Elizabeth Mansfield (9 page)

The young woman, blinking out of her reverie with a start, looked up and saw the horses almost upon her. She froze in horror. Kit, without thinking, dropped his umbrella, leaped into the street, threw himself upon her, and rolled them both out of the way. The horses and cart raced by in a thunder of hooves and shouts, spraying the puddles of water in all directions, crushing Kit’s hat under one of the cartwheels, but missing the two bodies by inches.

With the breath knocked out of them, neither of the fallen pair was able to make the effort to get up. Kit, to regain his breath, panted heavily. He soon realized that the woman beneath him was in a worse way. He could feel her breast heave as she gasped in deep, guttural terror. Still shaken, he got to his feet. “Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked, leaning down to help her up.

She looked up at him, eyes still wide with terror. “I don’t ... think so,” she managed.

His eyes met hers, and he blinked. The woman—much younger than he’d at first thought ... a girl, really—was startlingly appealing. Not what he would ordinarily call pretty he thought, but something beyond prettiness. Even now, with her bonnet crushed, wet, and askew, her short curls tousled and falling over her forehead, and her lips and cheeks white with shock, she made him catch his breath. There was an exquisite sweetness in the slightly rounded face and trembling mouth, but the most striking features were her wonderful gold-flecked eyes. They seemed to say everything that she could not—terror and relief and gratitude all at once. They were the sort of eyes a man wouldn’t easily forget ... eyes that, if a man weren’t careful, could capture him for life.

He helped her up, but her knees buckled under her. “You
are
hurt!” he said, alarmed.

She clung to his arm and steadied herself. “No, no,” she assured him, her voice choked and still short of breath. “Just shaken.”

“No wonder! That deuced drayman should be shot!”

Still keeping herself supported by his arm, she looked up at him, taking in his face for the first time. It was a likable face, lean, with lined, somewhat weathered skin, a square chin, and a full-lipped, generous mouth. But what she was instantly drawn to were the eyes, light gray and sharply keen, yet unmistakably kind. “I believe, sir,” she said slowly, “that you saved my life.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I just prevented a few bruises.”

She shut her eyes with a shudder and shook her head. “More than a few, I think. One of those horses ... I saw him
rear!
I was almost
under
him. I truly believed, in that flashing moment, that I was done for.”

“Well, you weren’t,” Kit said almost brusquely, to cover a flush of embarrassed modesty, “so let’s make an end of it.”

“How can I? You risked your life for me. Doesn’t that put me in your debt?” She threw him a sudden smile that he found utterly charming. “Isn’t there a rule somewhere—a principle of conduct of some kind—that specifies what one owes to another for saving a life?”

He laughed. “You mean that unwritten code of honor that says a life for a life? That you are now my slave or some such thing? I must say I rather like that idea. To have a beautiful young lady follow ten paces behind me everywhere I go, ready to fan me in the heat or hold an umbrella over me in the wet ... a most appetizing vision. But in truth, ma’am, I can’t accept the theory that you are indebted to me at all. You’d probably have jumped back from that rearing horse at the last minute without any help from me. I may very well have tackled you and knocked you to the ground for no good reason.”

“Nonsense! Don’t make light of what you did, not to me. I know quite well that I froze to the spot. I won’t permit you to minimize your splendid act of courage.”

“Splendid act of courage, indeed!” Kit snorted. Still embarrassed, he turned away from her admiring gaze and searched about for his hat and his discarded umbrella. The hat, a hopelessly crushed and sodden mess, he kicked aside. But the umbrella, when he found it, was unhurt. He shook it out and held it over her. “Please, ma’am, you mustn’t exaggerate the incident. Since you are, fortunately, quite unscathed, it would be best to put it out of your mind.”

“Very well, I’ll try. But you have my everlasting gratitude.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Now, do you think you can walk?”

“I think so.” She took a couple of shaky steps. “There, you see? I’m fine.” She looked down at her sodden skirts and added ruefully, “Except for my gown, of course. I must look dreadfully bedraggled.”

“Well, your bonnet is a bit off-kilter,” Kit teased, “but if you’ll take the word of a connoisseur, you are otherwise a charming sight.”

She righted her bonnet at once. “A connoisseur, are you?” she asked, her lovely eyes twinkling.

“A boastful one, I fear. And a selfish one, to keep you standing here in the rain. I shouldn’t be surprised if you were wet through. Shall I find a hack to take you home?”

She shook her head. “Since I live only a little way down the street, I shall do very well on shanks’ mare, thank you, sir.”

“Then, please, ma’am, take my arm and let me see you home.”

She gave him a small smile in acquiescence and took his arm. As they started down the street she noticed his slight limp. She stopped short. “Good heavens,” she exclaimed, “all this while you’ve worried about me, and it’s
you
who’s been hurt!”

He shook his head. “No, no. My limp is from an old injury. Nothing to do with today.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. She would have liked to ask more about it, but it seemed in poor taste to inquire.

“You needn’t look so concerned,” Kit said, smiling down at her reassuringly. “I don’t even notice it now. I quite enjoy walking, even in the rain.”

“Nevertheless, I’m glad my house is but a step away,” she said. “Over there. The second house from the corner.”

He almost stumbled. “
Which
one?” he gulped. The second house from the comer was his aunt Letty’s house!

“That one,” she said, pointing.

It took an effort for him to keep walking.
It can’t be ...!
he said to himself dazedly.
She and the blasted Caroline ... they can’t be one and the same!

But obviously, they were one and the same, for no other young woman was living in Letty’s house. This lovely creature had to be Caroline Whitlow! Good God! How different she was from the person he’d imagined. Why, he’d even called her an ape-leader! No wonder Mr. Halford had given him a set-down.

He glanced down at her, feeling a heady delight. So this was Caroline Whitlow, the stubbornly irritating female who’d caused him so much difficulty and had kept him cooling his heels for days. Well, he had the upper hand now. She couldn’t refuse the bequest any longer. She was indebted to him, she’d said so herself. He almost chortled aloud.

But the feeling evaporated almost at once and gave way to misgivings. How would she react when she learned
his
identity? Would this sweet warmth in which he was presently basking give way to cold rejection? Would her smile die, her face fall, her soft mouth tighten, her wonderful eyes fill with utter dislike? Would the sound of his name snuff out the stirring of attraction that had sparked between them? Would the tiny flame be instandy doused? Extinguished forever? That dreadful prospect created an ache in his innards.

They had reached the wrought-iron fence that fronted Letty’s neat little town house. Caro paused at the gate. “Let me thank you again, sir,” she said softly, taking her hand from his arm and offering it to him. “Whether you like it or not, I am in your debt.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “Balderdash,” he muttered. He had no idea what to say next. Now was the time for him to introduce himself, but he could not bring the words to his tongue. He had an urge to play the coward and run off, but he didn’t do that either. He just stood there, stupidly immobile.

She waited for an awkward moment for him to go on, but when he did not, she did it for him. “I didn’t introduce myself,” she said shyly. “I’m Miss Caroline Whitlow. I should be happy if ... that is, I should like to ...” She blushed and dropped her eyes. “The least I can do to show my gratitude is to invite you to tea.”

His heart swelled in his chest. What she’d just done was a brave act for a girl. Some might even call it brazen.
He
should have been the one to offer his name and ask to call. But since he’d said nothing, she’d swallowed her pride and invited him. Could it be that she, too, had felt the spark? That she actually wanted him to call on her? If she’d been anyone else in the world, he would have been the happiest of men. But since she was who she was, how could he accept her invitation without identifying himself?

This second hesitation, though only as brief as a blink, caused a shadow to darken her eyes. He couldn’t bear to see it. It clearly told him that his hesitancy had hurt her. All he wanted now was to erase that shadow. “I would be delighted to come to tea,” he said quickly, his voice so unsteady he hardly recognized it. “Shall we say tomorrow?”

Her eyes immediately brightened. “Tomorrow would be lovely. We serve tea at three.”

He bowed, tipped his hat. “Tomorrow at three,” he mumbled, and set off quickly down the street.

“But, sir,” she called after him, “you haven’t told me
your
name.”

He turned back, his stomach knotting. He couldn’t tell her his name now. He’d put it off too long. But he had to say something. Anything. Any other name. His mind raced about desperately. ‘Terence,” he said, throwing out the first name that came into his head. “Marcus Terence.”

She made a little bow. “Till tomorrow, then, Mr. Terence.”

He tipped his hat and watched as she ran up the short path to the door and disappeared inside. Then he lifted his umbrella and turned away, wincing. The enormity of his lie made him feel ill. How was he ever to get himself out of this muddle that his cowardice had got him into?

With every step he took he felt worse. It did not help that the rain pelted him unmercifully despite the fact that he’d angled his umbrella like a shield against the spray. As he angrily sloshed through the ever-deepening puddles, heedlessly abusing his best boots, he thought about the ramifications of his lie. He’d made a very bad bargain. In order to keep alive for the moment the little spark that had ignited between them, he’d surely doomed it for the long run. That blasted lie would affect everything badly: his relationship with the boys and with his aunt; Caro’s attitude toward the bequest; and, of course, her attitude toward him personally. Just thinking of the complexity of problem made him groan aloud. “Damnation,” he swore in self-disgust, “
what
have I
done!
”

ELEVEN

Just after ten the next morning, Kit set out for his aunt’s abode. He strode along the rainwashed streets with a swing in his step, for his mood, like the weather, had changed overnight. For the weather, the morning had brought a bright blue sky and fresh breezes redolent of spring. And for Kit, a plan to deal with his lie.

He entered Letty’s dark, tiny hallway fully aware that everyone in Letty’s household would have finished breakfast by this time and dispersed to attend to their morning occupations. He handed his hat to Melton, the butler, as he always did, and asked to see Miss Whitlow. Melton led him to the drawing room, as he always did, took His Lordship’s card, as he always did, and disappeared up the stairs. In a few moments he was back, as he always was, to inform His Lordship that Miss Whitlow was not at home.

So far, everything was proceeding just as Kit wished.

He’d come to the house on Mortimer Street with a plan. He’d concocted it the night before, when he hadn’t been able to sleep. But the idea hadn’t come easily. He’d prowled his room during all those long, rainy hours, trying to decide what to do about his lie. He kept wishing Mickley were there with him, for the batman was never short on sensible, practical advice, the sort of advice he desperately needed. But Kit had left Mickley behind to watch over things at the Grange. And that was another problem: Kit was not at all sure what difficulties the batman might be facing. Kit should have returned to the Grange more than a week ago. Mickley would surely be wondering why his business in London was taking so long.

Perhaps he never should have come to London. In the protracted struggle with Caroline Whitlow, he was neglecting the Grange, where his attention was so badly needed. He could hardly wait to start work on the improvements. If it hadn’t been for Caroline’s stubbornness ...

But he’d stopped himself from completing this habitual thought. Now that he’d met Caro, he felt quite differently about her. If he could only find a way to change her feelings toward
him,
he would not regret this London visit. But how was he to do it?

He’d struggled with the question all night. By morning he’d concocted the plan. He would play the role of Mr. Marcus Terence until he and the girl were better acquainted. Then, once he’d secured her approval of his character (
if
he’d secured her approval—he was not such a coxcomb that he believed it was a certainty), he would reveal his identity. If she grew to like him, there might be some hope, then, that the knowledge of his real identity would not disgust her.

But first he would have to convince Aunt Letty and Caro’s brothers to go along with the temporary deception. That was why he’d come this morning, in his own identity. He knew Caro would not come down. For the first time, her refusal to see Viscount Crittenden suited his plans. “Well, then, Melton,” he said to the butler with a smile, “will you please tell my aunt that her nephew would like to speak to her.”