“Good.” She paused, her chin lifting as she considered him. “You were quite adept at fighting off that man.” It was a statement, but a hint of question seemed to lace the words.
The carriage came to a stop. Lucas pulled himself from her magnetic gaze and pushed the door open. Once outside, he turned back. “Please,” he said, “stay in the carriage. It is growing late, and I will only be a few moments.” The lingering fear for her safety remained, and reminders of his sister’s death sat heavily on his conscience.
She nodded once, and without thought, he knew he could trust that small action.
“Thank you,” he breathed, and then he left to engage a Runner.
Chapter 15
Lydia watched out the carriagewindow, breathing out a sigh when she saw Lord Berkeley’s tall, shadowy figure exit the building and make for her.
Well not her, but where she waited in his carriage.
His carriage. Alone. In the dark.
Her heart stumbled over itself. My, her evening had taken quite a turn. Though sneaking out of her guardian’s home was not the tamest of activities, she’d not expected it to turn into a fistfight and intimate carriage ride. No—not intimate. Anything but intimate.
Please, oh please, stop thinking about intimacies before he returns and—
The carriage door opened. Did she imagine it, or did his body relax at seeing her within? He stepped inside, his large frame blocking out the light for a moment. His large frame that she had finally recognized. In the moment that he’d knocked the assailant down, she’d placed him instantly. Lord Berkeley was the man from the street on her first day in London, she was certain of it. A near giddiness filled her at having finally solved the puzzle. She itched to bring it up to him.
“You dispatched a Runner?” she asked, not exactly sure how to broach the subject that now had her full interest.
He nodded. The intensity that had burned in his eyes before he left was gone, and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her.
Still uncertain about how to open the conversation, she dove headfirst into her question. Not the finest of approaches. “Lord Berkeley, are you a pugilist?”
His expression remained unchanged. “I can hold my own in a fight.”
She leaned forward. “But do you habitually do so? Fight, I mean. That is, I ask because I think I have finally determined why you seemed so familiar to me.”
Still he did not look at her, but her enthusiasm sent her plowing forward with her story. “The day I came to London, my carriage broke a hub. I was outside—it was just growing dark—there was a fight in a building that spilled out onto the street. A man—you—came out, helped break up the fight, and returned inside.” She did not ask if it was him. She simply recounted the events as the carriage swayed, and the sound of the horse clip-clopping through the street filled each of her pauses.
He studied his hands, not speaking.
Who was this man who hid in libraries during balls and remained in the background of all social events, yet saved women from attackers, used solicitors’ shops in the evening, and broke up fights between pugilists? That sounded like two very different individuals. How could they be one and the same?
“Why, Lord Berkeley, were you taking part in nighttime brawls on the streets of London?” she asked quietly.
He looked over at her, and a sigh expelled from his lips. “Please, Miss Faraday, I would rather not speak of this.”
It was the “please” that got her. No oneaskedher to leave a topic alone. Not Lord Tarrington, at least. If this man did not wish to speak of something, she would have expected him to put on a dukely manner and forbid her from speaking.
But the curious side of her wassocurious. Still, she pushed it aside. Attempting to smooth things over, she said, “It was very good of you to help Mrs. Brander.”
“Thank you.”
“And to bring me home.”
He pressed his eyes closed. “I would not have left you alone.”
Which reminded her of where they’d run into one another this evening. Of her failed mission. Of her inheritance.
Of a sudden, she wished to share the burden with someone. It was odd; she’d not felt this way before—always handling her own difficulties—but with this man, who’d gone to such great lengths to protect her that night, she felt secure.
And she was already aware of how he did not intend to court her. If he knew about her inheritance, perhaps he could help her put off his brother as well. Not to mention, she’d prodded into his personal affairs. It was only fair that she reciprocate. “You asked me earlier if I was in urgent need. In Mr. Sperry’s office.” She swayed against her seat with a turn.
He nodded. “You said you were, but I could not help.”
