"Your Grace?" she whispered.
Daniel, for it was undeniably, impossibly Daniel, lifted his head and looked down at her. His face was pale, his eyes wild, his expression stripped of every defence he had ever constructed.
He was terrified. Absolutely terrified.
"Are you hurt?" he repeated, and his voice cracked on the question like ice fracturing under pressure.
"I am...I am well. I think." Lillian tried to move, to assess her own condition, but his arms tightened around her, refusing to release their grip. "Your Grace...Daniel...I cannot breathe."
The use of his Christian name seemed to shock him back to himself. He released her immediately, rolling away and scrambling to his feet with a grace that belied the violence of their fall. His coat was torn, his cravat ruined, his dark hair disordered and dotted with leaves and mud.
He had never looked more human. Or more devastatingly handsome.
"What on earth happened?" He was not looking at her now; he was scanning the road, the hedgerow, the retreating form of the cart as the driver finally regained control and brought the panicked horse to a halt some distance away. "Rosanne? Where is Rosanne?"
"I am here." Rosanne emerged from behind the hedge, pale but uninjured. "I am perfectly well. Lillian pushed me out of the way before..." She stopped, taking in the scene before her: her brother standing wild-eyed in the road, Lillian struggling to rise from the ditch, both of them covered in mud and looking as though they had barely survived a battle.
"Daniel." Rosanne's voice was strange. "How did you… You were not with us. How did you come to be here?"
It was a fair question. Lillian found herself wondering the same thing. They had walked from Wynthorpe Hall; there had been no sign of the duke when they departed. And yet here he was, appearing as if from nowhere at the precise moment when his presence was most desperately needed.
"I was riding." Daniel's voice had regained some of its customary control, though his hands were still shaking. "I saw the cart coming. I saw you on the road. I..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "It does not matter. What matters is that you are both uninjured."
"Thanks to you," Lillian said softly.
She had risen to her feet, unsteadily, her legs not quite willing to cooperate, and now stood facing him across the few yards that separated them. The carter was approaching, babbling apologies and explanations, but Lillian barely heard him. Her attention was fixed on Daniel, on the raw emotion that still flickered beneath the surface of his expression.
He had saved her life. He had appeared from nowhere and flung himself into danger to protect her.
That was not how a man reacted to a casual acquaintance.
"Your Grace." The carter had reached them now, cap in hand, his weathered face crumpled with distress. "I am so sorry, the horse is young, barely trained, and something spooked him, I could not hold him."
"See to your animal," Daniel said shortly. "And thank whatever providence watched over us that no one was killed."
"Yes, Your Grace. Of course, Your Grace. I am so terribly..."
"Go."
The carter went, hastening back to his cart with the speed of a man who recognized when he had exhausted his welcome. Daniel watched him go, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.
"We should return to the Hall," he said, without looking at either of them. "Miss Whitcombe should be examined by a physician. That fall..."
"I am quite well," Lillian interjected. "A few bruises, nothing more."
"You do not know that. You could have injuries that are not immediately apparent. Internal damage, or..."
"Daniel." Rosanne's voice was gentle but firm. "Lillian says she is well. Perhaps we might take her word for it."
He looked at his sister then, looked at both of them, and Lillian saw the fear that still lurked beneath his rigid composure. He was not well. Whatever had happened in those frantic seconds when he had pulled her from the path of the cart, it had shaken him in ways that went far beyond the physical danger.
"My horse," he said abruptly. "I left him...I must have..."
He turned, scanning the lane, and Lillian followed his gaze to where a handsome bay stood calmly cropping grass at the verge, its reins trailing on the ground. The horse seemed entirely unbothered by the drama that had just unfolded, its placid demeanor a stark contrast to its master's agitation.
"There, you see?" Rosanne said. "Your horse is perfectly safe. We are all perfectly safe. Perhaps we might proceed to the village as planned, and..."
"The village can wait." Daniel's voice was flat, brooking no argument. "We are returning to Wynthorpe. Miss Whitcombe will see a physician."
