Chapter Two
“W hat in heaven’s name has happened now?” Rosilee exclaimed, shoving open the carriage door and stumbling out, clutching her racing heart. The sharp crack still echoed in her ears, the sudden stop rattling though her bones. The entire carriage had lurched violently and now slanted precariously to one side.
Honestly!
It had given her quite the fright!
Her eyes fell on the broken carriage wheel, where Ben, her new driver—a boy, really—hunkered low, squinting at the rear wheel that had splintered beyond repair.
“What on earth is next?” Rosilee mumbled, eyeing the scene with exasperation.
If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn the very universe was conspiring against her. First, her driver had disappeared without a trace at a stop to water the horses, and she’d had to hire a new one—a child who could be no more than twelve years old. But she’d had little choice, as he had been the only one who’d offered to help her.
Then their trip had been delayed again when one of their horses was stolen at the next stop, forcing her to chase down a replacement. She could feel her purse dwindling further by the second. Not a good thing, since Evangeline had told her that Mrs. Dove-Lyon required a hefty purse for her services.
Rosilee glared at the carriage wheel.
Of all the things . . .
She wished her friend had accompanied her, but Evangeline had insisted on staying behind to deal with Baston—should the devil dare show his face again. They couldn’t allow him to discover she’d left the estate.
Who even knew how much time she had left? She needed every moment of it, but with all these delays, would she ever reach London?
Ben glanced back at her, rising to his feet. “I can’t fix this, my lady.” He wrung his hands in an almost sheepish manner. “It’s beyond repair. We won’t be goin’ anywhere until we find a new wheel.”
A whole new wheel?
Rosilee looked left and right. Not a soul could be found in sight. Worse, they had broken down on a bend. A troublesome spot. Fortunately, Ben had had the foresight to yank the carriage into the grass margins when it happened, although it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.
She lifted her eyes to the sky. At least, for the time being, it remained bright and cloudless.
“How long will this set us back?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Too long.
Ben scratched his head. “Could be hours, my lady. Maybe longer, dependin’ on if anyone comes by.”
Rosilee pursed her lips, refusing to allow frustration to take root. She had never been one to indulge in despair, and she certainly wouldn’t start now. Her feet were not broken. With a determined nod, she straightened her spine. “Very well. If no one is coming to us, then we shall go to them.”
“My lady?” the boy probed, but Rosilee had already turned on her heel, marching toward the middle of the road. Who had time to wait around for a miracle?
After all, miracles were for those bold enough to chase them.
“My lady!” Ben scurried after her. “What of your belongings?”
“What of them?” Unnecessary baggage. So long as she had clothes on her body, she could survive.
Wait... She quickly turned and hurried to retrieve the book she’d brought along, a worn-out copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho . She could do without clothes, but not without a book!
She kissed the cover and turned to resume her march. “You can stay, or you can accompany me. It’s your choice.”
“My lady!” Ben exclaimed in protest.
“Do not try to stop me,” she cautioned. “I am quite determined to reach London, even if I have to walk there myself.” Who could say how that loathsome Baston was treating her brother? He couldn’t afford for her to waste time.
“But . . .”
“It’s fine if you want to stay,” she said without pausing in her steps. “I shall not hold a grudge against you.”
The boy still stumbled after her. “But—”
“If you are going to follow me, Ben, I’d prefer it if you did so without protest.” A few seconds of silence followed, and Rosilee sighed. Had she been too harsh? She didn’t mean to be, but she couldn’t afford to soften her resolve or listen to dissent.
I must get to London.
Even if her feet blistered and bled.
Nothing else mattered.
She fixed her eyes on the road ahead, refusing to look away.
Just when she settled into a comfortable stride, Ben burst out, “Horses!”
Rosilee jolted and whipped her head around, her gaze darting back to where Ben pointed at the two pairs of horses attached to her carriage.
Of course!
Why walk when they had four perfectly healthy horses to ride? She slowed to a stop, her heart somersaulting. How could she not have thought of that? “Ben, how smart you are!”
Giddiness overtook her.
They didn’t have any saddles, but saddles be damned. She wouldn’t let that stop her. A horse was faster than a human.
The sudden gallop of hooves echoed from somewhere beyond the carriage, back the way they’d come, and all Rosilee’s senses went on alert.
A rider?
Sure enough, a rider on a monstrous black horse rounded the bend and was practically on top of them before she could blink. She lifted her arms and waved, determined to make herself seen. “Stop! Please, stop!” she called out, her voice carrying through the air like a whip.
“My lady!” Ben shouted. “Get out of the way!”
Rosilee froze. Dear God. The rider was at a full, dead run, and she stood directly in his path. Her breath seized, her feet refusing to obey the sharp command she sent their way.
A curse ripped the air as the man yanked at the reins of his horse.
She should run.
She should leap out of the way.
She should move .
But her body remained locked in place. She swore the entire world took on a life of its own. The hooves roared. The ground shook. The skies crackled.
All her senses distorted at once.
Some things, however, remained remarkably clear. The rider’s widening eyes, the powerful, rippling muscles of the horse, and the pounding beat of her own pulse in her ears. She could see it, feel it—the looming threat of collision, the trampling might of the horse. There wasn’t even time to scream. There wasn’t time for anything.
Something yanked her backward.
Rosilee yelped as she toppled to the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs, Ben landing next to her. It all unfolded in a maddening blur—slow, yet unbearably fast. The rider’s horse reared up just inches from where she’d been standing.
Time snapped back into its normal rhythm.
Rosilee gasped, the sharp intake of air filling her lungs, but it did nothing to quell the racing of her heart. The horse snorted, its front legs crashing down with a startling crunch mere feet from where they sprawled, its big body heaving as the rider hauled it to a stop.
She flinched as the shadow of a man fell over her.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his posture seethed with authority. Emerald eyes blazed down at her, and Rosilee felt as though she might burst into flames.
“Are you mad, woman?” he barked. “You nearly got yourself killed!”
What else could she do but blink up at the man? If she were a lesser woman, she would have wilted beneath his scowl.
The man slid down from his horse in one swift motion, his boots hitting the ground. His dark coat whipped around him as he stalked toward her, his dark hair tousled by the ride. Some of the anger in his gaze receded, replaced by concern.
“What were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Reckless. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Move, Rosilee.
At the very least, speak!
“Our carriage wheel broke,” she blurted, a sentence finally spilling from her mouth, “and we were on our way to seek help.”
“What does that have to do with you standing in the middle of the road?” He reached down to offer a helping hand up. “You could have waved me down from the side. I am not blind. You could be dead right now.”
She stole a glance at the hand wrapped in black leather before lifting her gaze to meet his again. She saw it, then—what he didn’t say. Then your death would be on my hands. Rosilee swallowed a dry retort and placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand. Ben scrambled to his feet after her.
“My apologies, good sir. My wits must have left me for a moment,” Rosilee responded, dusting off the dirt on her hands.
He studied her intently for a moment before he looked away, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, glancing at their carriage. “Your wheel broke?”
“I’m afraid so.” She followed his gaze to her disabled carriage. “My carriage has decided it prefers to stay here, and I do not.”
“Do you have an extra wheel?” he asked.
“We do not.” Rosilee paused. “Is that right, Ben?”
Ben nodded his head. “Yes, my lady.”
The man’s gaze swept over her, assessing, as if trying to decide whether she was serious or simply daft. Honestly! “I have never had to worry about such things before!”
“I see.”
Rosilee eyed the man back. Well, she saw, too . And wasn’t he going to offer them aid? Well then, she’d just have to simply and directly ask. “Now that you’re here sir, can you help us?”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “After all, I’m here for you.”
He was?
“You’re . . . here . . . for . . .”—she pointed a finger at herself—“me?”
Something twisted inside Blake at her blank expression. He nodded, suddenly unsure whether announcing his purpose so directly had been wise. No flicker of recognition touched her gaze. She didn’t remember him. She certainly didn’t recall his face. Not as he remembered hers, drawn by his hand countless times. He should have considered this.
Eighteen years was a long time.
Indeed, but he hadn’t changed that much, had he? Well, he wasn’t a short, scrawny boy anymore. It had also been dark that night. He understood all that, yet a small, infuriatingly irrational part of him had hoped for at least a flicker of something .
“You’re not poking fun at me, are you?” she pressed. “You’re here for me? Me, Lady Rosilee Fairchild?”
Blake pushed away the surge of disappointment. Where the devil was Bishop when he needed him? “I am.”
Her brows knit as she scrutinized him. “Do I know you, sir?”
Damnation. How should he answer this ? “I am an acquaintance . . . of,” of . . . “your brother.” Christ.
“Leopold? Just who are you exactly, sir?”
He didn’t think twice, announcing, “Blake Faithorne, Duke of Crane.”
Her lips parted, and Blake held his breath. “A duke? My brother has never mentioned you before.”
Blake slowly blew out that deep breath and drew in another, as though he could somehow summon an extra dose of patience—for himself—from the unspoiled country air. Why had he gone and said that? Was he a deuced fool? He had never met the viscount. “Does it matter how I know him? I heard of his predicament and I’m here to help.”
“Yes, but...” She cocked her head. “How do I know you aren’t here to cause me trouble?”
Right. Of course. She should be skeptical. But what excuse could he give that didn’t make him seem like a madman? Maybe something factual this time—at least slightly? “Baston. He is the one causing your troubles, is he not?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes.” Then they narrowed. “Are you acquainted with him?”
“Not personally, no, but I have had some unpleasantness with him as well.”
“I see.” She nodded as though that were reason enough.
He traced her features. A face much lovelier than he remembered, lovelier than any of his dreams could have done justice. Time truly did dull the pictures in one’s mind to a startling vagueness.
But she’s still as fearless as ever.
Most ladies would have remained inside the shelter of their carriage to wait for help to arrive. Not Lady Rosilee Fairchild. Here she stood, utterly composed, too composed for someone whose carriage wheel had just spectacularly crumbled on a deserted road, who had nearly been trampled by a horse, and who was now conversing with a presumed stranger. Yet the stubborn tilt of her jaw spoke volumes.
Her bright blue eyes blazed with purpose.
A wayward sandy lock caught his attention. His fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear, so he balled his fists to refrain from succumbing to that unwelcome temptation. He was nothing but a beast. His touch was unfit for her.
“Well, since you are here to help, Your Grace, I could use your assistance in unharnessing two of our horses so we can set off for London as soon as possible.”
Blake glanced at the horses. “No need, I have a man following in a carriage. They will be here soon.”
“Oh?” Questions filled her gaze.
He tugged at his cravat. He hated the things, and this one seemed impossibly tight. “I shall personally escort you to London.”
“You? Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be too inconvenient for you?”
“As I said, I am here for you. I shall offer any help within my ability.” Even if it meant finding her a husband worthy of her. Though it was hard to believe such a man could even exist.
“How can we trust you, sir? How do we know you are who you say you are?” the boy suddenly said. “A duke.”
What the devil, Benjamin? Why would he question his own employer? Blake scowled at the black-haired scamp.
“Good point,” Lady Rosilee said. “You do have me at a disadvantage, Your Grace. For you know who I am, but I know nothing about you.”
“You know I’m the Duke of Crane.”
A single brow arched. “Do I? I only have your word.”
Damn it. How could he convince her? “I live in Dorset,” Blake offered further. “I have no animals.”
She stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. Perhaps he bloody had. “You are not very sociable, are you?”
“It’s one of my greatest strengths.”
A laugh bubbled from her, and Blake’s entire body stilled at the lovely sound. “Well, I happen to be a good judge of character, and I sense no malice from you, so I shall accept your help and trust you for now.”
Just like that?
So trusting. He cast an unforgiving curse upon Bishop as the damaged carriage caught his attention again. How could the man have tampered with her carriage wheel to delay their journey? What if the carriage had capsized? She could have been injured!
He must not have hidden his ire or the direction of his gaze, for she said, “The wheel must have hit a rock or something sharp, but no lasting harm was done.” She suddenly waved a hand dismissively, as if broken wheels and derailed journeys were trivialities of no consequence. “Fortunately, you arrived.”
Blake scowled deeper.
Arrived and nearly killed you!
He should never have left home. He should just have sent someone to retrieve her and deal with Baston in a swift manner. But that would be too much like his father’s way of handling matters. The late duke’s shadows might still cling to him, but that didn’t mean he had to act as that man would have acted.
The rattling of an oncoming carriage had him sighing in relief. “We should move to the side of the road.”
She nodded, and they moved over to the side. “Will that be your friend?”
Blake nodded. He wouldn’t go so far as to call Bishop a friend. However, he wouldn’t refute anyone else calling him that. The soft scent of blooming roses drifted into his lungs, stealing away his annoyance.
So sweet.
Without question, this encounter with her would keep his mind occupied for the next eighteen years after they parted ways again. He also somehow understood that, this time around, the memory would likely be woven through with a longing he dared not even begin to acknowledge. Hell and all the damnation of this world. The last thing he wanted was to play matchmaker for the woman of his dreams. The mere thought of her with another man made his stomach twist into knots. However, despite his gnawing unease, so long as she was happy, he was determined he would be happy for her.
“Your brother...,” he probed, “Baston has him, correct?”
She nodded. “That loathsome man is keeping him prisoner.”
Just as their reports claimed. A part of him marveled at her determination to save her family. The other part... He’d never experienced this sort of devotion before in his family, even with seven half-brothers, so he couldn’t understand it. He had family, just not love between them. She cared for her brother so much that she was willing to seek out the veiled widow in order to save him.
What about you, heh? You were willing to leave your fortress to save her.
That wasn’t the same. He was repaying a debt—that was enough.
Blake stood beside her, his fingers tightening their grip on his reins. This woman had a way of pulling him into her orbit, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to escape it. Ever since they had first met. He hadn’t been able to escape it for eighteen years.
What the devil had he gotten himself into?
Damn Bishop
Matchmaker? Him?
Savior? Him?
The thought was as ludicrous as it was unsettling. And yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss all this as a terrible idea, a small, treacherous part of him didn’t ever want to leave her side.