Page 40 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

He—Lord Alderton, widower, father, a man who had never in his adult life behaved with anything less than perfect propriety—had pressed a young woman against a wall and kissed her as though none of the rules applied. What had he been thinking?

He had not been thinking. That was the problem.

"We should go," he said, his voice rougher than intended.

Arabella dropped her hands from his shoulders and her gaze fell with them. "Yes."

He offered his arm and she took it. They walked to his carriage in silence. In the carriage, she sat across from him, her gaze fixed on the window. The glow of streetlamps passed over her features as they rode. Light, dark, light.

She was utterly composed. Far too composed for someone who'd come close to being trampled.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Perfectly." It came out too light and too quick.

"Arabella—"

"I am well, Lord Alderton. Truly." A smile that did not reach her eyes. "I think I should like to rest."

He delivered her to the duchess's door and watched her disappear inside.

On the ride home, two things gnawed at him.

The first was the carriage. It had come from nowhere. It had not slowed, had not swerved. And it had not stopped after nearly running them over.

That was not a mere reckless driver.

He wrote a quick note to the duchess the moment he reached his rooms and had it dispatched immediately.

The second was Arabella's expression after the kiss.

She had kissed him back. He was certain of it. She'd kissed him in the way she did everything—forthright and with a passion that was startling in its intensity.

But her silence afterward, the averted eyes, the careful blankness… It needled at him. And the more he turned it over, the worse it got. Because he could not forget what she had told them in the duchess's drawing room. Pierce had noticed her at sixteen. He'd been kind to her and had used warmth and attention as tools.

She had spent two years learning that a man's tenderness was a thing not to be trusted. And tonight, the man who was supposed to be protecting her had grabbed her and kissed her without asking.

His stomach turned. He had not meant it like that. It had not been calculated or predatory. But she could not know that.

He could not quite bring himself to regret the kiss, but she needed to know that his intentions were not casual. He did not take this lightly. Whatever else she believed about him, he needed her to know—he was not Pierce.

So yes, he would go in the morning and tell her. He would not walk away from his responsibility, and she was not alone in this.

And if the thought of keeping her by his side, of not ending this farce of a courtship—if that thought made his pulse quicken…

Well. That was because it was unexpected, wasn't it? And perhaps…ill-advised. How would she and Lucy get on? Would Arabella be willing to take on the role of a stepmother?

She was still young and likely wished to have children of her own, and⁠—

John shut down those thoughts as firmly as slamming closed the lid of a trunk. He scrubbed his eyes, then poured himself a nightcap.

He was getting ahead of himself. What mattered right now was Arabella's safety and her reputation. What mattered was that he step forward as her protector and set his earlier mistake right.

Even after a nightcap, he did not sleep well.

The duchess was expecting him when he arrived at half past nine. She looked up from her writing desk. "Lady Arabella will join us shortly."

She rose. "I have a matter to see to with Mrs. Collins. I shall return presently."