Chapter Five
HOW HAD NORA ENDED UP in a hack alone with a man whose charm clanged warning bells for her to run as far away as possible?
Which, at the moment, was a mere six inches from her hip to his, and of course that hip had to be the one containing her knitting needles pocket.
She kept her hand on the edge of the basket’s cover so she could covertly retrieve the unlikely weapons the first moment she didn’t feel Mr. Beaumont’s eyes on her.
But ten minutes into the ride, the feeling of being watched hadn’t abated.
Don’t be silly. He probably took your not-so-subtle hint and is looking out his window.
She chanced a peek and found his striking gray-blue eyes upon her.
Whether that unsettled her or relieved her, she couldn’t be certain.
Maybe both. She didn’t want to end up like Mum, consumed by paranoia and fear, but previous experiences with men had taught her to be wary.
Two men had gone so far as to corner her and steal a kiss while pressing for more.
At least then she’d been standing. They had left those encounters questioning if they would ever be able to procreate.
Sitting in the hack put her at a tactical disadvantage, and Mr. Beaumont’s Don Giovanni antics unnerved her.
As much as his attention flattered, it would be naive to believe it was without guile.
“It’s a long ride.” Mr. Beaumont didn’t waste the chance to claim her attention.
“Surely you don’t intend for us to sit in silence for the whole of it.
I don’t know about you, but it’s not often I speak with someone who understands the struggles of having a parent at Longview.
It might be nice to know we’re not alone. ”
So much for sticking to the shallows of inane topics.
The man dove off the cliff into depths she didn’t even allow her closest friends to tread above.
Best to end this conversation before she revealed something she shouldn’t.
“The Lord is always with me and able to bear me through my struggles. There is no need to share them with someone else.”
“The Lord is always with us, but isn’t this silence bothering you?” Given the man found some reason to talk at any lull, silence bothered him worse than an infected splinter. “I’m quite comfortable with silence. It’s amazing how much you can learn when you listen instead of speak.”
“And what is the clopping of horse hooves and the patter of rain telling you?”
“We’re moving closer to home, and a puddle that needs swept away before leaking inside will be knocking against my kitchen door.”
“It sounds like you need to fix the entrance so the water drains away from the house.”
“I’ll do it eventually.”
Concern bled into his voice. “Do you not have a father or brother at home to see to those things?”
Oh dear. There went not revealing more than she intended.
She didn’t want to imply she was alone and vulnerable, even if she was more than capable of defending herself and their maid of all work.
“My father is an accountant at a large business firm and doesn’t always have the time for repairs.
But have no fear, I’m quite adept with a hammer and nails. I’ll do it when the weather turns.”
By the firm set to his mouth, he didn’t like her answer. “I don’t work on Sundays. I could come this weekend and fix it if the weather clears.”
“Sunday is the Lord’s Day. No one should work.”
“And yet the Lord healed on the Sabbath. Can I not help a lady in need?” That cheeky grin spread wide.
“Are you still attempting to charm me?”
“No. You told me to discard the tactic, even if I did mean every compliment.”
His open admiration almost convinced her. Almost. “And yet you continue. It appears Don Giovanni is very persistent.”
His smile dropped immediately. “I wish you’d stop accusing me of being Don Giovanni.
I’m no sordid libertine. I have great respect for women.
The only aspect of that opera I enjoy is Don Ottavio’s devotion to Donna Anna.
I hope to one day be a Don Ottavio—standing by my future Donna Anna’s side and avenging any wrong done to her.
” He held one hand over his heart as though in some sort of Shakespearean production.
That was quite the noble picture to paint, even if it made Nora roll her eyes. If Lydia were here, she’d probably scribble down his every word for a future romance novel. “You, sir, are a romantic.”
“If I had the right voice, I’d serenade you with Ottavio’s aria.”
“Do not take that as encouragement, Mr. Beaumont. I am not your Donna Anna.”
“Not yet.”
The man had the gall to wink at her! She ought to throw Tristan at him and jump from the hack now. Walking home had to be safer than this temptation to believe his bold flirtations.
The hack dipped into a deep rut, sending Nora crashing into Mr. Beaumont’s side.
A terrible crack followed, and the horse let out an ear-splitting scream.
The world turned sideways, and the hack slammed onto its side.
It scraped across the ground at a slowing speed, but Nora continued to fly forward toward the open front.
Oh, Lord, is this how I’m to die? Trampled by a horse then crushed by a hack?
Mr. Beaumont yanked her against him and jammed his feet against the kickboard, keeping them firmly inside.
Even after the world stilled, he held her close.
It was a few breaths before his head moved behind hers. “Are you all right?”
Aside from her heart kicking like the horse in front of her? “I’m fine. You?”
“I am.” He shifted beneath her with a grunt. “Do you think you can stand? I need to check on the driver.”
“Yes, but close your eyes.” It took some unladylike maneuvering, but she stood, pressing one hand against the hack’s wall above her to gain her balance.
She checked her skirts to ensure Mr. Beaumont wouldn’t get an eyeful of anything undesired and caught sight of Tristan’s basket, crushed but empty. “Oh no! Where’s Tristan?”
There was no sign of the gray beast, and the distressed horse covered any possible mewling.
Mr. Beaumont bumped against her legs, then her side, as he rose.
His head thunked against the hack, and he cocked it at an uncomfortable angle to stand straight.
“I’m sure he jumped out before we fully tipped.
” He said it, but the creases fanning from the corner of his eyes and his downturned lips belied his belief.
Please don’t let Tristan be hurt. Mrs. Beaumont doesn’t need another loss in her life.
“Stay here. I don’t want you hurt by the horse. I’ll free it so you can climb out safely after I check on the driver.” He turned to the opening and, after a moment’s study, yanked back the canopy enough to jump well away from the horse’s attempts to break free.
Two men jogged up to the wreckage. “Everyone okay?”
“The lady and myself are fine. Not sure about the driver.”
“You check him. We’ll free the horse.”
As they worked, Nora scanned the area for any sign of Tristan. The horse, the curtain of rain, and the hack blocked most of the surrounding landscape. What little she could see was cat-free.
Mr. Beaumont’s low rumbles came from the other side of the canvas. “Don’t move more than necessary. That arm looks broken.”
The driver muttered curses she pretended not to hear, followed by a hopeful question that Mr. Beaumont might have a flask on him. Thankfully, the answer was no.
“Help is coming. I think the hack’s done for though. It’s not much, but here’s the fare for the trip plus a little extra.”
Considering they hadn’t traveled a quarter of the way yet, that was more than generous of Mr. Beaumont.
He would gain nothing but an empty pocketbook by the act, and yet he’d done it without hesitation or being asked.
Certainly he hadn’t expected her to hear, so it wasn’t a ploy to win her good favor. What sort of man did that make him?
Once the horse was freed and led a safe distance away, Nora collected her bag and umbrella from the floor and climbed out into the steady rainfall. Her foot slipped in the mud, and Mr. Beaumont caught her elbow.
“Thank you.” She allowed his help only as long as necessary, then stepped away and opened her umbrella.
She should share the sheltered space, but then he’d stand unnervingly close.
And it wasn’t his Don Giovanni charm that unnerved her now.
No, it was far worse. His actions enticed her to believe he might actually be good.
Would a dangerous man save a woman who’d been nothing but rude, generously give without benefit, or visit his mum week after week despite the heartache?
She cast him a sideglance. Surely God wouldn’t bless one man with such handsomeness, a swoon-inducing bass voice, and a soft heart?
Then again, she’d been duped before. It was safer to think of him as a detestable Don Giovanni than a noble Don Ottavio.
Mercifully, he didn’t notice her perusal as he held a hand above his eyes to block the rain while he presumably searched for Tristan.
Nora’s stomach turned as she followed his example.
Would they find Tristan in the wreckage?
The hack lay nearly flush with the ground.
If Tristan had jumped as it tilted, would he have had enough time to dart away?
She might not have a fondness for pets, but her heart revolted at the thought of the poor creature having fallen victim to the accident.
And poor Mrs. Beaumont! How would she cope with the loss of her beloved pet?
Don’t believe the worst. That’s thinking too much like Mum. Tristan must have gotten away. Look around and think like a cat.
She widened her search. There were plenty of leafless trees and bushes scattered along the road. He could be hiding in the brush, or maybe he’d climbed a tree. She didn’t see any gray balls of fur, but everything about the day was gray and brown. “Tristan! Here, kitty, kitty.”