Chapter One
Wimbledon, England, Summer 1899
Heathcliff, a character fromWuthering Heights, came to Laura’s mind after a brief glance at the troubled brow of the dark-haired gentleman waiting silently beside her. They’d come from different directions and sought shelter from the rain beneath a building’s awning. The late afternoon was gray and dismal, the lowering clouds taking on a set-in appearance. Rain dripped steadily from the rim of the cover overhead. She pulled at her hat, which had turned into a shapeless, soggy mass, and discovered wet tendrils of her hair glued to hercheek.
He nodded politely, and she noticed how handsome he was, with a strong, clean line to his jaw, his gray eyes rimmed with dark lashes, his firm lips faintlysensual.
Finally, a hansom appeared, the horse splashing along the thoroughfare. The man beside her stepped out to hail the jarvey with hisumbrella.
When the driver pulled up the horse, he turned back to her. “Allow me to assist you.” His beautifully modulated tone heralded a member of the upper class. His fine clothes re-enforced that view.
She hesitated, then offered him a small smile. “Oh, but you were here first.”
He arched his dark brows. “What sort of gentleman would I be to leave a lady standing here alone?”
A chill wind swirled around her ankles and pulled at the hem of her dress. Lambeth wasn’t exactly pleasant, it was true. The hall where she’d attended the meeting was around the corner. It would be empty now, for as soon as it concluded, everyone rushed away to get home before the rain setin.
“Do you want a cab or not?” The jarvey scowled at them from his seat behind thecab.
“Yes, of course I do, my good man.” Holding her skirts above the flowing gutter, Laura stepped down from thepavement.
The gentleman moved forward to offer assistance. About to climb into the cramped interior, she turned. “I’m traveling to Wimbledon. Perhaps I can drop you somewhere?”
“I would appreciate it, thank you.”
“Wimbledon, cabbie, but first, set me down at the nearest railway station.” He joined her inside and, adding his dripping umbrella to hers on the floor, closed the wooden half-doors.
His broad shoulders touched hers as he settled beside her. At a crack of the whip the carriage rolledforward.
“Are you sure a train is the best course? What is your direction?” she asked, aware she soundedinquisitive.
“The city. I’m staying at a hotel.”
So, he didn’t live inLondon.
His gray eyes sought hers with a hint of a smile. “What are you doing out on a day like this?”
She flushed. The smell of damp wool, leather, and his expensive cologne filled the small space. “I’ve just attended a meeting. The Women’s Suffrage Movement.”
“Ah.”
She tried to interpret what lay behind that single utterance. Might he disapprove? Many men did. “And you?”
“A visit to the Lambeth Workhouse.”
He didn’t look like a doctor. He was altogether too—too elegant. Might he be on the board? Her mother would be appalled to see her sharing a cab with a strange man, well-dressed or not. She was outraged enough that Laura had joined the movement. Mother’s notion of a woman’s role in life was woefullyoutdated.
He attempted to stretch his long legs in the confined space. His thigh brushed against hers, warm and hard through her brown wool skirt. She glanced at him. Had he done it onpurpose?
“I beg your pardon.” He tried to move away, but their shoulders touched again. He half turned in amused apology and offered his hand. “Look, in these close confines, I feel as if I should introduce myself. Lord Lanyon.”
Of course. It was written all over him. She shook his big, gloved hand. “Miss Parr.”
“Women’s suffrage is a worthy cause.”
“It would help our cause greatly if more men agreed.”
She wondered if he meant it, or was he merely being polite? A hereditary peer would have an old-fashioned view. Women were viewed as wives and mothers, required to provide them with heirs to secure the line. And even though much was changing as the new century approached, some things stayed thesame.
