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Chapter Two
Lady Perdita eased aside the carriage curtains and peered outside. Her heart raced in a manner it had never before, not even when she had come up with her reckless and desperate plan to run away from home, leaving her reputation and the young gentleman she’d once planned to marry in the dust. The tempest in her heart hadn’t begun when the two bandits had barred the road to rob them. No, then she had been strangely calm and detached, only coming back to herself and her racing heart when she’d been pressed against the stranger—Thaddeus—on the side of the road.
And why is it still racing so?
The danger had passed. The bandits had run, and Thaddeus meant her no harm. He was, as he put it, an honorable gentleman. Even honorable gentlemen felt confident in dismissing the opinions of a lady, so she’d learned. Better she left him and all others in her dust.
“Is he still out there?” Felicity asked, her eyes glittering with an emotion akin to excitement.
“He is,” Perdie whispered. The words left her throat reluctantly. She didn’t like to admit how reassured she felt knowing that the dratted man rode nearby, alert for further signs of danger.
“The next time I will not stay inside while you confront the danger alone. I cannot even believe I allowed you to convince me it was better for you to face highwaymen alone.”
Perdie pushed a wisp of hair behind her ears. In London, Felicity Hartington acted as Perdie’s companion and chaperone, but here, she was very simply, a friend. And it showed in her familiar tone and the note of appreciation in it. “You are one of my dearest friends, and I am sorry for frightening you. I would have been so worried about you that I could not have executed my plan without bungling it.”
Felicity sniffed. “Do not forget that I can form a fist and plant a facer as well. Next time—”
“There will not be a next time,” Perdie cried, anxiousness searing her entire body. “What are the odds we’ll encounter a similar threat?”
“Perhaps it is not a bad thing this Mr. Thaddeus is going in the same direction as us.”
Perdie frowned, drawing aside the curtains again to peer at the figure in the distance. Was he really going in their direction? Even Perdie herself was not certain of the plan for her future, or where the carriage would take her party of three as a final destination. Paris perhaps or even Italy. But how long could she truly bear to stay away from her family?
Felicity leaned past Perdie to catch a glimpse of the man atop the black stallion following behind them. The distance left more for the imagination than for study, but that didn’t seem to stop Felicity from gawping. “He is very handsome.”
If Felicity hadn’t been Perdie’s dearest friend—becoming such in Perdie’s time of need, when she’d used the freedom afforded to her as the betrothed of a young Viscount to escape the eye of her brother, the duke, and join the ladies club at 48 Berkeley Square—Perdie might have discouraged the familiarity in her tone. However, Felicity had become far better than a paid companion when they’d set out together on the madcap adventure that had led to Perdie finding the first place in London where she was comfortable. Not among the judgmental ladies and gentlemen of the ton, but among the ladies of 48 Berkeley Square.
Even that one solace had been snatched from her by a man, her brother, without thought to her considerations. No, she didn’t need yet another man hovering nearby to turn the very air suffocating and painful to swallow.
“The way he looks is insignificant.” Perdie pushed her friend aside and let the curtains fall shut again. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, a look that perhaps lost some of its weight when the carriage jostled in a rut and she winced. “I thought you were more alarmed by his presence than admiring how handsome he is.”
“So, you admit he is handsome?”
Perdie rolled her eyes and Felicity smiled.
“I saw your expression when he first approached you…you were stunned. I have never seen you look at another in that fashion.”
The words, not even Lord Owen, silently passed between them.
“I daresay stunned is the normal reaction under the circumstances. He came out of nowhere. And there were bandits!”
Perdie used the deflection, the reminder of the trying event, just as much to distract herself from thoughts of Lord Owen. She didn’t want to think of her former fiancé or the last time they’d spoken.
Yet there the memory was, ready to resurface in an instant. A scant few days wasn’t enough to bury the moment she’d laid her bloody heart bare, only to be proven yet again that a gentleman of good family didn’t care a farthing for her concerns. She could still smell the heady floral scent of the gardens, where she’d stolen a private moment with her groom-to-be. Her concerns were simple: she was young yet, only nineteen, and if she were to marry him, she wanted a few considerations. An extended honeymoon, with a year’s travel so she could finally see more of the world than her country estate and the claustrophobic confines of London. Another season or two in London as a married lady, where she could enjoy the company of her friends at 48 Berkeley Square before retiring to her new estate. A few years of marriage before her life became defined by her womb and the progeny thereof.
And what had Owen’s response been? “No.” One flat, almost-amused word. She’d demanded to know how he could cast aside her concerns so easily. How? Why, his mother expected him to fill his nursery straightaway. He needed his heir.
At that moment, the soft flutter that normally went off in her heart whenever he smiled at her had died. If anything, Perdie had felt cold when he’d taken her gloved hands between his and tried to kiss her. Not a shred of warmth. Not the gallop of her heart as she’d thrown a man twice her size to the ground and in so doing accidentally fallen atop him.
Perdie had been resolute when she’d pulled away from Owen’s embrace. “I’ll not marry a man who has no consideration for my feelings.”
She’d hoped her words would wake him, make him realize the mistake he made in mistreating her. Instead, he’d seemed flabbergasted. And more than a little condescending. “Where is this coming from? We are to be married.”
“I am nineteen. I do not wish to have children right away.”
“I’ll not have it, Perdie!”
“Do you love me, Owen?”
