She hadn’t even noticed the hack approaching. At last.
The carriage pulled to a halt. The horses snorted softly, and shook their heads, sending their tack jingling.
When Marchand reached across her to pull open its door, she took a few steps backward, into the street.
Suddenly he lunged toward her and seized her by the waist.
She shrieked. “What the devil are you—So help meGod, if you don’t unhand me, I’ll—”
He lifted and deposited her neatly, and more or less gently, on the carriage seat.
“You’ll do what? Dispatch me with that knitting needle you have tucked in your sleeve?”
She froze and stared at him.
“Ah, sir, er, madam. Is everything...” The driver nervously called down.
“We’re fine,” they replied in irritated unison.
“Look down, Miss Woodville.”
Rattled, she peered where Marchand pointed.
And beheld a little tower of horse manure, surrounded by a moat of urine. A common feature of London streets.
She would have stepped right in it if he hadn’t scooped her up with the ease of flicking lint from his shoulder. She was not petite.
“I realize you’re more or less knee-deep in shite at the moment, so to speak, but I assumed you would prefer not toactuallybe knee-deep in shite. I’m afraid there wasn’t time to debate it. I leaped, if you will.” After rather too long a pause he added, almost reluctantly, “I apologize for startling you.”
She could think of a million cleverly scathing little things to say, most involving the word “shite,” but as much as she’d like to, she couldn’t fault his reasoning, or his gallantry, even if it was more reflex than gallantry.
“Thank you, Mr. Marchand,” she said, resignedly. Subdued.
“You’re welcome, Miss Woodville.” He sounded faintly sardonic.
To her utter chagrin, her throat suddenly was tight.
And then—oh, God, no! Now her eyes were burning.
Whywas she about tocry? Whynow?
It was just because for those brief seconds she’d been airborne in a rogue’s arms she’d felt weightless for the first time in nearly a decade. No one had lifted a burden from her for at least that long. The contrast between that moment and everything that came before was stark.
Now she knew what awaited her if she ever, ever let down her guard: Of a certainty she would fall apart, and that terrified her.
He peered at her.
“Oh—you’re not—are youcrying?” He sounded bewildered and aghast.
Which was almost funny.
“No.” She sniffled.
He made a scoffing sound.
“All right. But not because I’m upset.”
“Of course not,” he said soothingly. “What do you have to be upset about?”