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She found herself frozen as she noted his handsome features decked in a felt hat and a fur trimmed Garrick coat—a little heavy for the spring weather, Ivy thought vaguely.
“No.” She said the word as realization came. This man was dangerous.
And who knew what he hid under that coat.
As she went to jump from the curricle, he grabbed her arm firmly and forced her to sit with a pinching grip.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice husky as her throat tightened.
The man might not look how she expected. In fact, if anyone drew a caricature of a good and evil, they might well put this fair-haired man in the good role with her husband in the evil. But good people did not harm animals.
“I just need to speak with you.”
“Then request an audience.”
“Your husband is a terrible man, Lady Hartford. You need to be careful.”
“Are you not the terrible man? Did you not try to harm my cats?”
He hissed out a breath and squeezed her arm so tight she had to bite back a squeak of pain.
“I needed to get that bastards attention.”
“That bastard is my husband and has done nothing wrong. You, however, have trespassed and vandalized and now this is nothing short of kidnap.”
“I only want to warn you. Your husband is a murderer. He is a terrible person. He will hurt you eventually too.” The words rolled off his tongue in short, sharp succession, as though he had been uttering the words in his head for years. The man’s eyes were wide and almost wild, their pale blue offering a haunted look.
“Leave her be, you bastard.” Muriel jumped into the carriage, gripped the side of the vehicle, and swung a fist that connected with the side of the man’s head. By the looks of his reaction, the hit didn’t hurt so much as shock him.
She swung again then yanked at the man’s coat. “Get out,” the lady’s maid demanded. “Get out and leave us be.”
It took Ivy a few moments to decide what to do. It was not every day a dangerous man leaped into her carriage and proceeded to be beaten by her maid.
“Yes.” Ivy shoved the man’s shoulder. “Get out and leave us be!” She shoved harder this time, emboldened when he slid along the seat.
“Go.” Muriel yanked harder at his coat and an ominous rip sounded from somewhere.
Ivy pushed again while the man flailed his hands, trying to protect himself from the dual onslaught. Muriel snatched his hat and flung it to the ground then took a fistful of hair and tugged. Between them, they pummeled and pushed and pulled until he fell from the carriage in a bedraggled lump. Muriel wasted no time in spurring the horses on.
Twisting, Ivy curled her fingers around the back of her seat and watched the man pull himself to standing and dust off his hat.
“What did he want?” Muriel asked breathlessly.
“I’m not certain,” Ivy murmured.
He could have harmed her, but he didn’t, and she could have sworn he believed every word he uttered. But a good, honest person would not stoop to bricks through windows and snatching women, would they?
Only one person knew the truth and that was Cillian. She needed answers, and after what just happened, she was not going to take silence as an answer any longer.
***
Call it an instinct honed in battle, or perhaps simply from spending far too much time distracted by Ivy, but Cillian knew something was wrong the moment the maid drove the curricle into the stable courtyard.
Jaw tight, he strode over. They shouldn’t have headed out alone anyway. If he’d been here earlier, he wouldn’t have let them leave.
“What happened?” he demanded, offering a hand to Ivy.
She met his gaze, the usual rosiness of her cheeks faded to an almost gray shade. “It was nothing.”
