her eyes that struck him most, concern and something else... something unsettled.
“Do you know the men who did this to you?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“No,” he rasped. Even that single syllable scraped at his bruised ribs. He drew a shallow breath, and pain lanced through his side. Cracked, perhaps. Or worse.
Jane leaned slightly forward. “Perhaps we should take you to a hospital?”
He shook his head, immediately regretting it as the world tipped and then righted. “No. I’ve suffered worse.”
“You took quite the beating, my lord.”
A huff escaped him, half-amusement, half-indignation. “Since when do you ‘my lord’ me?”
Her lips twitched—just barely. “We aren’t children anymore. You are a viscount, and I…” Her voice trailed off as she looked away. “I am the daughter of an earl.”
“Titles be hanged,” he muttered. “You saved my life today. I shall call you Jane for the rest of my days, and you may call me Alistair—or ‘Fool’ if you prefer.”
She didn’t smile. Her hands remained tightly clasped in her lap. “I’m only glad I was there in time.”
“So am I. But why were you in that part of Town? Alone?”
Jane hesitated. “I went for a walk.”
“Without a maid? Or a footman? Surely you know better.”
Her tone sharpened. “My reasons are my own.”
Alistair fell silent. He could hear the defensive edge in her voice, and though every instinct urged him to pry, he refrained. Jane had always been composed, careful, and obedient to every societal rule. The fact that she’d been alone in one of London’s rougher neighborhoods was strange indeed.
She suddenly reached for the velvet curtain and slid it aside. “You can let me out here.”
“Here? We’re nowhere near your townhouse.”
“I’m not going home.”
That gave him pause. “Where are you going?”
“To Lady Westmere’s.”
Alistair pressed his fingers to his forehead and winced. “Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
Realization dawned on him as he studied her closely. “Today was supposed to be your wedding day… was it not?”
Jane stilled. “It was,” she admitted. “But I changed my mind.”
He straightened despite the pain. “You changed your mind?”
“I don’t know why that sounds so surprising,” she said. “The duke and I would not have suited.”
“When did you come to this realization?”
“At the altar,” she whispered.
His brows shot up. “At the—? Good gads, Jane.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The duke struck me when I refused to marry him. And I ran.”
“Oh, Jane… I am so sorry,” he said, not sure what else he could say in the moment.
Her chin lifted, proud despite the tremor in her voice. “I don’t need your pity, Alistair.”
He managed a smile. “At least you’ve stopped calling me ‘my lord.’”
That, too, earned no smile. She tucked an errant piece of her hair behind her ear. “I will be just fine.”
He wasn’t certain if she meant to convince him or herself. “And you’re certain Lady Westmere will receive you?” he asked.
“She will. She’s one of the few who might still look at me and see a person, not a scandal.”
Alistair leaned forward despite the agony in his side. “Then she’s wiser than most.”
Jane gave a small nod, but her expression betrayed doubt. “My family will disown me entirely once the gossip spreads. I’ve embarrassed them and myself.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you did the right thing.”
She looked up, startled. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Marriage without affection is a prison.”
“That is a rather bleak view.”
“I am merely being realistic,” he countered.
She bit her lower lip. “I thought I could surrender my own dreams for the sake of duty… but when the moment came, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry a man whom I feared.”
Alistair nodded slowly. “Then you were braver than most.”
For the first time, something flickered in her gaze—relief? Gratitude? He wasn’t sure. But the silence that followed felt less strained than before.
“I was not brave,” Jane murmured, her voice laced with quiet regret. “I was a coward. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”
“You spoke up when it mattered,” he said firmly. “Don’t question yourself now.”
That drew a faint smile from her, softening the tension in her jaw. “Thank you, Alistair.”
For a moment, she seemed to take in her surroundings for the first time. Her gaze wandered around the interior of the hackney, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I’ve never been in a hackney before.”
He smirked. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”
She leaned slightly towards the window and sniffed. Her face puckered with theatrical disgust. “Does it always smell like this?”
“Worse, I’m afraid.”
A surprised laugh burst from her lips, light and unguarded. It did something to him—eased the tightness in his chest and momentarily made him forget the ache in his ribs.
“I didn’t think that was possible. It smells like the inside of a chamber pot,” she remarked.
He chuckled, then immediately regretted it as pain stabbed his side. Just in time, the hackney lurched to a halt, and he winced as he pulled back the curtain to peer outside.
“It would appear,” he said, bracing a hand against the doorframe, “that we’ve arrived at my townhouse.”
He reached for the door, but Jane’s voice caught him short.
“Wait!” she shouted. “I can’t be seen exiting a coach alone with a gentleman. Not without a chaperone.”
“But you can leave a duke at the altar?” he teased, hoping levity would settle her nerves.
Her frown returned. “Point taken.”
“Regardless, I won’t let you travel alone in a hackney. It would be deeply ungentlemanly of me.” He pushed open the door and stepped out onto the pavement, wincing as his boots hit the ground.
The street was quiet, the faint clatter of distant hooves echoing down the row. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he found a few coins and handed them up to the driver.
That was odd. If the men had meant to rob him, they’d done a poor job of it. They hadn’t even searched his pockets. What, then, had been their purpose?
Jane alighted beside him, her expression alert, almost wary. She glanced up and down the pavement.
He offered his arm. “It will be all right,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure it would be, but he suspected she needed to hear it.
She placed her hand on his arm, and he led her up the stone steps. Just as he reached for the handle, the door was flung open by his butler, Malone, whose formidable frame nearly filled the doorway.
“My lord!” Malone’s dark eyes widened at the sight of him. “What happened?”
“I was attacked,” Alistair said, brushing past him into the entry hall. “Send for the doctor.”
“Yes, my lord.” Malone bowed. “At once.”
“And have a coach readied.”
With another crisp nod, the butler disappeared to fulfill his instructions.
Left in the quiet entryway, Alistair turned to Jane. She stood near the doorway, uncertain, her hands clasped tightly once more. The familiar strength in her posture had returned, but he could see the vulnerability behind it.
He felt a swell of gratitude that startled him. “I owe you my life,” he said simply.
“You owe me nothing.”
He shook his head, stepping a little closer. “If you hadn’t intervened, I’d still be bleeding in some alley—or worse. I must do something to repay you.”
Jane offered him a weak smile. “Can you turn back time?”
“No. That’s beyond my abilities, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes dimmed. “Then I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do. I made my bed. Now I must lie in it.”
Her voice was firm, but he could hear the weariness beneath the words. She wasn’t just tired—she was bracing for the inevitable.
“Let me help you, Jane,” he insisted. “Please.”
She met his gaze. “You are kind. But I must go about this on my own,” she said. “Besides, you don’t want to be associated with me. Not anymore.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came.
Because the truth was, she wasn’t wrong. She was ruined. And he had to think of his sister’s reputation.
“It is all right,” Jane said, her voice threaded with compassion. “You need not worry about me.”
But he did. He couldn’t not worry about her—not after what she had done for him, and certainly not now, when she stood in his entry hall with nowhere to go, her life upended and her future uncertain.
Alistair’s fists clenched at his sides. Blast it, he needed to do something. She had dragged him—half-conscious and bleeding—from a filthy alleyway. She had saved his life. And now, she meant to walk out the door and face Society’s judgment alone?
He stepped forward, ignoring the fresh flare of pain in his ribs. “At least allow me the honor of escorting you to Lady Westmere’s townhouse.”
“In your condition?”
He offered her a crooked smile, the best he could manage with one side of his face aching and the other already stiffening with bruises. “It looks worse than it is.”
Which was a lie. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, and each breath sent a sharp jab through his side. But the discomfort was a welcome distraction from the sense of helplessness gnawing at him.
She studied him, unconvinced. “Very well,” she said at last, though her tone made it clear she thought the gesture excessive. “But I think it is unnecessary.”
“It is wholly necessary,” he replied, allowing just a touch of formality into his voice. “You deserve to be treated with dignity, Jane. If I can give you even a shred of that, I will.”
For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her lips parted slightly, as though she meant to protest. But she didn’t. She simply gave him a quiet nod, and that look in her eyes—wary, grateful, exhausted—settled something deep in his chest.
It wasn’t about what she needed, not really.
It was about what he needed.
To show her she wasn’t alone.