Evidently not suffering a need to respond, he strode with her along the lane.
“Are you deaf? Put me down!” She struggled to free herself.
“Can’t I’m afraid. At your present snail’s pace, my lady, we would be lucky to reach the carriage by breakfast. I advise you to lower your voice, or we shall have interested parties joining us.”
Althea snapped her mouth shut and held onto his shoulder while confirming her first opinion of Lord Montsimon’s physique. Slim but muscular. Definitely. She wasn’t sure why that annoyed her even more. His face was not far above hers, and she discovered a cleft in his chin. At the sight of the hackney coach waiting at the end of the lane, the jarvie at the horse’s head, she struggled in his arms. “I believe it’s safe to put me down now.Please!”
Montsimon unceremoniously dumped her on her feet. She tripped along, aware of her frills unraveling with each step.
On reaching the hackney, Montsimon gave her address to the jarvie and opened the door. When she stepped forward to enter, a loud ripping sound brought them both to a startled halt. Althea looked down.
Without an apology, Montsimon lifted his foot off her gown’s trailing flounce.
“I must have torn my gown coming down the tree,” she said, bunching up her skirts to enter the carriage.
“I find myself unable to continue this fascinating conversation at this time, Lady Brookwood,” he said, as he thrust the torn flounce into the carriage after her. “I shall call on you at home tomorrow at two o’clock. I am all agog to learn what brought about the need for you to climb trees in Manchester Square on a freezing winter evening.”
“And I look forward to learning how you came to be on hand to assist me,” she said crisply.
He slammed the door and barked at the jarvie. Althea looked back through the window as Montsimon stalked down the lane. “Well, how odd,” she murmured. What was he doing in the garden?
As the carriage took her home, she faced the fact that her last hope of assistance had failed her. There was nothing for it, she would have to beg for Montsimon’s help. She was very bad at begging, it made her fear she was giving up her hard won independence. And was he likely to agree? He appeared set on his own course. It was unfortunate that her charms seemed to have deserted her where he was concerned. She sighed. If, by some miracle, he did offer to help her, it would not be with any semblance of diplomacy, of that she was sure.
