And Dara would have answered, except she couldn’t. She had started to shiver.
Mr. Brogan’s hold around her shoulders tightened. “Walk back to Willow Street,” he instructed. “You may carry those with you.” He directed Dara toward his horse, held by the man who had been with him earlier. “Do you believe you can ride?”
She shook her head. She didn’t think she could do anything.
Before she knew what he was about, he lifted her in the air and sat her in the saddle. A beat later, he climbed up behind her. His hands took up the reins, his arms and chest sheltering her, and off they went at a brisk trot.
It felt good to be away from everyone. The staring of so many eyes was unsettling, and now Dara was starting to have a bad premonition about all of this.
Dear God, what had she done? She was glad she’d saved the child... but is that what gentlewomen did? Save a life and have men leer at her?
“I didn’t like those men.” She didn’t evenrealize she’d spoken aloud until Mr. Brogan answered her.
“Franklin and his acquaintances? I will have a word with him. You needn’t worry.”
Dara hadn’t said she was worried, except Mr. Brogan had known exactly what she’d meant. And therefore, she had reason to worry.
She hunkered down in his coat. Now, besides the incessant shivering, she had a strong desire to cry. Unfortunately, Lanscarrs didn’t cry. Gram had taught her that. No crying allowed. It was far better to be resourceful.
Except Dara didn’t know if that was true after a person had made a public spectacle of herself.
“The man with the Humane Society was right,” Mr. Brogan said quietly. “If you hadn’t acted quickly, that child would have died. You were heroic, Miss Lanscarr.”
Was that admiration in his voice?
Honesty made her admit, “I wish I’d taken a different route when I entered the park.”
“Nonsense. You were right where you were supposed to be.”
Encouraging words... except, why did she have this strong sense of dread?
Once through the gates—after all, one did not gallop through Hyde Park—he put heels to horse and they set off at a good clip, neatly working their way through the traffic. The fine merino wool of his jacket formed a barrier between herself and whatever mysterious fear had gripped her. The material held the scent of warm spice and masculinity.Hisscent. Her shivering eased.
He reined his horse in. A boy from the street shouted, offering to walk his animal.
Mr. Brogan tossed the lad a coin. He lowered his voice for her ears alone. “We are at your door. I’m going to dismount.”
She sat up, surprised at how heavily she’d been leaning against him.
Mr. Brogan lifted her from the saddle and carried her to the door. She should protest that she could walk. She didn’t.
With one arm, he used the knocker. The door opened, and Herald made a surprised sound. Cradled in the jacket, Dara listened to the voices over her, to Gwendolyn’s cry of alarm, to Mr. Brogan’s quick explanation of what had happened at the lake, to her family’s sounds of concern. She closed her eyes, letting their words wash over her.
“I recommend you take all measures possible to see she doesn’t come down with an ague,” Mr. Brogan said. “A brandy would be wise as well.”
“I have sherry right here,” Tweedie volunteered. “Where is Molly?”
“The maid? She’s walking home with Miss Lanscarr’s bonnet,” Mr. Brogan said.
Gwendolyn took command of the situation. “Will you be so kind as to carry Dara up to herroom, Mr. Brogan? I don’t believe Herald is up to the task.”
And that is when Dara roused herself to speak. “I can walk.” She hoped that was true. Really, all this fuss was silly.
To her relief, Mr. Brogan set her on her feet. She wobbled a moment. Nothing seemed solid, especially herself. His arms hovered in case she needed help. His coat hung heavy on her shoulders. She was relieved to see Herald’s lanky frame coming down the stairs with a shawl. It was just the thing.
She relinquished Mr. Brogan’s coat and slipped the shawl around her, overly conscious that she looked a fright. She could see the concern on Gwendolyn’s face. “I’m fine,” she murmured.
“You will be fine when you drink this,” Tweedie said, pressing an overfull glass of sherry into Dara’s hands. There was a noise behind them. “Ah, here is Molly. Girl, run and tell Cook to start boiling water for a bath.” Tweedie had never sounded so in command. Especially when she returned her attention to Dara and saw she was still just holding the glass.“Drink.”
