It occurred to Theo that there was a possibility the duke’s carriage had been tampered with, causing damage to the wheels on an uneven surface of road. Perhaps the person who wanted Ridgely dead had grown more creative after their previous attempts—which had begun before the death of the man on the staircase, with Ridgely being set upon in the street.
And if so, that could mean Lady Deering was in danger.
His gut clenched. “Who is there to offer her ladyship protection?”
“There is Mark Coachman,” the groom said, not allaying Theo’s fears.
For he had met the coachman, and the fellow was thin as a whip and white-haired and didn’t appear as if he could harm anything of greater substance than a fly. “Take me to her.”
CHAPTER6
Waiting in a cold carriage with a damaged wheel was decidedly not the way Pamela had hoped to end her evening. Lady Virtue had pleaded exhaustion following their lengthy shopping expedition, and after her unexpected clash with Beast in the gardens, she had decided to venture to an intimate supper being held by her friend Lady Penwicke. Selina was a devoted patroness of the arts, and as usual, she had peopled her dinner party with a host of intriguing poets and artists.
It had been an excellent distraction and just the cure for the restlessness ailing her. Pamela had imbibed a trifle too much wine, lost too much money at whist, stayed later than was polite chatting into the evening, and laughed louder than was ladylike on more than one occasion. Dear Selina was forever courting the razor’s edge of scandal, and although Pamela could never imagine allowing herself to be so daring, she secretly admired her friend’s fast ways. Even if the rest of their set didn’t approve of Selina’s increasing boldness.
However, all her delight in the evening and her ability to banish thoughts from a maddening, mysterious-eyed stranger had been dashed the moment the carriage had struck that dreadful hole in the street. The carriage had thudded mightily, shaking her from the silk tabberett squabs and sending her crashing to the floor. She’d landed on her rump, which still ached dreadfully from the sudden impact.
And now she was waiting.
Peering out into the night through the Venetian blinds covering the carriage window, hoping no enterprising cutpurse would come along and run off with her reticule. Or worse.
She shivered at the chill in the air, which would not have been nearly so cold had she arrived at Hunt House in the time her trip should have taken. Would have taken, had not the Hole of Doom interfered in an otherwise thoroughly lovely evening. Mark Coachman had been very apologetic for not being able to maneuver the carriage out of the way in time. A groom had been dispatched to Hunt House. And Pamela was waiting, toes growing ever colder in her slippers.
The din of masculine voices reached her then, piercing her thoughts and sending hope to chase the knot of dread residing in her belly. She had supposed she would be made to linger in the carriage for longer yet, waiting for the groom to carry out his task.
But just as quickly as her hope had risen, the opening of the carriage door sent it fleeing. For there, framed in the flickering glow of the carriage lamps, was a man she recognized all too well. Not the fresh-faced groom who had leapt from the box with the promise to return in all haste. Rather, a ridiculously handsome man whose countenance looked as if it had been chiseled in marble.
The man she had been doing her utmost to avoid, both in thought and presence.
“Beast,” she said, dismayed.
“My lady,” he returned, looking and sounding characteristically grim. “Are you well?”
Well? How could she be when he was here? Warmth suffused her as his cool stare passed over her form as if he were searching for any hint of injury. What was he doing at her carriage at this hour of the night, appearing as if he were some knight of old riding to her rescue? Why would Ridgely have sent him? Did he not know the inherent danger of leaving a woman alone with a man as deviously alluring as Beast?
When she didn’t answer with sufficient haste, he leveraged himself into the carriage with graceful ease, quite crowding her as he seated himself at her side. “Lady Deering? Is aught amiss?”
Yes, everything was amiss.
Because she was a trifle in her cups just now from all the wine she had imbibed at Selina’s supper, and because his thigh was pressing against hers in intimate fashion. And because she could not bring herself to slide away from him on the squabs and create a proper distance.
She found her voice at last. “I’m well enough for a lady who has been left in her broken carriage at midnight.”
Particularly after the man who had arrived to offer her assistance was the last man she would have chosen for the job.
“You’re uninjured?” he demanded, his voice low and soft.
For her ears alone. Although he was brusque, his countenance every bit as bereft of any hint of cheer as always, there was an underlying tone in his voice that was new. Dare she think it was concern? For her?
She sniffed, telling herself she was a ninny. “I’m tired, sir. Tell me why you’ve come.”
“To take you home.” He offered her his hand, ungloved, palm up. “I’ll help you alight.”
Pamela didn’t want to touch him, because even with the barrier of her own kid gloves, she feared the effect it would have upon her. She kept her hands in her lap.
“I don’t require your help.”
“Didn’t say you did, but I’m offering it just the same.”
