“He is too well-dressed to be a vagabond, Aunt. Perhaps he is a highly valued employee of some handsome and rich single gentleman, and some ailment has befallen him. After he is recovered, both he and his employer will be so grateful for our assistance that his master may thank us in person. I may then have the pleasure of informing my mother that I obeyed her wishes to find a husband!”
Kitty laughed and declared it a good joke, but Mrs Gardiner was still reluctant. “We have no way of knowing anything about the man. He is not a gentleman, clearly, and he could have come from anywhere.”
“Aunt, I am confident we shall be quite safe. Look at the man! I do believe he is drooling. Can anyone be more harmless?”
Mrs Gardiner rolled her eyes and summoned Mr Jones. “Do you think he can ride on the box with you?”
“If I can wake him, ma’am.” He went, therefore, and nudged the man on the pavement. When that did not yield the desired result, he shook the man’s shoulder, earning only a groan in protest for his efforts. Jones, at last, picked the man up by his lapels—a considerable feat, as he was a rather large man—and rattled him to and fro. The dark head only rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and a throaty rasp escaped him. Jones shook his head. “I cannot lift him if he is not to be gotten to his feet, ma’am.”
“Right, then,” Elizabeth muttered, and handed her muff and bonnet into her sister’s keeping. Before her aunt could object, she was out the door of the carriage and staring down at the man on the ground. “Can you lift his shoulders, Jones? I think I can help you drag his feet.”
“Lizzy!” Mrs Gardiner cried from the coach. “What in heaven’s name?”
“He can ride on the rear-facing seat, Aunt. We will all have to squeeze together. It is perhaps only twenty minutes to your house; we shall manage.”
Mrs Gardiner, lacking the powers to resist, put two slim fingers to her aching head as Kitty sniggered beside her. She left unspoken her horror at Elizabeth being seen engaged in hauling a dirty man off the streets and into her uncle’s private carriage. How would she ever explain this?
Elizabeth grasped the man’s silver-buckled shoes, which seemed to curl his large feet in a way which must have been uncomfortable, and tugged at their weight as Jones stumbled with his torso. The sleeping man snorted once or twice at the insult of being dragged, groaned an indignant protest directed toward someone named Wilson, and tried to roll over in Jones’ grasp.
By the time they reached the carriage, Kitty was on the pavement as well. Her intentions were helpful, but her efforts were less so. It was Mrs Gardiner, the sensible one who still objected to this madness, whose assistance was the most valuable in lifting the inert form of their unwitting guest. She braced her feet and bent to raise him from above while Jones hefted from below. If the man were conscious, he would rightly have just cause for deepest mortification at the way the strange lady was forced to grasp his person. It was just as well he was not. The task completed, Mrs Gardiner straightened her bonnet and shot her nieces a glare which swore them forever to secrecy.
The man did not fit well, inert and crammed into the small carriage bench. The girls crowded on either side of their aunt and stared at the broad shoulders, nearly bursting the seams of the coat, and the long, white-stockinged legs that threatened at any moment to drag his entire frame down to the floor of the carriage. As Jones mounted the box and the carriage dipped slightly, MrsGardiner breathed a prayer that he—whoever he was—would remain where they had stowed him.
It was not to be. The horses moved off, and the body rolled with a heavy thud to their feet. The ladies drew back, each cringing and fearing that their assistance may have injured the man even further. The stranger, however, only stirred with a grunt and proceeded to nestle his large frame more comfortably in the small space. His forearm thrashed about as he sought some place for his head, and at last, he was satisfied by wrapping it around Elizabeth’s legs and pillowing his face upon her satin shoes.
Elizabeth tugged uncomfortably at her feet but could not extricate them without engaging in a wrestling match with a very strong and very unconscious man. She grimaced at her aunt. Mrs Gardiner rested her head back against the carriage squabs and exhaled, trembling. “We tell no one of this,” she commanded.
Chapter three
His eyes were leaden weights, throbbing and aching with each queasy pound of his chest. What had he done last night? Even a fall from his horse typically did not cost him so dearly the next day.
Darcy groaned and cast a hand over his face, a deed which instantly earned him another stab through his brain. He moaned again. Where the devil was Wilson? The man ought to be there with a cool cloth to salve these burning sockets in his face.
He tried to call out for his man but forming the word in his mouth made his head spin and writhe again. Instead, he managed only a garbled moan and rolled to his side. There was some sort of feminine disturbance nearby, and it sounded a great deal like a noisy ballroom. Surely, he was not in one of those, for he was quite certain that one was not permitted to assume a supine posture in such a venue. More was the pity.
One pulsing eye slit a fraction. The image he perceived was blurred—a pale shape, with dark edges… and a loud voice. A decidedlyfemalevoice.
His stomach gave one great flip as his body spasmed in panic. Good heavens, it had finally happened! Someone had gotten the better of him and staged a compromise, and the giggling miss who was watching him rouse from his helpless stupor was to be his bane for life.
He wheeled to the opposite side of… he supposed it was a bed, but the crackling straw mattress felt unlike any bed he had known. Heremained there, ignoring the petulant dismay in that wretched seductress’s tones, while he rubbed his eyes and cradled his head.
“Lizzy!” the malefactress cried out. “He’s awake!”
Darcy clutched the searing orbs in his eye sockets. “Have a care, madam,” he growled. “The deuce is driving the very steeds of Hades in my head, and I suppose I have you to thank for it. Very well, you have ensnared me squarely, but have the decency to gloat in silence while I try to reconcile myself to my fate.”
“Whateverthatmeans,” scoffed a girl’s voice. “Lizzy! Are you coming back with the powders?” she called.Loudly.
Darcy winced and hissed his displeasure. He pinched his nose, hoping his brain would remain within his skull, then cautiously lowered his fingers to survey his captor. Oh, devil take it, she could be no older than Georgiana! At least he could have been trapped by a woman of some maturity, but no! He was to be the prey of a child barely out of the schoolroom!
He was snarling in silence at his misfortune when another woman rounded the door. Ah! So, this must be the accomplice. His lip curled.
“Good morning!” the dashed minx beamed in pleasure—and well she might, for they had achieved their ends. “I am glad to see you recovered. You were in quite a shocking state when we found you. We feared we would have to send for the apothecary. How is your head?”
Darcy stared at her.Shewas clearly no child. In fact, though he would be hard-pressed to call her a beauty, there was a remarkably fine look of intelligence—or perhaps cunning—about her eyes and a convincingly earnest concern in her voice. A fine actress! Her features were not fashionable, but striking, even so. She might even be declared tolerable, under different circumstances. A pity she was culpable in a scheme to ruin him! He rubbed his forehead, hoping the hellish nightmare would simply vanish.
“Oh, I am sorry,” the second Jezebel whispered. “I have spoken too loudly for your comfort. Here, a nice cup of coffee might setyou right, and I brought you some headache powders. My uncle had some at hand for sickness.”
Darcy propped one bleary eye open. A maid was setting up a tray in the small chamber… oh, what a jolly fudge, he appeared to be installed in the servant’s quarters! Had they not even the decency to compromise him properly?
