Page 10 of Give Him a Chance

He supposed it was. He had given years to his country and had been poorly recompensed for it—not that he had decided to serve for the money. No one served one’s country for wealth.

Quite the opposite, he had ended up paying for the privilege: in time, in isolation, in pain and discomfort. It was time now for him to return home. To see what sort of a home had been left him.

“Look, I am very grateful,” Bernard said, stepping aside as a passerby stared at them curiously. Oh, blast, he was wearing his old prison clothes. It did not make him the most elegantly attired of men. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“‘Worry about’ you? Did you not hear Judge Bonner?” Lucy pointed at the courthouse with a look of irritated resignation. “You are my responsibility now!”

Bernard blinked. This was taking it a bit far, wasn’t it? After all, she didn’t have to do anything else, not after getting him out of those ridiculous handcuffs and away from that ridiculous court.

Surely, Hovell would be along at any moment and would give him leave to go, and then this Lucy or whatever her name was would disappear off onto whatever assignment Hovell had allocated for her next.

Lucy sighed. “Oh, it’s just my luck. I should have known this would happen. Well, no. This is ridiculous. Thisdoesn’thappen. But I should have known I’d pay dearly for my hubris somehow. I’m only alady, after all.”

Bernard stared. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Sorry, m’lady, I didn’t realize you’d finished already,” came a man’s voice just behind him. “Ready to return home? I don’t s’pose your maid will be back home by now to see if you went there after we left her in the park.”

Bernard turned to see a man in a smartish livery with a riding crop in his hand. A carriage had appeared and apparently the man had just jumped down from it, looking politely at the young woman who was pretending to be Lady Lucy.

The woman pretending to be Lady Lucy sighed. “Yes, I suppose we had better. Come on, Mr. Dixon, or whatever your name is. Inside.”

Well, this was more like it.

Meekly accepting whatever nonsense that Hovell wanted to orchestrate, Bernard clambered into the carriage and sat comfortably in the—

Verycomfortably. Dear God, where had Hovell managed to get the money for this? This wasn’t just a hackney carriage or ahansom cab; this was a chaise and four, and in remarkably plush order. The seats were comfortable, there were no cracks in the—

“If you don’t mind closing the door,” came Lucy’s voice breaking sharply into his thoughts, “we can go. I travel lightly when going to court and I don’t have a footman with me.”

Still in character, I see.

Bernard pulled the door to and Lucy tapped on the roof of the carriage. It lurched forward, taking him away from all his problems.

Well. Most of them.

“I suppose, Dixon—you do not mind if I call you ‘Dixon’?”

Bernard grinned. “You can call me whatever you like, Lucy.”

It was the wrong thing to say; at least, it was the right thing to say if he had wanted the woman to flush, burn with confusion, and stared in abject horror.

“You—You must call me ‘Lady Lucy.’”

“If that’s your preference,” Bernard said cheerfully, his spirits lifting with every yard they departed from the courthouse. “But I preferLucy.”

“It is not about what you prefer, it—that is my title.” Lucy peered at him through her dark lashes. “I suppose you might prefer ‘Mr. Dixon.’ I do normally refer to gentlemen by their proper titles, but…” She gave him a onceover, as if daring him to prove himself a gentleman. He shrugged.

“You can call me ‘Belinda,’ if that’s your fancy,” Bernard said, the tension in his shoulder blades melting away as he sat in the comfortable coach.

“Well,Dixon, I have decided until we get this sorted out, I will think of you as my ward.” Some of her bravado slipped as she swallowed. “B-But using your given name might be a step too far.”

Bernard had never heard of a young woman adopting a grown man as her ward, but he wasn’t about to argue the minutiae of this playacting.

“Where are we going, Lady Lucy? Or should I call you ‘Mother’?”

She scowled, those luscious lips so tempting. “Home.”

It was one word, one syllable, and yet it said so much. A place of safety, a place of comfort, a place that clearly this ‘Lady Lucy’ wished to get to immediately.