The Chase

by Sara Portman

  She stared at him, lips parted in hesitation and he had the distinct sense that he was not what she had expected, which made no sense at all because she had approached him.

  His surprise, however, was quite reasonable. She was young, but not a girl, and she was striking in an unearthly sort of way. Her features were an odd collection of contradictions. Watchful green eyes fringed with long, dark lashes, and delicately pale skin, clear of any freckle or blemish, framed with wisps of auburn that swept beneath the coverage of her bonnet.

  “I…I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered. “I thought…that is…I didn’t consider…” Her words trailed off and her eyes drifted to the cane in his right hand.

  He understood then. She had seen him from behind. With his high-collared greatcoat and hat, she had only the cane for a clue and she had erroneously surmised he was a much older man, as opposed to simply a lame one.

  His mouth tightened. “It appears you have made an error in judgment, miss. I bid you good day.” He turned from her, bent on continuing his task, but stopped when a small, gloved hand rested tentatively upon his forearm.

  “Please, my lord.”

  He faced her. She was very near now, gazing directly up at him. “It is imperative that I depart for London today. I shall be no trouble at all and I promise that you shall never hear from me again once we reach town.” She made her plea then stared up awaiting his response, eyes wide with entreaty, jaw squared in determination.

  He looked down to where her hand still lay on his coat sleeve.

  She followed his gaze there and slowly withdrew her hand. “I beg you, sir.”

  It may have been the waver in her voice on the last word she spoke that made up Michael’s mind. More likely it was the fact that here stood a mystery and unraveling it in the hours between Peckingham and London would be a welcome distraction from the ache in his leg. Or maybe he was simply restless. Whatever the reason, and even as he knew he should not, Michael slowly lowered his head into a nod of assent. “Very well, miss. I shall see you to London.”

  She took a sharp intake of air and he could not tell if she was relieved or frightened by his agreement.

  “But we leave momentarily,” he added. “If you have things to collect, I suggest you do so, and hand them over to my coachman.”

  She glanced over his shoulder and Michael saw that Albert had completed his preparations and now stood as audience to his reckless decision making.

  “I have my things, my lord.” As evidence to this claim, she lifted a small satchel that could not have contained more than a precious few items.

  “Very well, then. Let us not delay.”

  Michael turned and caught the questioning lift of Albert’s brow.

  He ignored it. “We have a lot of road to cover,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get to it.”

  Albert nodded and led the young woman to the carriage door where he pulled down the step to help her in.

  * * * *

  Aside from the painted crest, the traveling coach was glossy black, cloaked in as much of the dark color as its owner and just as intimidatingly sized. Juliana took a deep breath and attempted to steady her roiling nerves as she accepted the coachman’s hand and climbed into the vehicle. As she did, her attention was immediately drawn to the source of a low groan from the far side of the rear-facing bench. A large canine head lifted, short ears erect, watchful eyes trained intently upon her. The sound it emitted was not a growl, precisely, but given the size of the animal, threatening enough to halt her in her ascent. She swallowed and returned the animal’s stare.

  “Don’t mind the dog, miss,” the coachman said from behind her, accurately surmising the reason for her hesitation. “He’s a right lamb, I promise you.”

  She exhaled and continued cautiously into the coach, staring all the while into the black eyes of the animal and sensing his own wariness. His wiry fur was dark, with mottled splotches of gray and black and brown. Far from lamb-like, he was the sort of animal one would expect to see pacing a darkened alley for scraps, not lounging on the velvet-covered cushions of an aristocrat’s carriage. As she settled herself on the seat across from him, his dark eyes followed her intently from beneath an eyebrow-like veil of more wiry fur.

  From outside the coach, the beast’s master tossed his silver handled cane onto the seat next to the dog. The cane had tricked her. She didn’t know what the man’s injury was, but he was not in the least frail—and young enough to be both dangerous and highly improper. She looked down at her lap as he climbed in and sat on the rear-facing seat next to the dog. She wanted to look again, to judge him more closely now that she was at his mercy, but she hadn’t the courage.

  She didn’t know which frightened her more, man or animal. The coach was the grandest she’d ever seen, but both he and his dog seemed to consume more than their fair share of the available space. His heavy black boots rested on the floor very near her own feet. She peered at them, as they and the accompanying breech-covered knees were the only parts of him she could study without looking up and directly facing him.

  She had mistaken him for someone altogether different, and he had known it.

  She never would have asked him to take her to London if she’d understood, and he knew that as well.

  But she was desperate to get there—so much so that she had accepted the offer anyway. And this, too, he knew.

  He already knew too much of her and she nothing of him, save his size and youth and possession of an equally intimidating canine companion. The exhilaration she’d experienced at stealing away from her father’s house that morning had been weathered by the uncertain hours outside the Bear & Boar. What remained was thoroughly extinguished as she sat, trapped and vulnerable. She knew exactly why she’d importuned this man to transport her to London. Too late, she’d thought to consider why he’d accepted.

  The man lifted an arm to rap sharply on the roof of the coach to signal his readiness for departure. The vehicle lurched into motion. She clutched her satchel and pressed herself deeper into the seat.

  Chapter Two

  “What is your name?”

  Juliana started at the sudden interruption to the silence. She had known there would be questions, but they had gone a fair distance with nothing. In the small space his voice was large—masculine, unfamiliar, and much deeper than her father’s, as though it rumbled forth from a place low within him.

  She lifted her attention from his boots to the front of his coat, not ready yet to meet his eyes. “My name is Craw…Crawley. Miss…Ana…Crawley.” She had not considered the matter before, but now that she was here, at the mercy of a stranger, giving her true name seemed reckless and unnecessary.

  The dog released a huff as though he recognized the lie. She looked at it again. It was looking back at her, which she found disconcerting.

  He must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Do you have an aversion to hounds?”

  Her attention shifted back to the man across from her and, finally, she lifted her eyes to face him, determined that he should not understand the extent of her trepidation. Hat removed despite her presence and broad shoulders slouching against the plush brown cushion, he, too, looked wild, with his hair strewn into disarray by the wind. His eyes were as dark as his companion’s and just as wary. “I am not averse.” She glanced at the dog again. Why was it watching her so closely? “I am merely…unfamiliar, my lord.”

  He considered her response with no outward reaction. “There are no dogs where you are from.” He said it as a declaration, she knew, to better illustrate the dubiousness of the idea.

  “None in my household,” she answered, willing her eyes not to cast nervously again at the dog as they so wanted to do.

  “And what sort of household is that?” He asked the question flatly, but she knew despite his tone he was pouncing on her mistake in referring to her home and inviting his inquir
y.

  “The sort without dogs,” she said impulsively, unwilling to reveal more. She realized too late it had been a second miscalculation. Her obfuscation revealed entirely too much.

  His coal eyes narrowed, full of questions, but he didn’t voice them.

  The dog’s head lowered again to rest upon his outstretched front paws. They were sizable paws.

  Silence stretched between them again for a time, but it was not a respite for Juliana. She was aware that he was watching her. He studied her for a long time, eyes flitting uncomfortably over every inch of her as though there may be clues to read in any spot on her person. If she’d had a cape, she’d have pulled the thing over her head and hidden beneath it, so exposed she felt to his inspection.

  The carriage bounced in a rut and he winced. The expression disappeared quickly, but she had seen it. He must have known she saw and disliked it, for he looked away, ending his examination of her person. He shifted in his seat, causing her to wonder at the nature of his injury. She couldn’t stare the information from him so she looked down as well, to ease his discomfort as much as her own. In the silence, she played her fingers in the nap of the brown velvet upholstery, leaving tracks that remained after her fingers moved away.

  “Are you averse to dogs and conversation?” he asked sharply, breaking the miserable quiet.

  She lifted her eyes to his again. “I am not well familiar with either, my lord.”

  Her response only brought the return of his scrutiny and she regretted it.

  “Not familiar with conversation? How can that be so?”

  She had no intention of sharing the details of her life thus far and so gave the simplest answer she could devise that might prove acceptable to him. “I’ve led a very quiet life, my lord.”

  He sighed heavily and pursed his lips as though considering just what to do with her. Finally, he said, “Allow me to make it simple for you then. I shall ask questions and you shall provide answers. What say you to that?”

  She wished fervently to decline. She intended to be careful with the answers she gave, but he made her anxious with his probing looks and intimidating shoulders. She could not refuse him, however, given the circumstances, so she gave a slight nod. “As you wish, my lord.”

  “Where in London is your destination?” The first question came with the speed of a slingshot that had been stretched back, waiting for release.

  She hesitated, wondering just how much she should share. Would it matter if he knew the purpose for her journey? Would he take pity on her, or would he believe, as most men would, that she should be returned to her father without delay?

  “You shall have to tell me that much at least, Miss Crawley. I cannot deliver you to your destination if you will not name it.”

  “Number 48 Hardwick Street.”

  He blinked. Twice. “And what will we find at Number 48 Hardwick Street?”

  “The offices of Hammersley, Brint and Peale, Solicitors,” she offered, as he would know that much eventually.

  “You have urgent business with Hammersley, Brint and Peale?” He picked a piece of dog hair from his black sleeve and waited for her response.

  “I do, my lord.”

  His brow arched. “So urgent that you would place your reputation—and frankly, your person—in considerable danger in order to arrive there two days earlier?”

  She stilled at his words and her heart seemed to slow. Should she panic at this point? She studied him intently, needing to find some answer in his eyes and expression, but found nothing. The dark eyes and square jaw were not blank, but guarded and unreadable like looking into darkened water—the surface revealed nothing, but the depths could hold all sorts of threatening creatures. She tried to put aside her imaginings of poisonous eels and venomous snakes as she asked, “Have I, my lord? Put my person in considerable danger?”

  His brow arched. “Haven’t you?”

  She stared at him only to find him inspecting her just as closely. How was she to answer that question?

  “I am thoroughly familiar with my own character, Miss Crawley, so I know the answer to your inquiry. It is not lost on me, however, that you do not. Thus, I am able to surmise that whatever awaits you in London is of critical importance. Or, conversely, whatever you leave behind is a considerable threat.” He crossed his arms, his assessment unrelenting. “Which is it, Miss Crawley? Are you hurrying toward something or running away?”

  Both. She weighed her options in responding. “You have not answered my question, my lord. Have I placed myself in danger?”

  His mouth quirked. It was the closest she’d seen to a smile from him, but it was mocking rather than kind. “You are safe from harm, Miss Crawley, but not from interrogation. As I am charitable enough to convey you to London, the least you can do is answer a few simple questions.”

  Except they were not simple questions at all. And hours remained in their journey. That meant many questions, not few. How could she confide in him? Even if she believed he would not harm her, how could she know that he would be sympathetic to her? He was lord of whatever peerage was painted on the side of his coach. He had already been high-handed enough to point out that she was entirely at his mercy. If she admitted that she had saved pennies for more than a year to flee her father’s house and, more importantly, his control, he seemed the sort to believe she had been wrong to do so. Would he refuse to take her farther? Or worse, would he insist upon returning her?

  Juliana resolved to correct her earlier mistake of appearing to guard secrets. She willed her tense frame to relax and attempted what she hoped was a pitiful smile. “I am sorry to disappoint, my lord, but if you anticipated that my story would provide hours of distraction on the London Road, you were mistaken. I am quite uninteresting.”

  It was not a lie. What did her life consist of, but seeing to her father’s orders and wandering around their house as though she were haunting the place? He rarely allowed her to leave. She had no friends to speak of.

  “I believe I shall judge my own disinterest, Miss Crawley. I have answered your question and now you shall answer mine. Is it something in London that has you hurrying to arrive, or something back in Peckingham that has you running away?”

  “I have nothing to fear in Peckingham, my lord.” As the statement was true, she was able to deliver it with a modicum of nonchalance. “My future awaits in London and I am impatient to begin it.” She tried her best to appear optimistic and unconcerned, but she had no practice at such artifice.

  He was unconvinced.

  “Where shall you go after your visit to Hammersley, Brint and Peale, Solicitors?” he asked, adding dramatic inflection to the name of the business office. “Have you family in London? Connections there?”

  She did not like how solidly he had the upper hand and so she said, “Indeed I do. In fact, I grew up as neighbor to a woman who is now a duchess. She is in London with her husband.” For good measure she added, “The duke.” The connection was tenuous as they had spent virtually no time together and her father had attempted to blackmail the duchess to gain her property thus ensuring she would consider herself an enemy of any with the name Crawford, but she kept that bit to herself.

  “A duchess?” he asked, his lip twitching in amusement. “Is that so?”

  It occurred belatedly to her that her companion, as a nobleman, may well know her neighbor, Lady Emmaline, now Duchess of Worley. To stave off any inquiry as to the specific duchess of her acquaintance, she summoned the courage to pose a question to him. “And what may I know of you, my lord? May I know the identity of the gentleman who has come to my aid?”

  There was a telling pause and she continued. “You need not fear that I will appear on your doorstep, claim that you’ve compromised me, and demand that we wed—if that is your concern.”

  “Are you already married, then, Miss Crawley?” he asked, stressing the miss that she
’d assigned herself.

  “I am not, but I have no desire to be so.”

  “I think you would find, Miss Crawley, that in the matter of compromised young ladies, their desires are rarely taken into account. It is not the young ladies one must fear, but their gravely offended parents.”

  She couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped. She could not imagine her father ever taking grave offense on her behalf. “My father doesn’t wish to see me married any more than I do, my lord. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if he did. Judging by the crest decorating the side of your coach, even without your identity I could determine that my family would find themselves quite powerless against yours.”

  She realized as she finished her speech that he was staring at her, the most puzzled expression upon his face.

  “Have I confused you?” she asked.

  “Quite.”

  “How so?”

  He scooted forward in his seat, bringing an alertness to his posture and straining the sleeves of his snug-fitting frock coat. “Why the devil would your own father not want you to marry? Isn’t that what all fathers want for their daughters? To see them settled and supported?”

  Juliana schooled her expression, trying not to show her frustration. She’d done it again. Without thinking, she had revealed more than she intended. Most fathers probably did want to see their daughters settled and supported. It certainly seemed the sort of thing a caring father would pursue. That was not the situation into which Juliana had been born. “My father is unconventional,” she said, and tried to smile to make the description seem a compliment.

  “Unconventional?” He scoffed. “I think most would call him irrational. How does he intend to see you supported after he is gone?”

  Juliana felt certain her father wasted no thought whatsoever on what might happen to anyone after he was gone—particularly not his daughter. “I appreciate your concern for my future security, my lord, but as we will only spend this one day together and as I’ve already promised you shall never hear from me again, it should not matter. If you do not wish to tell me who you are, I understand and will not press you further.” It was a bolder speech than Juliana had ever given. She hoped her false confidence and her attempt to redirect attention to his secrets might stop the line of inquiry.