“Is he?” Bridget asked quietly as they strolled down the lesser traveled eastern end. “Or is it that he knows and flouts them?”
“Your guess would probably be more accurate,” the lord replied.
“His kind paint all the lords in London with a broad brush. Rakehells like him make everyone think a decent lord is a ruiner of ladies and the women are on guard when a lord comes to court her.
“In the back of her mind she thinks he is a scapegrace or a fortune hunter and it makes decent men have to strive twice as hard to prove themselves worthy,” he said stiffly.
“He is not aware, but I was in his year at Oxford and the rumors about him, how indolent he was, his devil-may-care outlook and his reckless bed-hopping with women hither and yon reviled me.”
“It would disgust anyone,” she said.
They rounded a corner that was near a medium-deep part of the lake when a shout had her head jerking. A hound—the Duke’s hound—was pummeling down the walk like a shot from a gun and was barreling right into Bridget.
Hansen twisted so the force would take him but panicked, she released his arm, felt his boot snag on something and herbalance shifted. Her arms swung wildly in the air, the ground vanished beneath her—and the last thing she saw before she hit the water was Hansen’s hand flinging out to her.
Freezing water rushed over her head and burned her lungs as she fell, submerging her entire upper body in the pond, her screams lost in an icy abyss.
Seeing Bridget tip into the water made ice thread through his veins. That was not supposed to happen.
Without direct thought, he shucked his jacket off and dove head first into the water, and after three strokes, fixed his arms around Bridget, and pushing his boots off the bottom, swam them to the surface.
The moment she broke through the surface, she gasped in a lungful of air and spluttered, water trickling from her nose as her chest heaved. She was shivering too, and the moment he got them back on the trail, Hansen had his jacket off and was ready to wrap her into it just as her boots hit the pebbled ground.
William kept her in his arms. “Go get your carriage.”
“What?” he snapped. “No.”
“So, do you want to parade her, wet and shivering, before all the members of the ton?” William growled. “Do you want to mortify her?”
“You should have controlled your hounds,” Hansen grounded out.
“M-my l-l-lord,” Bridget shivered, as she hung onto William’s neck, “Please, p-please get the carriage.”
“Give her to me,” Hansen ordered.
“And leave me to fetch your carriage for you?” William asked. “That does not make a lick of sense. Do you want to dally and force her to contract consumption, or do you not find it prudent to carry her home so a physician can attend to her.”
Hansen’s face was a blustering thundercloud as he spun on his heel and headed to the other side of the park. William sighed and plucked his jacket before wrapping it around her and looking down at the girl shivering in his arms. “I am sorry. I never intended this.”
Her clumped lashes swept up. “Meaning y-you i-i-intended something else?”
“This way,” Hansen called as he strode to them. “The carriage is just beyond this pass. Hurry, we won’t have the solitude for long.”
Holding her tight to his chest, he took the trail through the tree cover until they reached the far side of the pond where they could continue a straight path and reach the drive—and in that instant, an entire group of ladies and two men rounded the corner.
Devil and Damnation!
The hush that fell over them knifed under William’s skin, but he paid them no mind as he sat her in the carriage. “I’ll have my physician sent for you.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Hansen rebuffed him.
“No, you will not,” William said, his tone steeled with authority, eyes narrowed in defiance. “This is my responsibility. My dogs were at fault here.” Turning to her, he added. “Dr. Falderal will be with you by sundown, Lady Bridget.”
“Y-you got my name r-right,” she muttered as he exited and closed the door.
As he stepped away, his hand dropped onto Atlas’ head while Guilt wrenched his gut—if it was not already so knotted, he might have felt the other feeling burgeoning under his breastbone.
Sucking in a breath, he ignored the gossiping group and headed to his carriage. His driver’s brows shot up and the two footmen exchanged glances as he let the dogs leap into the carriage beforehim. “Just another day in the torrid life of Duke Arlington, my good men. Just another day.”
