The driver came to the right decision. “Come along then, sir. We’ll catch up to her.”
Gavin stepped up onto the hack’s step without opening the door. He put his arm through the window to hold on and was ready to jump off at the first sight of Mrs. Pettijohn. “On with it, man.”
“Yi-up!” the driver said to his horse and they took off in hot pursuit.
Chapter Four
Sarah knew it was a fool’s errand to run away from the duke, but she had to try.
She had not wanted to face him once he found out she no longer lived at Mulberry Street. Or to have him ask questions in that high-handed manner of his, questions that were not his right to ask.
What she did with her life was her business. He might believe that because Charlene had married his brother he had the right to interfere, but he didn’t. Oh no, not at all.
She slid her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and kept moving, her feet feeling and stumbling over what only the Lord knew was on the road. When she reached home, she was going to scrub her feet raw—
A horse’s steady clop and the rolling of wheels across uneven stones warned her that Baynton was not going to let her go.
Drat the man.
And yet she’d known the duke would follow. He was tenacious, a quality that went along with being overbearing.
The hack pulled up beside her. Baynton was standing on the step and easily stepped down beside her before the vehicle pulled to a halt. He moved to block her path.
Sarah had to stop but she was determined to sidestep him. However, before she could, he boldly opened his jacket, slipped a hand inside the pocket—located uncomfortably close to her breast. The back of his hand brushed against her as he pulled out a small coin purse.
He tossed it to the driver as she jerked the jacket closed around her. “Good?” he asked.
The driver opened the purse and gave a low sound of appreciation. “There’s more than we bargained for, sir.”
“Just stay with us, but not too close,” the duke ordered.
“Aye, sir.”
Sarah shook her head with annoyance and started walking again. He matched his stride to her limping one.
“You should leave with the driver,” she informed him. “I’m not climbing back in that hack with you.”
“You needn’t. I’m happy to walk. After all, I’m wearing boots.”
“You can walk to hell for all I’m concerned,” she muttered under her breath before giving a little hop as the bottom of her heel landed on something sharp.
His hand came to her elbow with a light touch as if to help her to balance. “Is that where we are going?” he asked, unconcerned. “To hell?”
She shook his hand off. “Where I am going is none of your business.”
“But it is. I’m the head of my family. It is my responsibility to take care of everyone, including extended family. Your niece is married to my—”
“I knew you were going to make that claim,” Sarah said, whirling on him. “And you are wrong.” She emphasized each word with a pointed finger. “I’m my own person. You have no control over me whatsoever. So, you can climb into the hack and drive off wherever you wish.”
Instead of the insult or anger she had anticipated in response to her declaration, Baynton looked a bit contrite. “I can’t,” he said. “I’ve hired the driver for this night and have probably paid him enough for the next seventy nights. I won’t leave you alone in the dark wearing nothing of substance but my jacket. We can either hobble around London together or I can see you home safe. Look at that,” he added, perking up a bit. “You have a choice. Hobble or ride? What shall it be?”
Her feet hurt. Her legs under the costume’s filmy skirts were cold. Exhaustion threatened . . . and right now, all she wanted to do was climb into her bed, pull the covers over her head, and worry about what Geoff and Charles would say about her starting a riot in their theater on the morrow.
Besides, Baynton was being kind instead of bombastic.
“I would like to ride.”
No triumphant or smug I-knew-you-would look crossed his face. He merely signaled for the hack to join them and opened the door for her. He held out a hand to help her in.
