Her Secret Fantasy

by Gaelen Foley

  The flow of traffic had come to a standstill. They tried to see what was happening.

  “Someone’s carriage has probably broken down,” Derek murmured.

  Lily shook her head in worry. “I hope there has not been an accident.”

  “Well, it would be no surprise, the way some of these young rakehells drive their high-flyers through the streets,” Mrs. Clearwell said in disapproval. “Galloping around like madmen. One of them probably ran someone over, poor soul.”

  Derek noted her words with a dark glance in her direction. His face hardened.

  He stood up all of a sudden. “I’ll go and see if anyone’s been hurt. They may need help.”

  “Help?” Lily echoed, startled.

  “My dear ladies, if you knew how many hasty battlefield surgeries I’ve performed,” he muttered, but his words trailed off as he vaulted over the side of the barouche.

  Striding swiftly toward the intersection, he disappeared into the crowd.

  Lily turned to Mrs. Clearwell in astonishment. “Surgeries?”

  Her chaperone shrugged, looking equally amazed at the major’s hidden talents.

  Of course, in hindsight, it made sense that he would have a certain amount of doctoring skills. No doubt there were more wounded men than army doctors after a battle.

  This man has saved people’s lives, she thought in dawning awe. Until now, she had only thought of him as taking them in his warrior role.

  Her heart beat faster as the barouche began to move again in the next moment, for busy Londoners were not about to be detained by a traffic mishap.

  If someone had been run over by a carriage, Lily was not sure she wanted to see it. The sight of blood usually made her queasy. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to see Derek in action.

  Making progress again, though at a snail’s pace, the carriages ahead of theirs were simply snaking around the stopped vehicle. The cause of the commotion now became apparent: an overloaded stagecoach with red wheels on bottom and a mountain of luggage and yelling passengers on top. Angry heads craned out of the stage windows as impatient passengers complained to the driver.

  “Come on! Let’s go!”

  “Get your nag to move!”

  Lily’s eyes widened as she spotted Derek standing next to one of the stagecoach horses. The thin, broken-down sorrel was in a pitiful state; either hurt or sick, it was in no condition for its normal duties. Trapped helplessly in the harness, the horse was trembling and wild-eyed with fear, cowering next to Derek as though it could sense that, at last, one kind soul had finally come to its rescue.

  The horse’s red coat was darkened with sweat, and its back was bleeding from the brutal lashes it had taken from the coachman’s whip.

  “Get out of the way!” the burly driver was shouting at Derek from up on his box.

  Something about the thick-featured bruiser reminded Lily instantly of Edward, but the man obviously had no idea whom he was dealing with. When Derek looked over, his face was livid.

  He pinned the man in a menacing stare and pointed at him. “So help me, if you strike this animal one more time, I’m going to show you what it’s like to take a beating.”

  “Don’t you threaten me! Get away from my horse!”

  “I’m taking her out of the harness. This horse can’t pull today.”

  “The hell you are! You think you’re going to steal my property? I’ll see you hanged for a horse thief!”

  Traffic slowed once more as onlookers took interest in the altercation brewing. Pedestrians had wandered into the intersection to gawk at the goings-on. Mrs. Clearwell’s driver, Gerald, pulled the barouche over to the opposite side of the street to let the few carriages behind them squeeze past.

  “I’ll buy her from you, then,” Derek told the coachman.

  His voice had taken on an ominous tone that Lily had never before heard him use.

  “She ain’t for sale! I’m warning you, mister, get the hell out of my way!” The driver hooked an angry thumb over his shoulder at his clamoring passengers. “I’ve got a schedule to keep!”

  “Well, you’re going to be late,” Derek bit back, calmly reaching for the buckles on the leather traces in order to free the animal.

  “Damn you!” the coachman bellowed.

  Lily gasped as he brought up his whip to strike again, but Derek reached up one leather-gauntleted hand and grabbed the whip out of the air. Yanking it with a mighty heave, he brought the coachman tumbling out of the driver’s box.

  He marched toward him as the man fell in a heap beside the stationary front wheel.

  At once, the stage’s groom and mail-guard both jumped down from their seats atop the vehicle and ran toward Derek, cursing.

  The whole intersection broke out in chaos like a crowd at a prizefight, watching as the major looked at them with an air of cool unconcern.

  Armed guards were assigned to protect the mails aboard each stagecoach, but this one, thank God, had the sense not to fire his musket into a crowded street. Instead, he used his gun as a club and swung it at Derek’s head.

  Derek blocked the blow with his left arm, flattened the hefty guard with one explosive punch from his right, and moved on to the groom. Backing away slowly, but seemingly loath to run like a coward in front of such a large audience, the wiry young man tried to kick out Derek’s knee.

  Derek scoffed, grabbed the man’s heel, and yanked him off his feet.

  The groom yelped as he fell flat on his back on the cobblestones, much to the crowd’s hilarity; he opted not to get up, even if he could.

  Lily didn’t blame him. If this were a real battle, that clever trick would probably have been followed by impalement on Derek’s sword, she thought worriedly, but the major’s manner was so relaxed against these foes that he reminded her of a cat that toyed with its captive mouse before casually biting its head off.

  The crowd was enjoying the spectacle lustily, cheering Derek on, but he spared his second victim further punishment and turned his attention back to the coachman, who had recovered from his spill.

  He’s really going to do it, Lily thought, furrowing her brow, her pulse pounding. He’s going to thrash him.

  The cruel driver was slowly climbing to his feet with the look of a wrathful bull.

  “Go on, get up!” Derek taunted as he sauntered toward the man. “On your feet! Faster!”

  Her eyes widened as he pulled back his wrist and struck the burly coachman with his own whip.

  The man bellowed at the sting, dropping back against the wheel again, though Derek had not hit the ogre hard enough to tear his clothes.

  “What, you don’t like that?” he mocked him with increasing savagery. “Maybe I didn’t do it properly!” He struck him again, harder. “Get up, puff-guts! Let’s see how you fare against somebody who can fight back!”

  “Derek!” Lily cried.

  Her shocked call seemed to draw him back from a dark place within where he was all too much at home. When he glanced over at her, his face was flush with violence, and his pale, wolflike eyes flickered with cold rage.

  They were the eyes of a stranger.

  The look on his face reminded her of that hard, bleak darkness she had glimpsed in him last night when they had stood beside the river.

  It had unsettled her then; it bewildered her now.

  Perhaps he saw his own savagery reflected in her appalled stare, for he seemed to regain control of his fury in the next heartbeat. Veiling his gaze to mask his true feelings, he passed a contemptuous look over the driver. “He deserves it.”

  He left off terrifying the coachman then, but he coiled up the horsewhip, stepped back, and threw it skyward, hard. It unfurled like a snake in midair as it flew upward, high over the row of buildings, and landed on one of the roofs.

  Derek dusted off his hands, gave the driver another scornful glance, and then calmly returned to his task of freeing the sorrel mare.

  This was quickly accomplished. Leaving her place in the harness empty, h
e laid a gentle hand on the mare’s neck, talking softly to her. Taking hold of her grubby leather bridle, he began to lead the limping animal away.

  The crowd’s mood had turned strangely somber now that their attention was drawn back to the horse’s suffering.

  Quietly, they parted to let the pair pass.

  But before Derek left the scene, he faltered almost imperceptibly. He paused just long enough to send Lily a look of apology over his shoulder.

  She shook her head at him tenderly.

  He lowered his chin and then walked on.

  Within moments, the sea of people had closed up behind him once more; the cavalry hero and his equine damsel in distress disappeared into the crowd.

  It was only then that three constables came charging somewhat belatedly into the crowd, but the coachman wasted no time in setting them after Derek.

  “Stop, thief! Stop him! Murderer!” Scrambling to his feet from where Derek had left him cowering beside the wagon wheel, the driver began hollering for all he was worth, pointing eagerly in the direction that Derek had gone. “Officers, he went that way! Some maniac just attacked us and walked off with one of my horses! Big fellow, long black hair. What are you waiting for? He’s getting away—and he’s taken my horse with him! See?” He held up the empty leather straps where the mare had been.

  “Is this true?” the first constable demanded, glancing around at the scene of the fray.

  “Yes, sir!” the groom seconded his master. The wiry lad was still on the ground. He lay on his side, gingerly rubbing his rear end. “He threw me down and now I’ve broke me bum!”

  A few feet away from him, the mail-guard was not in much better shape, shaking his head dazedly as he struggled back to full consciousness. He wiped off a trickle of blood from one of his nostrils.

  The policeman’s face hardened. “Right.” He looked at his men. “Boys, you know what to do. After him!”

  Lily’s eyes widened as they dashed off to arrest Derek, gripping their nightsticks.

  She and Mrs. Clearwell exchanged a fearful look, knowing that he and his “stolen” horse could not have gotten far, given the animal’s limping gait. She could only pray that Derek’s basic respect for authority would hold him back from giving the constables the kind of beating he’d have liked to have given the coachman.

  Perhaps with his charm, he could talk his way out of it—but her hopes were dashed in the next moment when someone in the crowd hollered, “They’re putting him under arrest!”

  That does it.

  Unable to contain herself, Lily jumped out of the barouche, lifted the hem of her skirts in both hands to avoid tripping on them, and ran toward the constable.

  “Officer, wait!”

  The policeman turned to her. “Miss? What is the matter?”

  “This man’s claims are rubbish!”

  “Oh? It would appear that someone assaulted these men.”

  “I assure you, they deserved it—especially him!” she flung out, pointing at the coachman.

  The crowd seconded her defense with numerous “ayes” and “hear, hears.”

  “The man they accuse is a noted cavalry officer. He wasn’t trying to steal this fool’s horse—that’s a ridiculous charge, and he knows it! Why would anyone want to steal that poor, pathetic bag of bones? The major only did it to save the animal from this man’s cruelty.”

  “My cruelty?” the coachman barked. “He’s the one who tried to kill us all! That man’s dangerous! He ought to be locked up!”

  “You fool, if he had wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You should be thankful that he let you live.”

  “The chap in question, ma’am.” The constable turned to Lily. “I take it he is your husband?”

  “No!” The question threw her. “He is my—friend.”

  The coachman scoffed. “Your ‘friend,’ eh? Well, my fine ladybird, you better start looking for a new friend, because your fancy man’s going to Newgate where he belongs.”

  “I beg your pardon! Constable, I am a decent woman. My chaperone is sitting over there!” She pointed to Mrs. Clearwell and then gave the constable an imploring look. “The major offered to buy the horse from him, but for sheer obstinacy this man refused to take payment!”

  “Ha!” the coachman cried triumphantly. “So, you admit the blackguard walked off with my property! Stealing is stealing.”

  “Th-that’s not what I meant—” Lily stammered, fearing she had just said exactly the wrong thing.

  The constable glanced shrewdly from her to the coachman. “You’ll be pressing charges, then, sir?”

  “You’re damned right I will.”

  Lily turned to him in fury, but seeing the two men start to walk away to view the prisoner, she somehow managed to keep a civil tongue in her head. “Wait.”

  They both looked at her in question.

  She was not going to let them do this to Derek, jail him—hang him? It was madness! This was completely unfair. He was no horse thief, but even if a jury cleared him of the trumped-up charges, at the very least, the arrest would be a blot on his military record that could permanently damage his career.

  She did not want Derek to go back to India, but she would not allow this petty ogre to deprive him of the choice.

  “What do you want?” the coachman grunted, waiting for her to speak.

  “Before you take this matter any further,” she replied, “may I have a private word with you, Mr.—?”

  “Jones,” he growled. “Fine, if you’ll be quick about it.”

  The constable nodded as the two of them stepped aside to confer.

  Coachman Jones was an awfully large man—and he smelled bad, to boot—but Lily looked him straight in the eyes. “What is it going to take to make you drop this foolishness?”

  “Foolishness? I’m within my rights! Stealing is stealing, like I said!”

  “Be reasonable! You know your treatment of that horse was wrong. You’re just doing this for spite, because he thrashed you in front of this crowd.”

  “I deserve compensation for my property—and my pains!—or I’m pressing charges.”

  The man was loathsome, but she was encouraged by his admission. “Good, then! Compensation you shall have! I will pay you right now and we can put this whole unpleasant business behind us. What’s the horse worth?” she persisted. “A few sovereigns at most, considering it’s already half dead. Here!” She thrust her hand into her reticule and took out what little pin money she had left.

  He looked at the few silver coins in her outstretched palm and slowly began laughing. “Is that all your fine major’s freedom is worth to you, poppet?”

  Lily looked at him in shock as he folded his bulky arms across his chest.

  Then she glanced at her money again. “It’s all I have.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What about them earrings you got on?”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  The charges had been dropped.

  Lily was still numb by the time the barouche turned into Mrs. Clearwell’s street a short while later. She could not believe she had given away her great-great-grandmother’s earrings to save Derek Knight.

  But at least it had worked.

  The coachman had walked away satisfied and Derek had been freed, unaware of what she had done. She didn’t mind if he never found out. Watching him from a distance as he led the injured horse away, she had been filled with a deeper satisfaction than she had ever experienced before, knowing that she had helped him.

  He was worth it.

  That was the scariest part…how much she was starting to care about him.

  Still, giving up her earrings had left her with one less asset to her name, one more reason why she’d have to marry Edward.

  At least she had taken measures to protect her reputation. She had made her bargain with the coachman on the one condition that he keep quiet about receiving her diamonds in exchange for dropping the charges against Derek. Greed made him more than willing to be discree
t; indeed, he had not even bothered asking her name, but that suited Lily quite well.

  She did not need news of her sacrifice getting back to Edward, and as for Derek, if he heard nothing about her reckless gift, it would spare his pride…and keep him from realizing how foolishly infatuated with him she was becoming.

  Still, she did not regret what she had done, for it was impossible to imagine his fierce, free spirit locked up in some horrid cage in the bowels of Newgate.

  Across from her, Mrs. Clearwell was still looking at Lily as if she had sprouted two heads. “When we get home, my dear, I believe I shall brew a pot of tea and you and I are going to have a little talk.”

  Oh, dear. “Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled, abashed by the rare disapproval in her godmother’s voice—not that she blamed her after that spectacle.

  But unfortunately, as the barouche glided to a halt in front of her chaperone’s cozy house, Lily saw that her troubles were not over yet.

  Edward was already there. Waiting for her.

  Oh, God! She had been out with Derek all day—and then that debacle at the intersection! Was she found out already? But how?

  What was she going to say?

  All she knew was that the sight of his big, black carriage parked outside Mrs. Clearwell’s little house made her stomach plunge with a sickening drop.

  Panic flooded her veins at the thought of her burly suitor’s certain jealous wrath. She cast her sponsor a terrified look; Mrs. Clearwell returned it with a firm, bolstering nod. Her look checked Lily’s panic, but nevertheless, a sense of doom came over her—and guilt.

  Familiar guilt. It was back. Edward was going to jilt her now, she was sure of it—and what would she tell Mother then? She wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of in that moment: towering Edward or the dagger-eyed Lady Clarissa.

  But it was too late now. No, damn the man, she had known from the second she saw him that Derek Knight was going to wreck her life. Oh, how had she ever dreamed she could have succeeded in this miserable mission when she had proved her shameful inability to control herself years ago?

  When Gerald came to get the carriage door for them and put the metal step down, Lily closed her eyes briefly, envisioning the ton’s laughter when they heard how the “haughty” Balfour girl had been hilariously dumped by an encroaching toadstool like Edward Lundy.