Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Peter knew only one thing: that he had to help her; he had to save the lady in carriage. He could not forget the look of fear and helplessness on her face.
Was this how she felt before the accident?
An old feeling threatened to come out and consume him. Why was she alone? Did her guardians not know the dangerous things that could happen? Why would they let her go alone?
I shall go alone. I shall be fine, Peter…
He forcefully pushed the memory back inside himself, inside a place that he had kept locked and barred. In its absence, fury raged.
He glanced up at the ruffian who was still attempting to control the carriage. The effects of his actions made Peter want to deal him great physical harm.
“Focus!” he told himself fiercely. Atop his horse, and galloping at the speed of the carriage, he looked at the lady inside the carriage again. He let out a breath of relief to see that she had followed his shouted instructions.
“I will not fail you,” he vowed to himself as he remembered the image of another failure.
He was surprised by this sudden need to protect the lady at all costs.
It was as if his every protective instinct was roused at seeing her in this predicament.
Looking across the horses, he caught Matteo’s eye. It was time to move.
“Now!”
Almost in perfect synchrony, both men reached out to grab each horse’s harness.
Gripping the harness with one hand, Peter pulled, his muscles straining with controlled force.
The rapid clatter of hooves against cobblestones and the high-pitched squeaking of the wheel spring testified to the urgency of the matter.
Across him, Matteo’s strong voice commanded the horses.
Feeling them finally submit, they managed to rein in and slow down the scared horses.
Among the two men, Peter was the better horseman although Matteo was not so far behind him. All those years of dedicated training had not only bred in Peter discipline and mastery in riding but had also led to his confidence in handling horses as well.
As the carriage slowed down, the other riders who also gave chase caught up with them. The ruffian who, by now, knew that he was done for, leaped from the coachman’s seat in an attempt to escape.
One of the men, still atop his horse, grabbed him by the collar of his coat. The other man dismounted quickly and tackled him to the ground. The ruffian shouted profanities and insults but could do little.
“I shall see to the lady,” Peter told Matteo as he dismounted. From across him, he saw his friend had already proceeded to further calm the horses lest they bolt again.
He moved hurriedly to the carriage and threw the door open.
“Madam, are…” Words suddenly failed Peter.
Before him was a vision. The lady sat very still, one hand wrapped like a vise around the grab handle.
Hair, the color of rich autumn foliage, fell from her ruined coiffure.
Her eyes, still huge from her recent experience, were the color of wet spring leaves.
She was beautiful. Realizing the direction of his thoughts, Peter gave himself a mental shake. What were all these thoughts of leaves and seasons? Good god, the lady was in shock, and all he could think of was her eyes and her hair.
Get a hold of yourself! She is just some errant miss.
Firmly taking hold of the train of his thoughts, he looked at her again, this time noting that she was certainly not that but a noblewoman if not a lady!
Pretty, unwed—if her lack of a wedding ring had anything to say about it—and certainly unchaperoned… Finding himself suddenly irritated, Peter spoke again, not bothering to check his tone.
“What can you mean by being in this part of town and so late into the night? Where is your chaperone… your maid?”
The lady blinked fast, as if Peter’s words were the catalyst to clearing her shock away. He saw the sharpening in her eyes as his questions registered.
“I might be mistaken, but I do believe it is polite—correct even—to ask after my health first before lecturing me.” Her words were as cold as ice, but her voice—the timbre of it, the quality of it—left a tingling feeling in Peter’s skin.
“I do believe as well that I owe you thanks for stopping that—that man.” She gestured to the ruffian as she moved to exit the carriage.
“But that does not give you leave to act like a warden!”
Peter was so taken aback that he neglected to assist her in dismounting from the carriage. He was not used to being spoken to in such a way. Not by his peers, not even by his friends, save Matteo on occasion, and definitely not by ladies who barely reached his shoulder.
“It’s a simple question, madam. Surely you, with all your knowledge of courtesy and correct behavior, can answer it?”
“Of course, sir,” she spoke sweetly.
When she did not continue, he merely looked at her.
He could practically hear her mind searching for an answer.
“I was on my way to attend a friend’s dinner party.”
“Why was your carriage parked? Surely the dinner party is not in one of these workshops?”
He saw her flinch then, adapting a nonchalant expression on her face, he saw her attempt to answer.
“I… We…”
She stopped and stared. Turning to see, he saw a silhouette of a man nearing them. It caught her attention, and indeed, a voice called out to her.
“M’Lady!”
Her coachman approached her, limping and bruised but otherwise whole.
“Benson!” She gripped his arm.
“M’Lady, I had feared the worst! Are you all right? Has that ruffian done anything to you? I will wring his neck!”
“I am fine, Benson. It is you that I worried over. Oh, when you fell, I thought…”
“Let’s not dwell on that now, M’Lady. It would be best if we left at once.”
M’Lady? Peter’s hunch was right; she wasn’t just gentry, she was part of the nobility.
Cursing himself for not checking sooner, he glanced at the crest on the carriage.
Leafing through Debrett’s Peerage in his mind, he found the family he sought.
Hill. The Marquess of Bolton. They belonged to the same club though they did not often interact with each other.
He knew that he had only one offspring, Lady Dahlia Bolton.
They had never met before, but he was willing to wager that it was she who stood before him now.
“Yes, you must drive Lady Dahlia away from here, my good man. The Marquess of Bolton would surely wish for the same. After all, his only daughter’s safety is paramount.”
Dahlia froze. Peter saw as she and Benson eyed each other with what could only be described as guilty expressions. At that moment, Matteo called out to Peter.
“A Bow Street Runner has arrived, Peter. I shall go with them to the magistrate. I shall bear witness to this thug’s doings.
” Belatedly realizing that his friend was speaking to the lady that they had rescued, Matteo hastily corrected his mistake and bowed.
“Apologies, madam, I had gotten too caught up in making sure that ruffian will get the prosecution he deserves, and I forgot my manners. I hope that all that action did you no permanent harm, Miss—?”
“Lady,” Peter said dryly., “Lady Dahlia Hill, daughter of the Marquess of Bolton.”
“My Lady.” Matteo bowed again, smiling charmingly. He glanced at his friend’s face. “This is, indeed, a very strange way to meet, but under the circumstances, I am sure introductions are in order. Allow me to introduce myself, Matteo Castor, Duke of Valen.” Yet another bow.
“Your Grace,” Dahlia curtsied. Then she looked at Peter and slightly raised one brow.
“What is this? You have not been introduced?” Matteo could not control a laugh.
Peter barely resisted rolling his eyes. “Allow me to do the honors.” Again, adopting a formal tone, he faced Dahlia.
“Icedale, may I present the Lady Dahlia Hill. Lady Dahlia, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Icedale.”
After the somewhat stiff curtsies and bows were exchange, Peter pressed on.
“You must tarry no longer in this place, My Lady.”
“Yes, to that, I agree. I thank both Your Graces for the invaluable service you have provided me. I shall not forget so easily.” She smiled a genuine smile that did something to Peter’s stomach and curtsied then she nodded to Benson and prepared to leave.
“Matteo, can you—?”
“Go, Peter. Make sure Lady Dahlia is safely delivered home. I will bring your steed back to your house.”
Peter could not be sure, for Matteo delivered the words in perfect seriousness, but having been friends with him since their Oxford years, he thought he detected mischief in his friend’s voice. Matteo had not even warned him about propriety or entrapments.
To be sure, it was Peter who usually reminded his friend of such topics, but in this case, propriety must be bent a little, for safety must take precedence.
At least, so he told himself, but the truth was that he was not quite ready to be parted from her yet.
Perhaps it was that he needed to make sure she was safely delivered to her friends.
He had gone to all that trouble of rescuing her after all.
Might as well be sure that his handiwork was preserved.
He felt strange that night, but really, he would not admit to himself that strange was not really what he felt.
He walked with long strides and caught Dahlia just as Benson was handing her into the carriage.
“Allow me.” He took her hand and handed her inside himself. He ignored the fact that she jumped a little as he took her hand, and he also ignored the fact that his heart raced a little as he took her hand.
When he stepped into the carriage after her and settled on the seat opposite her, Dahlia almost sputtered.
“P-pardon me, Your Grace, but what do you think you are doing?”
“Lady Dahlia, I cannot in good conscience allow you to traverse these streets alone again. I consider it my duty to escort you to your friend’s home—if you still prefer to go there instead of your home, that is.”