"Your Grace..." Lillian began.
"This is not a discussion."
He strode toward his horse, catching the reins and swinging into the saddle with a fluid motion that spoke of years of practice. From atop the bay, he looked down at them with an expression that was almost frightening in its intensity.
"Can you walk? Both of you?"
"We can walk," Rosanne confirmed. "But Daniel..."
"Then walk. I will ride ahead and send the carriage to meet you."
He was gone before either of them could protest, the bay's hooves drumming against the road as he urged the horse into a canter. Lillian watched him go, her heart still pounding, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.
"Well," Rosanne said, after a long moment of silence. "That was illuminating."
"Was it?"
"My brother just flung himself off a moving horse to save your life, Lillian. And then he carried on as though you had broken every bone in your body rather than merely gotten a bit muddy." Rosanne's expression was a complicated mixture of amusement and something deeper. "If you still believe he feels nothing for you, I fear you may be the least observant woman in England."
Lillian did not reply. She was still watching the road, where Daniel had disappeared around the bend, and she was thinking about the way he had said her name,Lillian,with a desperate tenderness that she had never heard from him before.
She was thinking about his arms around her, strong and sure and terrified.
She was thinking about the look in his eyes when he had asked if she was hurt.
And she was beginning to believe that Rosanne might be right after all.
***
The carriage arrived within twenty minutes, and by the time they reached Wynthorpe Hall, Daniel had already summoned the local physician and was pacing the entrance hall with the barely contained energy of a caged animal.
"Miss Whitcombe. This way, if you please."
He did not wait for her response; he simply turned and led her toward the small parlor where, apparently, the physician was waiting to conduct his examination. Lillian followed, too bewildered by the speed of events to protest.
The examination itself was brief and conclusive: she was, as she had insisted, perfectly well. A few bruises on her hip and shoulder where she had landed in the ditch, but nothing that rest and a warm bath would not cure.
"The young lady is in excellent health," Mr. Morris announced, emerging from the parlor with his bag in hand. "No broken bones, no internal injuries, no cause for concern. I recommend a quiet afternoon and perhaps a glass of wine with dinner, but beyond that, there is nothing to treat."
Daniel, who had been standing rigidly by the parlor door, seemed to deflate slightly.
"You are certain?"
"Quite certain, Your Grace. Miss Whitcombe is a remarkably resilient young woman."
"Yes," Daniel said quietly. "She is."
The physician departed, and Lillian found herself alone with the duke in the entrance hall. Rosanne had been whisked away by Mrs. Gerald for tea and sympathy, leaving them in a silence that felt suddenly, impossibly heavy.
"I owe you my thanks," Lillian said finally. "If you had not been there..."
"Do not." His voice was rough. "Do not thank me."
"But..."
"I was terrified." The admission seemed to cost him something; she could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the way his hands clenched at his sides. "When I saw the cart coming, when I saw you in its path, I was more frightened than I have ever been in my life. And I do not..." He broke off, turning away from her. "I do not know what to do with that."
Lillian stood very still, her heart beating hard in her chest.
