Chapter Twenty-Eight
“The households of both the Earl of M__ and the Dowager Countess of M__ have left London unexpectedly for their country estate. No one was invited for the Twelvetide, but shopkeepers breathed a sigh of relief when all outstanding accounts reportedly were paid prior to their departure.”
-The Times
Tapping on the roofof his coach with the top of his walking stick to alert his driver, Jasper lowered the window as the horses drew to a halt.
There she was, both the bane and the blessing of his existence, looking flustered and distressed, yet still perfectly tuppable.
Before he could greet her or even ask her how she fared, Julia looked wildly around, peered over her shoulder, and then wrenched open his coach door.
“I say,” he began. “My footman would have done that, that is, if I’d invited you to enter.”
In any case, with the step not down and no one to assist her, she could do little more than lean in and stare up at him beseechingly.
“Please, Jasper, let me into your carriage.”
He’d nearly escaped the pull of her, or at least the constant reminder of his near-obsession by seeing her at every ball and party. Each time, he hoped for more of her and very much wanted to give her more of himself.
Now, here she was in need of his assistance, her large blue eyes blinking up at him.
He sighed. “Very well. Rigley,” he called to his footman, who had already jumped down from the back perch and whose sandy-haired head popped into view behind Julia.
“You must back up, Miss Sudbury, so my footman can draw down the step.”
“Hurry,” she said, again glancing along the street the way she’d come. “There is little time.”
He heard a commotion and craned his head out the opening. It did appear that two men were trotting along the street in their direction, waving their arms and shouting.
“Bow Street Runners,” he muttered aloud, recognizing them instantly for what they were. Seeing her pale face and desperate situation, he reached down and grabbed hold of her arms, just in front of her shoulders, yanking her onto the floorboards.
“Barnes,” he yelled to his driver, “off at once!”
With the door still flapping and Miss Sudbury’s feet hanging out, they jerked forward. He heard Rigley jump on the back —thank goodness!—asJasper would hate to be short a good footman. And then they were off.
“Lord Marshfield,” someone yelled.
Blast it!They knew him by his family crest, emblazoned on the coach doors.
“Ow,”she exclaimed as every bump in the road was undoubtedly bruising her ribcage.
