1
Spring, 1808
Great Britain
The sun blinded him, yet a flash in the distance caught his attention. Sure enough, another robbery of a coach by some land pirate. Not again. Disgusted, Lord Charles Percy urged his mount into a gallop as he drew his pistol and cocked it. Slowing his mount and aiming true, he shot the gun out of the ruffian’s hand. The thief’s horse tossed the rider to the ground before racing away.
Charles drew his mount alongside the carriage. The horse’s sharp hooves almost stepped on the bounder who was writhing on the dusty earth grasping his wrist.
Charles aimed the pistol.
“I didn’t mean to hurt no one. Don’t kill me.” The man scrambled to his feet and started to run, but Charles was a crack shot and brought down the man with a strike to the arm.
Dismounting, he strode to where the fellow moaned on the ground and with one of Hoby’s finest boots, pushed the robber on to his back.
The filthy villain stared up at him, eyes wide with fear.
“Get up. I must march you to the magistrate since your horse has abandoned you.”
The man rose, clutching his bleeding arm.
Grabbing him by the collar, Charles shoved him toward the road and then wrapped the man’s wrists behind his back with rope from his saddle. He pushed the would-be thief to the ground. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot the other arm as well.”
How many of these blackguards had he caught recently? Five, if his count was correct. It was as if God had given him a divine mandate to erase the countryside of the vermin. It wasn’t a role he cherished or sought.
He strode to the carriage and discovered the occupants standing outside, watching. A beautiful debutante tapped her foot, obviously not impressed with his deeds of daring.
He doffed his hat and bowed. “My ladies, Mr. Percy at your service.”
Standing upright, his eyes met the sparkling coffee-colored gaze of a dazzling woman with golden silk hair and azure dress with darker blue pelisse. She extended her gloved hand to him. He accepted it and bowed over to place a kiss an inch above its surface. “Your servant.” He took in the woman beside her, dressed in a shocking shade of puce but with regal bearing. He took her hand and did the same.
“We are indebted to you, Mr. Percy.” The older woman’s narrowed gaze made him wonder if he’d erred.
“You are unharmed?”
A broad smile overtook the young woman’s face. “Thanks to you we are now safe.” A hint of sarcasm laced her words.
The older woman shook her head at the ingénue. “I am Lady Grey and this is my niece, the Honorable Henrietta Allendale. My charge was ready to dispatch the criminal with her pistol when you arrived, saving her from that distasteful act.”
“He saved the thief’s life. If I’d shot him, he’d be lying dead.” Miss Allendale’s chin rose a notch. The challenge in her tone was clear. She could have done better than him. Intriguing.
“Most distasteful and shocking display of vulgarity, my dear,” the older woman chided.
Charles’s eyebrow rose a fraction as he took in the Miss Allendale and fought a grin. It wouldn’t do to encourage the girl. If memory served, this was Lord Remington’s sister. Charles was doubly glad he’d assumed his less prestigious moniker. While she intrigued him, most unattached women her age had only one thing in mind—capturing a wealthy, titled gentleman.
And this gentleman was not willing to be caught.
“I’m sorry I failed you by keeping him alive, my lady. I often opt to let the law or God decide in matters of life and death and do not seek to play that role myself lest I tarnish my soul.”
“A believer, then?” the older woman asked.
“Aye, that I am. May I assist you back into your carriage so you can safely resume your journey? I’ll ensure this man is dealt with by the local constable.”
He stood and helped Lady Grey before turning to Miss Allendale. She put her hand in his and leaned forward. “I know not what game you play, sir, but you, my lord, are no mere mister,” she whispered. She entered the carriage and their gazes met.
He swallowed hard and finally released a smile. Marcus had once described his sister as wily and astute. Charles did not envy his old classmate the chore of corralling this young filly. He strode to his horse and chuckled. She’d probably have rapped his knuckles soundly for such a comparison if she’d heard it.
“What you laughin’ at?” the criminal asked.
“My own amusing thoughts.” He lifted the man to his feet. “Come now, lead the way; and remember my finger has an itch.”
The frown on the man led Charles to believe that perhaps this one would actually listen and keep him from firing his weapon again. Rounding up criminals was a tedious business, but at least today it won him the opportunity to meet a woman with whom he’d enjoy sparring again.
If only he could keep her from people who knew his title. She might take him in disgust then. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t in any danger of losing his heart or his head.
The sun hid behind a cloud giving some relief from the heat of the day as he walked his criminal to the next village. He could hardly wait to be done and get to London to meet the Honorable Henrietta Allendale once more.
~*~
“Henri, turn around will you? It is unseemly to be mooning after a man you’ve only just met.”
“I realize that, Aunt Dorothy, but he was quite handsome, was he not? And I daresay he was lying about his identity. But why? Is he truly humble or trying to hide something? But of course”—she settled back into her seat—“everyone conceals something, don’t they?” She bit back her grin at the thought of just how well Mr. Percy looked in those trousers. If her aunt understood where her mind had wandered, she’d be on the receiving end of a sound scolding. “I wonder what it is?”
“Stop that. You’ll have him a pirate from Barbados avoiding capture.”
“Pish, posh! Such silliness, dear Aunt. He has a proper English accent and not one of the lower orders. No. He is of a higher station than he claims. Mister Percy is not landed gentry, I guarantee you that. Did you observe the polish on those boots? And the signet ring on his left hand? His coat was custom made, if I understand anything about fashion. His horse is an expensive animal with perfect lines and gait. No, Aunt Dorothy, he is of the aristocracy, and I do hope I meet him again.”
“Leave it be. He’s not a man to be trifled with, I dare say.”
“Trifle? Me, trifle with any man’s affections? No. I suspect this one is avoiding the parson’s mousetrap as much as I am, so he’s perfectly safe.”
“No man is safe. Well, except for your brother, perhaps.”
“Marcus is too safe, if you ask me. How’s he ever to find a wife if he won’t dance with any miss more than once in a fortnight? You realize the only reason he attends all the social rounds is to cultivate the political allies he needs.”
“He is young, my dear, and has much to prove to many. I’ve no doubt he’ll make his mark, and when he’s ready, God will bring the perfect girl to his doorstep to be his bride.”
“I hope you don’t mean literally to his doorstep, Aunt. Do you realize how many young women have claimed to have sprained their ankles in front of our home? Poor Edwards and Mrs. Agnes have tended a multitude of foolish ingénues whilst my dearest brother does his business elsewhere. It’s making him quite suspicious of any woman who even looks his way. One might think he’s prideful for all that, but he’s really not. Just afraid of being trapped.”
“Not a fear you share?”
“There is nothing to be anxious about, for it shall not happen. I will not allow a man to compromise me, and will stay within the guidelines set by society, Marcus, and yourself. I shall be fine and can live quite happily this way for many years to come.”
“But if Marcus were to wed, would you want to live in the same house as the Viscountess?”
Henri frowned. “I never considered that. My, that might make life abundantly more difficult, but I’d have a sister—which would be delightful, I’d hope.”
The carriage barreled along as each woman relaxed into the squabs.
Henri smiled as she recalled the stormy grey eyes and the blond hair of her rescuer. She really hoped they would meet again…and soon.