At last they reached a broader thoroughfare. The horses began to move, faster and faster. Zoe heard Jarvis shriek each time their pace increased. Yet they moved so steadily, stepping beautifully in time. They were big, powerful, high-couraged animals, yet Marchmont controlled them absolutely, without seeming to do anything. The lightest flick of the whip—and that not touching them—the slightest motion of his hands on the reins, were the only outward signs.
The wind ruffled the fair hair under his sleek hat. Other than that, he seemed almost still on the outside, all the power fiercely contained within him—something the animals, surely, sensed and responded to.
The buildings and lampposts sped by, giving way to greenery, then buildings again. She held onto the side of the carriage as they passed riders, coaches, wagons, and carts and while the world went by in a blur, as though it were a dream.
It was like flying.
It was wonderful.
She laughed. She was a bird, flying, free. He glanced at her, and when he turned away he was smiling a little.
Then, by degrees, they began to turn into narrower streets again, and the pace slowed. After a time she recognized Bond Street, where Jarvis had found the ancient hackney.
Zoe had expected him to return to St. James’s Street, where Mrs. Bell’s Magazin des Modes stood. Mrs. Bell was very fashionable. She featured prominently inLa Belle Assemblée.
But he turned into an unfamiliar street.
“Grafton Street,” he said, though she had only glanced inquiringly at him and he had not appeared to be looking anywhere but at the way ahead. “We start at Madame Vérelet’s.”
She was about to ask him who Madame Vérelet was when another vehicle barreled round a curve ahead, straight at them.
Marchmont saw it coming: an antiquated coach and four, overburdened with baggage and traveling far too fast for this busy street. It had shaved the corner of Hay Hill to half an inch, but then the vehicle went wide.
The duke easily stopped his pair in time, but the bloody fool on the coach box drove straight on at them. At the last instant, he pulled the horses hard to the left. He missed the curricle, but the weight on top of the coach shifted, overbalancing it. The coachman fell off his box. One of the wheelers shrieked at the same time the duke heard the crack of splintering wood. After that, it was difficult to sort anything out, amid the din and confusion. Horses plunged and screamed, people ran into and out of shops, shouting and shrieking and getting in the way.
Marchmont leapt down from the curricle, leaving his team to Filby, who was on the pavement as quickly as he.
The duke started toward the overturned coach. It had fallen on top of some of the luggage and lay precariously on a great trunk.
The leaders had broken loose, but some men farther along the street caught them. The wheelers, meanwhile, were wild, one bleeding and clearly maddened by pain and fear, the other in a panic.
Marchmont shouted orders. A boy ran up and nearly had his head kicked off, but he caught hold of the injured animal. The duke caught the other one and was calming the frantic beast when he heard a familiar voice cry, “Someone fetch a doctor!”
He looked back and saw Zoe, half under the coach and pulling at the door of the insecurely balanced vehicle.
“Get away from there!” he shouted. “It’s going to collapse!”
She ignored him and tugged at someone inside. The trunk bulged and the coach sagged downward.
“Zoe, damn you, get away from there!”
To his horror, she crawled under the coach.
“Someone hold this curst animal!” he shouted.
All that held up the old coach was the trunk. One wrong move and it would fall…and crush her.
Someone came and took over the animal. At the same instant, before he could get the wretched girl away from the coach, she gave another pull.
The trunk gave way.
The coach seemed to fall so slowly, while he was still lunging for her, before it landed with a great crash and a choking cloud of dust.
“Zoe!” he roared, and plunged into the wreckage.
She’d seen the boy hanging out of the door. Zoe feared he was badly injured, but she hadn’t time to check. She pulled him out and dragged him out of the way. An instant later, the coach hit the ground and flew apart.
“You idiot.” Marchmont’s voice easily penetrated the clamor about her.
