Chapter Three
Caroline ran smack into a wall that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the dark sidewalk. She bounced off the hard surface as if she weighed nothing. If not for the hands that grabbed the front of her cloak, she’d have toppled backward into the dirty street.
For an instant she hung in the grip of the dark, terrifying figure as he dragged her into the light of the closest streetlamp and loomed over her.
The bitter taste of fear dried her throat, and she scrabbled at his gloved hands uselessly with shaking fingers.
He could see her, but with the light behind him, he was just a shadow, huge and sinister.
Her heart began to pound, and she almost wished she’d stayed safely at home.
Almost.
She tried to pull away, to run, but he held her as easily as if she were a child with no strength at all.
Real fear coiled through her like smoke, making her weaker still.
Had Somerson seen her leave the house, and sent him after her?
If he was a footman, he wasn’t one she knew, nor was he wearing Somerson livery.
He was dressed in black from head to toe, part of the night.
Terror turned her knees to jelly, and she sagged, but he hauled her up and set her on her feet without letting her go. One fist held her cloak under her chin.
“What the devil are you doing, careering around the streets in the dark?” he demanded. “I might have cut your throat, thinking you a pickpocket!”
Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat.
He thought she was someone to be afraid of?
“I’m not!” she protested, stepping back, pulling out of his grip.
He let her go and she backed into another wall, a real one this time.
She shrank against it, laid her palms flat on the rough bricks.
“I didn’t see you. I must have tripped on my cloak. It’s borrowed, you see, and—”
“Borrowed?” he growled. She detected a burr in his voice, an accent of some kind.
She felt his eyes scanning her, assessing her, and knew what he must be thinking.
A lady on the street alone was unheard of in Mayfair, especially at night, in clothes that weren’t her own.
Her cheeks heated despite the damp chill in the air.
She pushed farther back into the wall, fearing the gentleman was about to hook his fingers into her borrowed cloak once again and frog march her back to Somerson House.
If, of course, he was a gentleman. Her heart leaped into her throat and cowered there, making speech impossible. She could not scream or plead or reason with her captor.
“Where are you going at this hour of the night?” he demanded.
Caroline’s mouth worked soundlessly as her mind searched for an answer to that. Where was she going? She hadn’t even thought of that when she raced out of Somerson House.
“North.” The word popped into her head and out of her mouth before she knew she was going to say it. “I’m going north,” she said again, testing it, liking it. The Somerson estate in Northumbria where she’d grown up was north. But it would be the first place he’d look for her.
“Scotland? Gretna Green, perhaps?” the shadow demanded.
“Scotland?” she croaked as if she were an idiot who’d never heard of the place.
“To marry in secret? You’re eloping, aren’t you?”
“Eloping?” she gasped. If he only knew it was quite the contrary!
“I beg you to reconsider your plans. You shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone, and if your intended was any kind of man at all, he wouldn’t put you in such danger. You’d do better to go straight back home and forget—”
“No!” she cried. He tilted his head, and the lamplight caressed the right side of his face, revealing a strong jaw, a high cheek, a broad brow, and a lock of dark hair.
One gleaming eye gazed at her, sharp as a raven’s.
She swallowed. “No, I can’t go home. I am going to meet—him—at the Ram’s Head Inn.
Is that not where the stagecoaches leave from? ”
The one dark eyebrow she could see shot into his hairline.
“You’re taking public conveyance? A stage?
The bas—groom—could have at least agreed to pay for a seat on the Royal Mail,” he growled.
His hand gripped her elbow so suddenly she flinched.
“Oh, lass, he’s not worthy of you! I have three sisters of my own, and if any man dared to—”
She plucked her arm out of his grip. She couldn’t turn back now.
If he knew what she was facing, if he could imagine for just one instant what his own sisters would do if faced with such a choice, he’d let her go on her way, but there was hardly time to explain.
“Please, just tell me the way!” She glanced back down the street, half expecting to see a gang of Somerson footmen coming after her, carrying torches and toasting forks, leading Charlotte’s dreadful little dog on a string to sniff out her trail.
He shifted his booted feet on the cobbles, and the sound made her jump. She swallowed, clenched her fists inside her cloak, took a grip on herself.
“You’re certain you won’t change your mind and let me escort you home? You haven’t even got any baggage,” he mused. “Or gloves.”
“Sent on ahead,” she said breathlessly. She would have to step around him to flee, but in the dark, he looked as wide as he was tall.
He could stop her easily. He could probably break her in half if he wanted to.
She began to edge along the wall, making ready to pick up her skirts and run, should wits fail her, and it was beginning to look as if she’d left those behind at Somerson House along with everything else.
“Have you any money?”
That stopped her. She felt the blood drain from her limbs. She couldn’t get on a coach or even take lodgings without money. She felt hot blood flood her face. She must have glowed as brightly as the streetlamp, for he sighed.
“Never mind, I can see you haven’t.”
He picked up her hand and turned it over in his own, the leather of his glove cool against her skin, and dropped a purse into her palm and folded her fingers over it.
“Since you are determined to pursue this foolish and dangerous course of action, allow me to ensure you reach your intended as safely as possible. Take the mail coach, not the stage. It’s faster, and less likely to be troubled by highwaymen, though you’ve nothing to steal.
Only board if there’s another woman on the trip, is that clear? ”
Her cheeks blazed all the hotter. What must he think of her, a foolish girl running away from home to an uncertain future?
She must look far younger than her twenty-two years, and as dim as an unpolished apple.
She swallowed, raised her chin, and nodded, trying to appear a woman of the world.
He was crushing her mother’s ring against her finger with his grip.
It reminded her she had one item of value on her person.
She could not bear to think of it in the hands of a common thief or a highwayman.
This man had shown her kindness, and a lady paid her debts.
She pulled her hand out of his and took the ring off.
It glittered like a drop of blood in the yellow lamplight.
“Allow me to repay you, sir. I assure you I am not in the habit of taking money from gentlemen I don’t know.
” He didn’t touch it, and she pushed it toward him.
“Take it. Better you than a highwayman.”
He took it from her hand, held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger and studied it.
Was he wondering if the stone was real? She didn’t dare wait for him to decide.
She began walking, moving as quickly as she could without running.
She held her head confidently, proudly, but her ears were pricked for the sound of his footsteps behind her, but there was only silence.
Caroline turned once, but the street behind her was empty.
She swallowed, and felt a shiver of fear race up her spine.
She was truly alone, then. She slowed for an instant, wondering if it was too late to turn around, to go back, and .
. . It began to rain, the heavy drops slapping against her hood.
Scotland. Would Somerson look for her there? Would he look for her at all, or be glad she was gone, an unwanted burden removed from his shoulders?
Caroline swallowed. Whatever her future held, it did not include Viscount Speed or Lord Mandeville.
She felt the reassuring weight of her benefactor’s purse in her pocket, and tightened her cloak around her shoulders against the rain, and resumed the long walk toward the coaching inn.
Alec felt a surge of annoyance. He had things to do, more important things than protecting some chit on a fool’s errand. He should be searching the streets for the damned letter, as he had been doing when she almost knocked him over.
He followed her instead, staying in the shadows, because she was beautiful and alone and needed someone’s protection. Her face—what he’d seen of it under the shadow of her hood and bonnet—had been white in the lamplight, her fear as palpable as her determination to see her mission through.
She reminded him of his half sisters, especially since she was about the same age as Megan, the eldest, would be by now.
He fervently hoped none of his sisters would ever do anything as stupid as this woman was about to do.
In all likelihood, she’d end up unmarried, ruined by her worthless lover, and forced to return to her family once she realized she’d been duped.
She would spend the rest of her life hidden away, an embarrassment to her kin.
Would this adventure be enough to sustain her for the years of regret to come?
Her family would likely do nothing to find the bastard, since that would only add to the scandal.
Alec clenched his fists. He’d hunt down any man who dared harm anyone he loved.
But he didn’t love this woman. He didn’t even know her, had barely gotten a good look at her in the dark.
So why was he following her? Curiosity, perhaps—or guilt, because he’d never be there to protect his sisters if they needed him, might never see them again at all.
He wondered who this woman might be, if she had a brother who’d failed her when she needed him.
Maybe she was a servant, he decided. The ruby ring she’d given him was valuable.
A maid might take the chance of stealing such a jewel before she fled her employer.
He felt a momentary twinge of guilt at his own almost-theft of Lady Bray’s necklace.
He frowned, wondering if he was abetting a robbery now.
But why would she give her ill-gotten prize to him?
The ring was worth far more than he’d given her in coin.
He studied the slender figure ahead of him, walking with determination toward the inn, set on her path.
She was brave, he’d give her that. Most of the ladies he knew would melt like sugar at the mere mention of rain, and none of the ladies he knew would ever be found walking the streets of London at night, rain or no.
Yet he decided she wasn’t a servant. Her bearing declared her nothing less than a lady born and bred, and her nervousness said that despite her bravado now, she was unused to being out alone.
He hugged the shadows and watched her, and kept an eye out for signs of trouble.
She reached the inn safely, and Alec slipped out of the rain and into the stables to wait. He watched the coach pull up, saw her get in. There were two other women and a pair of men on the journey, all of them respectable-looking folk. She’d be safe enough for the moment.
The coach pulled away as dawn lit the sky, turning the wet streets of London pink for a few brief moments. The color of hope, and love.
He turned away, banishing the ridiculously sentimental thought. Instead, he wished the young lass well, whoever she was.
He had his own problems to face. He retraced his steps until he stood in front of the grand facade of Bray’s elegant town house.
But the letter was nowhere to be found.