He stared at her, unsmiling, a lone brow raised, and it occurred to her that he wasn’t dressed for the out-of-doors. He hadn’t a greatcoat or even a hat, quite as if he had dashed away from Hunt House to find her the moment he’d heard of her plight.
Despite her every intention to guard herself against him, something softened inside her. She found herself relenting. If she refused him now, she would only seem a churl.
Reluctantly, she settled her hand in his, unprepared for the sensation that overcame her when he laced his fingers through hers, the indisputable rightness of it.
“Very well,” she allowed, her voice a husky rasp that she couldn’t hide.
“Come. I’ll drive you home, and the grooms and coachman will see to the carriage.”
She obeyed, allowing him to gently guide her from the carriage, out into the street where Ridgely’s prized new cabriolet awaited. The conveyance was small, suitable for only two—one driver and a passenger—and pulled by a lone horse. It was the sort of vehicle she had imagined her brother might use for courting, or perhaps even to squire about a mistress. Not a means of transportation for a proper widow in the night, alone with a man who was far too enticing.
But Beast didn’t seem inclined to allow her time to contemplate the wisdom of taking such a route home. He began pulling her toward the cabriolet. He was still holding her hand, and they were in the midst of town, where any passing carriage might see the Marchioness of Deering being led away by a disreputable rogue.
“You cannot think to drive me home,” she protested. “Anyone will be able to see I’m riding alone with a strange gentleman at midnight.”
“Let them see.” He continued on without hesitation, pulling her with him.
She tugged her hand free, stopping. “I have no wish for scandal.”
“Do you wish to remain on the street all night long instead?” he asked, a gust of wind ruffling his hair, the carriage lamplight making his eyes glisten.
Surely he was cold, and yet he had ventured out to find her. What a strange man he was, so aloof and yet capable of such passion, seemingly unconcerned and yet protective.
“I hardly think it will take all night to repair the wheel,” she protested.
He stepped nearer to her suddenly, lowering his head so their faces were close. “Madam, your brother is in danger, and it’s possible that you are as well. I’ll not be leaving you here to the mercy of cutthroats and villains.”
The stark reminder was akin to a fist closing on her heart. She couldn’t forget the true reason for this man’s intrusion into her life. Someone wanted to harm her brother. The danger was very real. And even so, Beast wasn’t giving her a choice. Another breeze whipped her wrap around her, cold air licking at her ankles and calves beneath her petticoats and gown.
“My reputation,” she said, still feeling as if she couldn’t simply give in, knowing how unwise it would be. “No doubt you haven’t a concern for yours, but a widow’s place in society is never certain.”
A stray curl blew free from her chignon, flying from beneath her bonnet to catch on her cheek. Before she could tuck it away, Beast’s fingers were there, grazing her cheek, callused and cool, touching her with a tenderness she wouldn’t have expected. He slid the tendril behind her ear.
“It’s cold and growing colder,” he said quietly. “You’ll take a chill if you linger any longer.”
The change in him was having an odd effect upon her. She hadn’t expected his worry, his gentleness. It was almost as if he had a care for her, which was silly, because they scarcely knew each other. They’d shared nothing more than a few ill-advised kisses.
“Why did Ridgely send you to me?” Pamela asked, frustrated with herself for her vulnerability where this man was concerned. Frustrated, too, with her brother for leaving her with no choice but to accompany Beast back to Hunt House.
Surely, he must have known how wrong it would be for her to have to ride in proximity to the guard. To be seen escorted through the night with him. If anyone with a wagging tongue passed them, she would be instantly pitched headlong into scandal. And as for her ability to continue chaperoning Lady Virtue… Well, it would be equally destroyed.
“Ridgely didn’t send me to you,” Beast said quietly, sullenly.
She frowned, shivering as another ripple of wind tore past them. Although Mark Coachman and the grooms were already at work behind them on the coach wheel, and carriages rumbled past on the street, she couldn’t shake the sense that they were the only two people in the moment.
“Then who did?”
“I sent myself, Marchioness.” He took her hand in his, not even asking permission this time, linking their fingers together. “Now come before you take ill in this cold. I’ll see you home.”
Bemused, Pamela followed him to the cabriolet, allowing him to lead her to the waiting conveyance. His revelation was heightening her confusion, multiplying the feelings deep inside her that she was so struggling to ignore. He had come to her of his own accord.
Why? Because he had wanted to help her? Because he had feared for her safety? Or had he only done so out of a sense of obligation? Oh, why should she even care about the reason? It mattered not. She had no intention of acting upon this inconvenient attraction she felt for him. Not on the ride back to Hunt House, and not ever.
Beast helped Pamela up, and she perched on the seat, watching as he swiftly climbed into the cabriolet and settled at her side. Yet again, his lean thigh pressed against hers through the civilized layers of fabric separating them, and just as before, she was not nearly as unaffected as she would have wished.
Not unaffected at all.
The cabriolet rocked into motion, taking them down the street. She noted he held the reins with an eased, experienced grip, deftly guiding them along the narrow street. The roof of the cabriolet surrounded them, making the ride feel far more intimate than it truly was, for the front half was left open, the cold wind of the night painting her cheeks as they traveled. The carriage lamp shone, highlighting all the sharp angles of his face and glinting off the ring he wore on his forefinger.
