Her brows lifted. “Yes, a little. And your hand?”
He couldn’t stop the smile this time. “Perfectly sound.”
She nodded. “Good.” She paused. “And thank you.”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
She angled her head to catch his eye. “Thank you for trying to save me.”
His stomach twisted. “I should have been faster.”
Her hazel gaze pierced through him. “You couldn’t have anticipated those other carriages.”
As he started to reply, Mr. Silby ran up with Vicky’s maid not far behind.
“Are you hurt?” Silby said, panting from exertion as he looked Vicky up and down. His vision rested briefly where Vicky’s hand held Tom’s. “I tried to keep up after the horses bolted, but I saw Lord Halworth in pursuit.” His brow furrowed as he caught Tom’s eye. “I don’t know what could have happened to cause them to shy like that.”
Tom clenched his jaw, trying to stay silent. After his two previous encounters with Silby, he had no great opinion of the man, but now he was certain Silby was a blockhead. The urge to yell at him for putting Vicky in danger clawed at him, but he held his tongue. It was none of his affair.
Vicky’s maid rushed to her side, fussing over her mistress’s appearance.
Victoria smiled coolly at Silby. “Despite what my appearance might suggest, I will soon be well. I do, however, wish to go home.”
While Tom had attended to Victoria, Silby’s horses had wandered several yards away. Silby moved to fetch them. Once he took the reins, he examined his horses and vehicle. “Notwithstanding the scare, everything seems to be in order,” he said as he returned. “I can drive you home immediately, Lady Victoria.”
Tom grimaced, wondering if he should protest, but Vicky spoke first.
“I thank you again, Mr. Silby, but I do believe you’ll find the pole is cracked where it meets the crossbar.”
Silby blinked twice.
Still supporting herself on Tom’s hand, Vicky walked to the vehicle, stopping behind the grays. She leaned forward and released his hand to point at the black-lacquered wooden pole. Just as she’d said, the wood had splintered on one side.
Tom lowered himself onto his haunches to inspect it. The cracking should have been obvious to anyone who knew what to look for.
“You cannot possibly drive home in this,” Tom stated. He looked to Silby. “Not only for your own safety, but for your horses’ as well.”
Silby approached from the other side. He frowned down at the crack. “That wasn’t there before.”
Tom stood. “Of course it was there. Lady Victoria saw it.” Tom looked at her, and she bit her lip. “The question is why you didn’t see it, Silby.”
Silby’s eyes narrowed. “See here, Halworth—”
“I’m certain it was an honest mistake,” Vicky interjected.
Tom gaped at her. Her lips were set in a determined line. He looked away. He shouldn’t have interfered.
“Of course it was,” Silby said, still staring at Tom.
Tom clenched his jaw. Silby then broke eye contact and nodded at Vicky. “I shall walk you home now, Lady Victoria.”
“That won’t be necessary. Lord Halworth can accompany me,” she said, her eyes darting in his direction.
Tom’s gaze snapped to her face.
She shifted her weight. “I’m sure you’ll wish to give your full attention to your horses and curricle, Mr. Silby, and it would be far better to walk them directly home rather than stop at Aston House first,” she continued. Then she looked at Tom with wide, pleading eyes.
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Silby shook his head. “Lady Victoria, I really must insist—”
“Mr. Silby,” she said, “truly, your grays need your care more than I. They are such a beautifully matched pair, and I can well imagine the time and effort it must have cost to breed them.”
Silby’s jaw dropped, his mouth forming a little O. Tom didn’t know if his surprise stemmed from Vicky’s reference to horse husbandry or her dismissal of him.
Vicky angled her head. “I have Sarah and Lord Halworth to attend me, whereas they have only you. Please understand my distress.”
Silby blinked at Tom. Then his blue eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. “Halworth,” he said, the pitch of his voice moving up the scale, “I will not allow you to—”
“To what, Mr. Silby? To honor my request?” Vicky stepped toward Silby and met his glare. “Please be so good as to excuse us.”
Vicky’s voice was losing its steadiness, but her resolve was unmistakable.
A strange feeling bloomed in Tom’s chest. Was it amusement at Silby’s inability to match his unshakable friend, stubborn as when she was six? Or was it something more?
Silby must have realized he was on shaky ground because he stepped back. His mouth opened and closed like a hooked trout.
The side of Tom’s mouth quirked upward as he inclined his head at Silby’s fishy expression. He looked down at Vicky. “Shall we?”
Vicky ventured a glance at Tom’s profile as they left the park.
Tom flanked her right side, holding his left arm rigid to support her weight as he held his horse’s reins with his right.
Sarah walked on Vicky’s left. She’d wanted to help support Vicky on the way home, but Tom had insisted on tending to her. He’d also proposed Vicky ride his horse home to ease her aches and pains, but she’d decided to walk. Normally, she would have jumped at the chance to ride such a beautiful and unusual mount, but after today’s incident, she didn’t think she’d trust anything other than her own two legs for a while.
After they’d set off toward Mayfair, Vicky’s throbbing knees had made her regret her decision, but before long the pain subsided, and now she could almost stroll without limping—especially if she kept pressure on Tom’s hand. A breeze picked up loose tendrils of hair at her neck. That same scent of toast and cinnamon Tom had carried that day at Oakbridge tickled her senses. His manner of assistance today couldn’t be more different. In fact, after their last encounters, his attentiveness almost seemed strange.
“Your horse is uncommon. What breed is he?”
Tom dragged in a breath. “A Trakehner. Horatio’s sire was a Prussian cavalry mount and his dam a variant of the same breed used for farm work.”
Vicky raised her brows. Prussian cavalry horses were rare in England. Nor, if she remembered her geography, was Prussia particularly close to the Swiss Confederation.
“How did you acquire him?”
“My uncle bought him for my seventeenth birthday. He traveled to Prussia himself to purchase him. We’ve been through a lot, Horatio and I.” Tom glanced back at the horse with a boyish grin.
Vicky smiled at his obvious affection for the animal. “I take it you were close to your uncle. Did you enjoy living in Solothurn? I know how worried your mother was for you, especially when no correspondence was crossing the Channel.”
“I see our mothers remained friends even after I left,” he said, arching a brow.
When he said nothing more, Vicky turned her head away. She pursed her lips. She should have known better than to speak of the war after the way he’d acted at the ball.
Tom cleared his throat. “I was happy in my uncle’s home.” His words sounded clipped, but his eyes focused on something out in the distance.
“What was it like?” she asked, wondering if he’d answer.
His gaze remained forward. “Cozy. Busy. It was the first time I lived with people who actually enjoyed each other’s company.”
She nodded. From a young age, Vicky had understood the unspoken truth about Tom’s parents. The Earl and Countess of Halworth had the opposite of a happy marriage. When they were small children, Tom barely spoke of his father. By the time Tom had reached adolescence, if he spoke of him, it was with anger in his voice.
“I wonder that you returned at all.” She’d meant it genuinely, but she frowned at the though
t of him never returning to England. She immediately shook her head at herself. He was kind to escort her home, but it wasn’t as though his return had meant they’d regained their friendship as she’d once hoped.
“Were it not for my mother’s pleadings, I would be there still.”
Vicky’s brows scrunched together. Poor Tom. He’d been exiled from his home at fourteen, only to be pulled back by duty to his family. Duty alone had forced him to leave the one place he’d been happy.
She couldn’t read Tom’s expression, but as he stared into the distance, she felt certain he was thinking of the past. Perhaps they were more alike than she’d thought after their last few encounters. She, too, was leaving contentment behind to attend to her familial duty.
Tom cleared his throat. “Victoria, I feel there is something I should say.”
She met his gaze. His light brown eyes shot away and then back again. “Charles tells me Mr. Carmichael is spreading a rumor that I imposed myself on you at the duchess’s ball.” He made a frustrated noise in his throat.
“But why would he—” She broke off, remembering how Mr. Carmichael had condemned Tom to her the other day in his carriage. But she hadn’t agreed with him.
“He has taken a dislike to me. He tried to goad me into challenging him to a boxing match, and when I refused, he told his companions I took advantage of your good nature.”
“Oh dear.” Vicky bit her lip. She looked up at him. “Do you box?”
“By no means! But he nearly killed Charles’s friend the other day.”
“He did what?”
Tom hesitated. Then he described the events of the boxing match, although she suspected he glossed over the gruesome details.
“Has Mr. Kirkham recovered?” she asked.
“His face resembles raw beefsteak, according to Charles, but he will recover. I imagine his inebriated state might have relaxed his muscles somewhat.”
Vicky frowned. “And you say it was all sanctioned in the rules?”
Tom exhaled. “So it seems. Yet . . .” He swallowed. “In any event, I wish to apologize for my conduct at the ball. Despite what Carmichael and society are saying, I had no wish to”—he searched her face—“impose. I apologize.”
She looked down, away from those brown eyes she’d once known so well. “That is kind of you. Thank you.”
She heard Tom exhale.
Then she frowned. “I don’t understand why Mr. Carmichael would behave in such a manner. He is a close friend of my father’s.”
Tom’s brow furrowed. “Is he?”
Vicky nodded. “And my father has never been one for pugilism. I do not know Mr. Carmichael well, but my father trusts him.” Of course, her father had trusted Dain enough to allow him to marry Althea. As much as it pained her to admit it, his judgment wasn’t infallible. “There must be an explanation,” she mumbled.
“I daresay,” said Tom, clearly unconvinced. “Just take care.”
He sounded concerned for her. Maybe she’d wronged him. Maybe a small part of him did still wish to be friends. She smiled. “Thank you. I shall.”
Tom nodded. Then he said, “Did you really think Silby’s grays so well-matched?”
She tilted her head up to catch his eye. “In speed.”
He made a strangled sound in his throat, and she hoped he was choking on a laugh. She suspected he didn’t laugh often anymore.
“I would concur on that point.”
“But they were overly powerful to draw the weight of that curricle,” she pronounced.
“They were rather too spirited as well,” Tom said. “Did you see what spooked them?”
Vicky sighed and shook her head.
“When did you see the pole had cracked?”
“When I leaned over the front. I assumed it must have happened when the horse reared. But then when I told Mr. Silby of it, I had a better look and it seemed like almost too much damage from just one rearing horse.” She frowned. “Did you think it odd?”
He puffed out a breath. “Him not seeing such obvious splintering was unpardonable.”
“You all but called him out,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He cut a sharp glance at her. “I would never do that.”
She raised a brow.
“Silby strikes me as the sort who leaves such matters up to a groomsman. And curricles have never been the safest of vehicles—although one would think that would make Silby more aware of the dangers, not less,” he grumbled in a low voice.
“And to that end, I shan’t be going anywhere with Mr. Silby again.”
Tom’s lips pitched upward at one corner. “He seems to be a great friend of Carmichael’s.”
Vicky shook her head. “Not according to Mr. Carmichael. Apparently, Mr. Silby was quite close with Mr. Carmichael’s late cousin.”
Tom frowned. “Silby was Carmichael’s second at the boxing match. Why would he entrust a second’s duty to a mere acquaintance?”
Vicky thought for a moment. “Perhaps Mr. Silby is well versed in the rules.”
Tom raised his brows but said nothing. Then he seemed to consider something. “You know, there is every possibility that Silby will tell Carmichael you asked me to escort you home.”
Vicky tilted her head. True, that would seem forward of her. Still, Mr. Carmichael himself had said she would dislike Silby. “If anyone blames me for wishing to be rid of Mr. Silby, I don’t much care,” she pronounced with a decided nod.
Again she thought Tom started to smile, but it disappeared a moment later. Then she looked up and realized they had arrived at Aston House.
Sarah informed Vicky she would begin preparing her a bath. Vicky thanked her, and Sarah bobbed a curtsy to Tom before starting up the front steps. Vicky had quite forgotten her unruly state, but as she looked down, she saw the mud on her clothes was dry and now beginning to crack. They must have made a curious sight walking down the streets of Mayfair.
“I’m surprised we didn’t get more stares,” she murmured.
“We did get a few,” Tom replied. He appeared more amused than anything.
She smiled. “Thank you. For all your help.”
He shook his head. “I must help you up the stairs before I accept any thanks.”
She let out a surprised breath, though she didn’t know why she’d expected anything less. “Very well.”
He tied Horatio’s reins to a railing. Then he offered his hand as he had in the park. She gripped it with hers and pushed downward. One by one, they climbed the steps as he supported her weight.
“I could carry you again if you’d prefer,” he said.
She rather thought he must be teasing, but she shot him a glare. “Lord Halworth, if you do that again, I will . . .”
He raised his brows.
“Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it shall not be pleasant.”
That slow smile washed over his face as it had when they’d danced at the ball, and she bit her lower lip to keep from smiling back.
“I have been warned, Lady Victoria,” he said as they reached the last step.
Was he teasing now? He must be. At the door’s threshold, she turned to face him.
He angled his head, and his steady gaze seeped into her. “Do take care of yourself.”
Unable to speak, Vicky nodded and released his hand to step inside. In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed Sheldon holding the door open as always. Suddenly feeling she should say more, she turned back to Tom. “Would you care to come in and have some refreshment before you depart?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I would like to, but I must get Horatio home. It’s been a long ride,” he said, giving his horse a worried look.
It was her fault if Horatio was fatigued. “I am sorry. We can have the stable boy give him a rubdown if you wish.”
Again Tom shook his head. “Thank you, but I always attend to Horatio myself. We should be going.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
After descending the steps
and pulling Horatio’s reins to turn him around, Tom gave her one more look. “I am relieved you were not too badly injured.”
She offered him a smile. “Thank you.” It had been so heartening to have a normal conversation with him. She gazed into his brown eyes and for the first time, she no longer resented that he wasn’t the same boy she’d known. “Will you be attending the Chadwick musicale on Sunday?”
For a long moment, Tom made no reply. Then, he said, “I shall see you there.”
Vicky’s eyes widened. She gave a quick nod and took a few steps farther inside.
At least he’d agreed to be social. She peeked at Sheldon and thought she spied a hint of a smile on his wrinkled face. A moment later, whatever she’d seen had gone, leaving her to wonder if it had been a mere flight of fancy on her part—she’d never known Sheldon to smile at anything.
She turned back to Tom and waved. Tom raised his free hand and started down the street with Horatio in tow.
Vicky watched him turn the corner, then exhaled. Despite today’s excitement, she felt more content than she had in a long time.
After a physician had come and pronounced she would be well after a few days’ rest, Vicky settled into a lavender-scented bath. As the warm water washed away the grime from the park and dulled the throbbing around her knees and elbows, the enormity of what had happened finally sank in. She could have been seriously hurt today—even killed. If she hadn’t jumped or if Tom hadn’t tried to intervene, everything could have ended in far worse a fashion.
She sank deeper into the bathwater, until her head was almost submerged, and smiled. Once when she was about ten, she’d talked Tom into a contest to see who could climb the highest hay bale without tumbling down. She’d won, but only because she’d nearly slipped and Tom had lost his footing while keeping her from sliding down onto the dry field. She’d emerged unscathed, but Tom had gotten a nasty lump on his head for his trouble. Poor Tom. He was still trying to keep her from breaking her neck.
But he’d been so sweet today, supporting her on his arm all the way home and apologizing for his actions at the ball. She couldn’t begin to understand all he’d endured since he’d left England, so she wouldn’t delude herself into thinking he wouldn’t return to his stoic demeanor the next time they met. Still, it would be good to see him again under less dire circumstances.
Dangerous Alliance Page 14