Chapter 1 #2
Peter Thornscroft, the Duke of Icedale, stood outside the door of the office of a lesser-known London solicitor. He held the reins of his horse in one hand, the other he fisted against his hip. He had been standing in that attitude for a full ten minutes now.
“I will only be five minutes,” Matteo Castor, the Duke of Valen, and Peter’s best friend, had said over his shoulder as he secured his horse and went in through the door.
“Five minutes, indeed,” Peter muttered under his breath. Had it been any other man, he would have left him already. But this was Matteo, probably the only person on earth he would wait a further five minutes for. Then as if on cue, the door opened and out stepped his friend.
“Apologies, Peter, that took longer than I expected.”
“Why this solicitor? And why at this time?” The directness of his questions did not seem to bother Matteo. Indeed, he seemed to expect it.
“I cannot answer your question without besmirching a certain lady’s reputation,” Matteo said with a wink.
Peter sighed. He shook his head at his friend. “Have you settled it then, as I advised? She has agreed to part ways?”
“I know not of what you speak, Duke.”
“You are too generous for your own sake, Matteo. The lady knew what she was getting into. If you let every woman play you the way she has, you will soon be beset with a line of scheming females.”
“My pockets can afford a few more of them, I daresay.”
Peter shook his head again at his friend’s joking and noncommittal answer. They prepared to mount their horses.
“To the club?” Matteo asked.
“Unless you prefer to grace the Debutante’s Ball? Or perhaps one of the many society ladies’ dinner parties? I have been sent twenty invitations for just this night,” Peter said drolly.
“Really, only twenty? You must be losing your touch, Duke.”
“I don’t know how you can stand it, Matteo. Ladies of different ages and forms fawning after you. We all know what they are really after.”
“Oh, Peter, Peter… the day we find no ladies fawning after us will be a sad day indeed, my friend. Why, you must be thankful that you are still considered a catch despite your cold and detached mien.”
“Speak for yourself, Duke.”
Matteo chuckled. He motioned with his gloved hand.
“Let us go. The club—”
But Matteo never finished his sentence as at that very moment a sudden commotion erupted down the street.
A strangled shout filled the air. At the sound of a body being slammed against a wall, both men whirled to see a disreputable-looking man accost an elderly shopkeeper who had been in the midst of closing his shop.
The shopkeeper’s assistant, a girl who looked no more than fifteen, screamed.
The shopkeeper, having the wind knocked out of him, slumped on the ground.
At the jangle of coins, the thug found what he sought and scurried down the street.
“Thief!” cried the girl. “Help! Someone help!”
Peter and Matteo looked at each other wordlessly. They mounted their horses and chased after the thug who had quickly turned down a narrow street.
“Can you see him?” Matteo asked Peter as they slowed down to navigate the narrower street.
“Blast these lamp posts; why have they not been lighted?”
“No doubt the reason our thief took this route.”
“There!” Peter pointed as a shadow stole away from the dark and headed another direction.
They gave chase and were getting near the thug when they saw him launch himself onto a waiting carriage.
“Get off, you blasted—!” the coachman shouted.
“Give em ’ere!” The thug pulled at the reins then threw a punch which the coachman was unable to evade.
With a shout, he fell over the side of the seat and landed with a thud. As the carriage abruptly pulled forward, a woman’s scream echoed in the night.
“Benson!”
“A woman!” Matteo shouted. “There is someone in the carriage!”
Further alarmed at the turn of events, Peter leaned forward, urging his horse faster. Guilt slammed against him. In pursuing the thug, he had unintentionally placed another in danger—a woman no less!
The coachman tried to stand up. Obviously in pain, he shouted, “M’Lady! Help! M’Lady is in the carriage!”
Peter and Matteo sped past him. They caught each other’s eyes, both nodding curtly at the gravity of the situation. Ahead of them, they saw as the carriage increased in speed.
“Watch out!” a man shouted as the carriage careened haphazardly down the street. A man and woman ran in alarm to avoid being run down.
“Good God, he cannot control the horses!” Peter exclaimed.
“That carriage will overturn!” Matteo shouted back.
Just as the words left him, the carriage nearly toppled sideways, stopped only by the lamppost it grazed. Peter reined his horse sharply to flank the carriage on one side.
“Matteo, take the left! I’ll take the right.”
His friend nodded. Galloping away from each other, they quickly surrounded the hurtling carriage.
Peter’s focus intensified. Behind them, he vaguely heard the clatter of other hooves on the cobblestones—others had joined in the chase—but the sound was drowned out by the lady in the carriage calling for help.
Dahlia had never been this scared in all her life. How ironic it was that just when she was ready to give up her life of danger and excitement, something like this should happen to her!
“I am dreaming! I am dreaming! I shall wake up at any moment now! Wake up!” she commanded herself, but she knew this was no dream. Behind her, she could hear the galloping of horses. She turned to see men on their mounts who were attempting to catch up to the carriage.
“Oh, thank God!” she cried.
She caught a glimpse of someone helping Benson up from the ground. Somewhat relieved to see him able to stand, Dahlia focused. She pushed the carriage window open.
“Help!” Wildly, she stuck her arm out in an attempt to catch the men’s attention, to let them know that she was in the carriage. Her heart beating with fear, she saw two men were about to catch up with the carriage. “Help! Please, sirs!”
As if merely awaiting her words, the horses surged forward; driven by their masters, they appeared on both sides of the carriage. Dahlia watched as they galloped beside the carriage. One of the men shouted to the other, “Matteo, ride on the other side! Try to grab the harness!”
She saw the other man do as the first commanded while he kept abreast with the speeding carriage. As he kept his horse steady, their faces were almost level, and the man looked in on her.
Was it Dahlia’s imagination, or did he look pained?
“Sir!” she shouted desperately.
“Hold on, madam!”
His face held a look of pure determination that made her maidenly heart flutter despite the situation she was in. Some ridiculously observant part of her wondered if this was how her heroines felt at a moment of crisis. It strangely lessened her anxiety.
“Madam, move to the center of the seat to balance the carriage! We shall try to control the horses!” the man shouted over the noise of the chase.
His shouted words shook Dahlia into action. She nodded at the man then moved quickly; she centered herself as best she could while still being able to hold on to the grab handle. She clutched at it until her knuckles turned white.
She would survive this! She looked out at the man again, silently relaying her determination. Their speed knocked off his hat, leaving his dark brown hair to be swept about by the wind. She gasped.
That harsh expression... That commanding voice... She wondered why it took her so long to recognize who the man was.
Upon her realization, time suddenly stood still for Dahlia. The already rapid beating of her heart was now replaced by a different feeling altogether. There it was again, that unexpected fluttering in her heart.
She kept her eyes locked on the face of the man who was poised to be her rescuer; she knew him to be the hero—if truth be told, the antihero—of her novels.
He was the man who, in her current state of mind, she admitted to having ill-used for the benefit of her writing.
She clutched at her chest.
“The Duke of Ice,” she whispered breathlessly.