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He wanted to ask so many questions. Her full name, for one, and where she lived. And if he could see her again. But of course he remained silent. He would be leaving London on the morrow after he met with his solicitor. There would be no time to get to know this mysterious woman who had captured his attention so thoroughly.
After telling the coachman that he was to take the young woman home and then return, John took a step back as she gave the man her address. The street name meant nothing to him—he hadn’t been in London all that long.
After helping her into the conveyance and closing the door behind her, he watched in silence as the coachman flicked the reins. The smile she bestowed on him through the window as the carriage pulled away had him wishing he could rearrange his plans for the rest of the evening.
When he rejoined his friends, they wasted no time in provoking him.
Ashford raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to another damsel saved.”
Cranston raised his own glass in salute. “It won’t be the same when you’re buried up in Yorkshire. Who will be left to save all the pretty young women in London?”
John snorted. “The two of you will have to pick up the slack. Unless you’ll be heading home as well?”
“Perish the thought,” Cranston said with an exaggerated shudder. “I may have given up my commission, but I’m in no hurry to rejoin the family.”
Ashford merely shook his head. They’d all heard his stories about how Ashford’s father had encouraged him, his heir, to enlist with the hope that he would die and the title would pass to his younger brother. “Will you be taking up your seat next year?”
John barely resisted the urge to reach for the new drink that had appeared during his absence. He might not see his friends again until then, when he would be ready to take up his new position in the House of Lords. Thinking about his current rise in social status made him more than a little uncomfortable. “I don’t know. That will depend on what I find when I reach the estate in Yorkshire. I didn’t even know we were related to the Marquess of Lowenbrock, no matter how remotely. I certainly never expected to inherit. But with my luck, the estate will be crumbling and I’ll be drowning in debt.”
“You haven’t spoken to the solicitor yet?” Cranston shook his head. “You need to do that before you leave.”
John scowled, remembering the daily notes the man had sent his way since he’d arrived in London two weeks ago. “I’ll have to. I’m not even sure where the estate is. He left me one last note telling me that unless he hears otherwise, he’ll be at the house tomorrow morning.”
With a scowl, he reached for the drink his friends had ordered for him. He no longer cared about the hangover he’d be suffering the next day. Nor did he want to remember the woman he’d never see again.
Chapter 2
Normally Amelia Weston was up with the sun, but she’d gone to bed later than normal the night before. Which meant she’d only just fallen asleep when her maid woke her with news that Mr. Markham needed to speak with her as soon as possible. So instead of sleeping the morning away as she’d hoped, she found herself seated at the breakfast table at her normal hour.
The kind stranger’s carriage had deposited her at the town house after midnight just as Mr. Markham’s coachman was preparing to make its own trip to pick her up from the tavern. She’d been planning to wait in the shadows until its arrival but had jumped at the man’s offer. After the rough treatment she’d experienced, she hadn’t wanted to risk someone else with ill intent coming across her while she was outside alone.
After arriving safely at her family solicitor’s town house, she’d spent several hours making notes about everything she’d experienced that night at the tavern. That included every detail she could remember about the fair-haired hero who’d rescued her.
She’d been at the tavern to conduct research for her new book after she’d failed to sell her first novel. The criticism that it was clearly written by someone who’d led a sheltered life had struck home.
So she’d made the journey to London, determined to experience the outside world firsthand. She’d known it would be dangerous, but she’d never expected someone would be so free with her person as to pull her onto his lap. She wasn’t certain Alice—the barmaid she’d paid to aid her should the need arise—would have been able to save her if that stranger hadn’t stepped in and drawn her out of harm’s way.
It had taken most of the carriage ride home for Amelia’s shock to subside. When it finally did, her mind had begun to whirl with ideas for her new book.
Her second novel would not be dismissed as boring. No, this book would be about a young woman whose family had fallen on hard times and who’d found herself forced to work in a tavern to help them. Her imagination had stalled after that initial premise, hence her decision to set foot in a tavern herself and experience everything that took place within its walls.
Now she knew her heroine would be saved by the hero of the story. Being stubborn and independent, characteristics she possessed herself in no small measure, her heroine would resist the pull of attraction. But instead of merely arranging for her safe return home, as the gentleman who’d assisted her the evening before had done, the hero of her story would see her home himself.
Nothing untoward would happen, of course. It would hardly be heroic for him to force himself on her after saving her from another’s unwanted attention. But he’d insist on seeing her again. And when her heroine refused, given the difference in their stations, he would appear the next evening at the tavern—her guardian angel—to watch over her.
“Miss Weston, did you hear what I said?”
Amelia let out a soft sigh and met the gaze of the elderly gentleman who sat across from her at the breakfast table. Mr. Markham, her family’s solicitor, had been kind enough to allow her to stay with him for the past week since she had no other family or friends in London. He’d always acted like a kindly uncle to her, especially during the past three years while they’d waited for the new owner of her uncle’s estate to return to England.
Her smile was sheepish. “I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
Mr. Markham’s mouth twisted in a slight frown. “I said that you need to return to Yorkshire. Today.”
Amelia sat up straighter, thoughts of the stranger who’d helped her uppermost in her mind. Of course she hadn’t planned on returning to the tavern, not after her narrow escape the night before. But despite the fact she knew it was unlikely, given the number of people in town, she’d hoped to run into him somewhere else.
“Why so soon? Has an urgent matter arisen at the estate?”
The solicitor met her gaze head-on. “The new marquess has finally replied to my letters and informs me that he plans to visit the estate as soon as possible. He’d planned to call on me at my office later this morning in fact. I cannot emphasize how important it is that you be in residence at Brock Manor when he arrives. He’ll never believe you have nowhere else to go if he learns you are in London and might not allow you to continue living at the estate.”
