“Step aside!” A new voice rang out over the chatter of the onlookers. The deep, aristocratic burr, unlike the comfortable brogue of those around Mikah, conveyed enough authority in those two words to part the spectators, allowing the newcomer to come to her side. “Lady Ayr,” he said. “Are you quite all right? I thought we were to meet you at the train station an—
“It’s you,” Mikah stared up into the man’s handsome face as he bent over her. His words staggered to a halt as he looked down at her in surprise.
She gazed intently at the handsome man hovering over her. Itwashim. The man who’d haunted her dreams her entire life and most recently with unimaginable passion. He was at once both familiar and foreign. She wanted to look him over, to memorize every detail before he faded away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Deep chocolaty brown, warm and mesmerizing, his eyes were filled with concern and more than enough surprise to match her own. Finally, she asked the question she’d long pondered: “Who are you?”
“She doesn’t seem to know anyone, my lord,” the woman in the long dress offered fretfully. “Not even me.”
“It’s all right,” the man replied without taking his attention away from Mikah. “We hadn’t met before so, in this case, it’s a valid question. My lady, I am Ian Conagham. Are you injured?”
His voice became slow and demanding, as he tried to gain her attention. Though she hadn’t stopped looking at him, he seemed to sense that her attention had moved beyond him, as she mentally drifted away from the crowd surrounding her.
Perhaps she had.
In her dreams, this man had always been blurred, hazy. Now he was right in front of her. Dark. Intense. Vitallyalive.
The crowd eased back with a murmur akin to awe that was apparent even to Mikah’s mulled brain, though he ignored them all. “We need to get you out of the street,” he said. “Can you rise?”
“Home,” she muttered, surprising herself in the process. It was as if a voice inside of her had forced its way out.
Home certainly wasn’t her first thought. Or even in the top ten. The part of her mind that wasn’t wallowing in pain was fixated on him. On touching him, ascertaining if he was real and not just another dream.
Yet the inner voiced pushed to the forefront again. “Yes, I want to go home.”
The man—Ian Conag… Cunningham? Mikah’s head throbbed painfully— pulled her to her feet as if her spoken words were a command to be acted upon without question.
Her rationalthoughts rebelled. No, not home. First an ambulance followed by the most expedient route to a hospital. She tried to force the words out but her head swam and her mind blanked as they stood her on her feet. Mikah wavered, black spots flooding her vision. She was going to faint for sure. Her wonderfully handsome dream man must have thought the same, because he swung her easily up into his arms and carried her out of the street.
“What’re ye goin’ to do wi’ her?” the older man asked, his voice barely audible through the roar in her ears.
“Don’t worry,” her rescuer assured the crowd. “I’ll keep her safe.”
Braver than the rest of the crowd, the old fellow who’d first come to her aid stepped boldly forward. “Hope yer no’ thinking to take her all the way to Dùn Cuilean tonight, m’lord. ‘Tis more than forty miles away. Ye’ll no’ make it, mark my words. Ye’d best get a doctor for her.”
Ian’s steps paused and Mikah could almost intuit his desire to be home as well. She could see the hesitation his eyes before resolution set in. They wouldn’t be going anywhere that night. His gaze shifted back to the old Scot. “I will have a physician attend her. Worry not.”
“What’s going on?” she whispered as they loaded her into a black… wait, carriage? The woman climbed in with her. Mind foggy and unfocused, Mikah was unable to comprehend what was happening around and to her. Only Ian was in focus. A reversal of the norm where he was involved. A little part of her, deep inside, began to freak out.
“You took a bit of a blow to the head when that wagon hit you as you were coming out of the Exchange, my lady,” the woman answered, patting her hand. “My lord is going to take you back to the hotel and call for a physician.”
“Hospital,” Mikah muttered disjointedly, but the woman looked aghast at the suggestion.
“Oh, no, my lady!”
“Why?” Her voice was faint.
“Because, unless you’re mad, that’s the last place you want to go,” Ian said as he climbed into the carriage with them.
Head swimming, Mikah pressed her hand to her temple as she tried to focus on the man once more, but his image swam in duplicate spotted with black. “But I know you,” she murmured before oblivion beckoned her again.
Chapter Three
Back at the hotel, Ian sat at Hero Conagham’s bedside while she slept. So this was the former marchioness, or rather, since Ian wasn’t married, she remained the current Marchioness of Ayr. His cousin’s widow.
He couldn’t have been more surprised when he’d seen her lying there on the street. Far from her mid-fifties, as the old marquess had been, the marchioness appeared to be closer to his age. Late twenties perhaps, and as fair and slim and lovely as any imagined Sleeping Beauty might have been when first glimpsed by her prince. And, like any man in his position might be, Ian was seized by pure male appreciation.
Not only because she was so extraordinarily lovely that any man might stare.
No, Ian had another reason as well. He’d seen her face a thousand times already.
