“I can’t let you walk home alone, my lady,” he called when he’d found his voice.
“Go about your business, Lord Stafford,” she said over her shoulder, “and leave me to mine.”
“And what business would I have at such an hour?” he muttered.
Walking back to Archie, still smarting from the rogue comment, even if he knew it was a valid one, he sighed. Society had often called him and his two friends that, though not anymore, as Anthony and Toby were now respectably married.
He mounted and started after the woman striding away from him. Jamie weighed his options. He could follow, which would take some time at her current pace, even with long, angry strides, or he could seek out a brandy, which sounded far preferable. But he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her alone.
He had two sisters; if one of them were doing something so reckless, he would hope that whoever encountered them would come to their aid.
Sighing, he nudged Archie forward, watching as she stepped to the side of the road to allow him to pass. He doubted she’d listen to reason, so Jamie bent, caught her around the waist, and lifted her up before him. She already thought him a rogue so he may as well live up to his reputation. Her shriek nearly pierced an eardrum as he settled her on the saddle.
“Put me down at once!” She wriggled furiously—and in that moment, he realized Lady Alice Smythe had a deliciously rounded bottom.
“The gentleman in me cannot, I’m afraid, in good conscience allow you to walk about alone, to fall prey to any unscrupulous individual.”
She struggled, so he simply tightened his grip. With one hand on the reins and his thighs controlling the horse, he nudged Archie into a slow canter.
“If you attempt to jump from this height, you will harm yourself.”
“How dare you handle me in such a manner!”
“I am looking out for your welfare, madam, which clearly you are not capable of doing for yourself.”
She cursed loudly—a string of words any salty sailor would be proud to have in their repertoire.
“Tut-tut, Lady Alice. What will society think of your vocabulary, considering the prim façade you portray?” Jamie said, slowing his horse to a walk.
“I don’t give a fig about society,” she snapped. “Fools, the lot of them, and that includes you.”
“I do believe that hurt.” Her body felt lovely pressed to his, even as she tried to put distance between them. Jamie had to admit he was enjoying holding her far more than he should—a surprise, given how rarely he felt anything at all. He was cold inside, and yet, with Lady Alice Smythe in his arms, he felt warm.
“Surely not all of society are fools?” Even as he spoke, Jamie knew he agreed with her. There were good people among them, but many were idiots, whose sole focus was to be seen, and in the best light.
“Put me down, Lord Stafford.” Her tone was calmer now, and like his sisters, she was attempting to reason with him, having understood that rage would not work. A lesson, he thought, some men would do well to learn.
“Not until I have you home.”
“And I have no say in the matter?”
“None.”
They rode in silence for several minutes as Jamie searched for a topic to ease the tension. “Your brother was younger than I, therefore I did not know him well, but we went to the same school, my lady. Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
Her breath hitched, and he was sure that a soft sob escaped her lips. Idiot. Clearly, she was still struggling with her brother’s death.
“Are you all right?” Jamie asked. He often felt as though he were walking barefoot over broken glass at the bottom of a bog when confronted with tears, especially those of his sisters. He was woefully ill-equipped to comfort anyone.
Jamie had no empathy left inside him.
“I am well,” she said in a steady voice that made him wonder if he’d imagined the sob. “My brother was a good man.”
“I’m sure he was.”
He’d often thought someone should have written a manual about women. One solely for the purpose of helping men navigate the treacherous waters of their moods. Not that men were much better, but at least with them, what you saw was what you got. If they were angry, they roared or hit something. But a woman could slice you to ribbons with a single cutting word or look, and you’d have no idea why.
“Why are you on this road alone, Lady Alice?”
