Page 3 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Assuming Lawrie to be the man’s horse, she reassured him that Marshman had gone after the animal, intending to tie it behind the wagon. “We’re going to the nearest inn so you can rest up until you’re better,” she explained.

“I’m not going to some blasted inn! I’m on a mission of the utmost importance, and can brook no delay.”

He made as if to leap over the side of the cart, and it was only by dint of throwing her arms around his waist that she was able to stop him. “You mustn’t!”

“Let me go, foolish girl. This is most unseemly.”

They must, indeed, have made a shocking sight—she with her bonnet askew and her skirts knee-deep in mud, and he, coatless and bare-headed with the rain weaving runnels through his hair and down his cheeks. Anyone seeing her with her arms about him would think they were a pair of quarreling lovers, with him threatening to jilt her, and she begging him to stay.

“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere,” she said flatly as Marshman lumbered up with the gentleman’s mount in tow. “Stop making a scene and sit back down.”

“Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do? Do you know who I am? Let go, or you’ll live to regret it!”

“Now, then,” said Marshman, suddenly appearing right beside them. “Do you see this stick? It be a very sturdy one and could like as not knock you out cold. Shall we try it and see?”

“Who are you, anyway?” Emma asked, curious. Did she have any reason to fear him?

The attractive stranger ceased his struggles and collapsed back onto the bench. He gazed at her for a long moment, his face tense with concentration. Then he let out a sigh, looked at her helplessly, and said, “I’ve absolutely no idea.”

Chapter Two

Though Emma knew the accident that had befallen the gentleman wasn’t her fault, she still felt a stab of fear.

Good lord. He’d lost his memory! Or part of it, anyway. He must have bumped his handsome head much harder on the road’s uneven surface than she’d realized. Perhaps there’d been a rock or a cobble sticking out. Should she search through his hair for a wound?

Why was the thought of touching him once more so appealing?

“Damnation!” He broke free of her grip and tried to jump down again, but the carrier stepped in front of him.

“Will you be quiet now, zur?” Marshman suggested, brandishing his stick.

Their unhappy prisoner stilled, cleared his throat, and said, “Would a handful of coin not dissuade you? I have a full purse in my waistcoat.”

Emma wondered again why he was so desperate to get on with his journey. Surely, he could wait until he returned to his proper senses? Until he remembered his own name, at least?

Marshman said, “You can keep your money, zur, unless you wish to pay me for your passage back to the Four Swans. I’m an honest fellow, always have been, and I don’t take no incentives from no gentry. If Miss Hibbert says you have to go to the Four Swans, then that’s where ye shall go.”

The man’s broad shoulders slumped. “It seems I have no choice but to sit tight for the present,” he said, “but if my day’s business is ruined because of this, expect retribution.”

“Hardly the words of a gentleman,” Emma replied, frowning.

“Since you have pointed out—despite several clues to the contrary—that you are not a lady, I shan’t apologize.”

“I don’t know why we’re bothering to help you,” she said, glaring at him.

“I don’t want your help,” the stranger replied, capturing her gaze. He refused to look away and raised his elegant eyebrows in challenge.

How rude! She had a sudden image of this grand gentleman soaked in cider as she emptied one of Marshman’s barrels over his head, and couldn’t help a secret smile. Her antagonist’s frown faded, and he gave her a searching look that made her cheeks heat.

Before she could question her reaction, Marshman leaped back into the driver’s seat, and the heavily laden cart lurched back to life. As it made an awkward turn to head back the way they’d come, the man’s face paled, and she eased her skirts away from him, just in case.

The journey back to the Four Swans was completed in bristling silence. The gentleman’s hands clenched every time they rattled over a pothole, but he spoke not a word of complaint.

The rain eased, and a light breeze sprang up. She adjusted her bonnet and tried to brush her skirts down. Whatever would her new employers think of her arriving in such a state?

Maybe it was for the best. She wanted them to think she was from the lower orders of society. Yes, a gentlewoman of some learning. But a descendant of a noble family fallen on hard times? No. It was too humiliating. Besides, she didn’t want to give away anything that would harm the standing of her parents. There was still a chance their fortunes might recover…wasn’t there?

More than anything, she wanted to preserve Tresham Hall. She loved its rambling passageways and corridors, the warm red of the brickwork, the overgrown gardens and espaliered fruit trees, and the pervasive scent of wood smoke. She would miss it intensely, desperate for her half-day off to arrive so she could hurry back for a visit. Assuming she could make it there and back in half a day. She’d chosen to accept the post at the Keanes’ because they lived far enough away to know nothing of her situation or background. Visiting would be much harder as winter closed in.