Page 2 of Lord Something (Unexpected Heirs #3)

Chapter Two

T hey ran.

He pulled Miss Ryder along with him as they dodged between the dripping shrubs. He didn’t know why they were running, or in which direction. Then, just ahead, he thought he saw the iron railing that surrounded the garden.

Yes. They were almost out of the…

Wham. Something hit him in the side of the head.

Everything went momentarily black and starry. He sank half to his knees.

Fortunately, he was accustomed to shaking off blows. He straightened and turned in one fluid motion. The man who’d hit him stepped back, dismayed. It was plain that he’d expected Keynsham to go down and stay down.

Keynsham didn’t bother to square up. He simply looked for an opening. The man was huge. He swung hard—a big, obvious swing. Keynsham ducked easily and returned a solid blow to the man’s stomach. The big man sucked in air but lurched forward anyway. His flailing fist smacked into the side of Keynsham’s mouth.

But that was just the opening that Keynsham wanted. His own fist shot up and caught the big man solidly under the chin—a perfect uppercut. Crack .

For a moment, his assailant’s momentum continued to carry him forward. But that moment passed. The big man’s eyes rolled up. He crumpled face first onto the wet lawn.

Miss Ryder was pulling at Keynsham’s arm. “He is coming! We must go!”

Who was coming? There was no time to ask. They shoved their way through the shrubbery. His feet skidded on gravel. A path. “This way!”

A few steps more led them to a gate. They stumbled out of the square onto the pavement. The roadway before them was empty. Ghostly lights shone from windows through the fog. How surreal it was, to think that they were surrounded by candlelight in drawing rooms and dining rooms, the soft clink of silverware on china…

“Young!” Surely the coachman would hear him. “ Young! ”

“No!” Miss Ryder clutched his arm, out of breath. “He will hear you! I am certain that he is coming!”

“ Who ?”

Her face was taut with panic. “You do not understand!”

They paused under a streetlamp. He’d lost all sense of direction. He couldn’t see the nearby buildings well enough to identify them. Unless… Ah. That great grey pile was the home of the Earls of Scarfe. He’d gone in a circle. They were back where he’d started.

Miss Ryder let go of his arm. “Look out!”

The man who loomed out of the fog was tall and fair and elegantly dressed in a flapping greatcoat and a black top hat. His eyes gleamed beneath its brim as he paced deliberately toward Keynsham. “Give her back.”

“I beg your pardon?” Keynsham moved instinctively between him and Miss Ryder.

“You heard me. Give her back.”

“I advise you to remember that this is a civilized country.”

“Oh yes?” The man’s mouth drew into a sneer. A jeweled stickpin in his neckcloth winked in the lamplight. “And I advise you not to make yourself part of something that you do not understand.”

Keynsham narrowed his eyes. “What I am part of, sir, is defending an innocent lady from villainy.”

“An innocent lady?” The man smirked. “I do not see one of those here. What I do see is a gentleman who knows nothing about what he’s got himself into.”

Keynsham drew himself up. The man’s eyes widened for a bare second as he recalculated his size. “Apologize to the lady, sir.”

The man gave a short laugh. Then, without warning, his fist flew at Keynsham’s face. Keynsham dodged—but not quickly enough. The blow connected with his cheekbone.

This man was a more cunning fighter than the other thug had been. He closed quickly, using his feet to try to hook Keynsham’s feet out from under him. Keynsham, hard pressed, broke away. They closed again. Blows hammered his ribs and back. They struggled from the pavement into the middle of the street.

Keynsham nearly went down. He broke away and landed a solid punch to the man’s chest, followed by a facer to his nose that sent the man staggering back.

The blow would have knocked many men unconscious. But his opponent, though sputtering blood, righted himself. “You’ll regret that,” he said. A pistol appeared in his hand.

“Wilkes! No !” shrieked Miss Ryder.

The drumming of hoofbeats broke through the fog. With a curse, the man flung himself to one side. “Whoa!” shouted Young, as Keynsham found himself directly in the path of his own carriage. “Whoah! Whoah!”

The horses shied and reared in their traces, whinnying in fright. Hooves flashed in his face. He reeled backward, his heart pounding and his arms windmilling. Young struggled with the reins. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The horses snorted and danced as he brought them under control. “Your lordship! What happened? Are you hurt?”

Keynsham caught his balance and looked around. His opponent had vanished. The foggy street was empty and quiet. Everything had happened so quickly that for a moment he half doubted that it had happened at all. Then he realized that he could taste blood. His lip was split and beginning to throb.

Miss Ryder ! He turned, saw her wobbling on her feet, and lunged forward and caught her before she could fall.

And for a moment, nothing else mattered. He could have held her forever. He gazed down into her face. After more than a year apart, it was her. It was really her. Her eyelashes fluttered against her pallid cheeks.

Young sprang down from the box. “Who was that man? What happened? We must call the Watch!”

Keynsham came back to reality. “Help me get her into the carriage.”

They propped her on the seat. He pulled off her gloves, took her icy hands in his, and chafed them, willing her to open her eyes and speak. Was she hurt? What had the bastards done to her?

“Your lordship?” Young’s voice was low, and his face was wary. “I believe that that… gentleman is still in the square. Watching.”

They had get out of here. But he couldn’t take Miss Ryder home. She required rest and peace—and his mother, who still ruled at Alford House, would make a never-ending fuss about having a strange young lady in the house, about whose family she knew nothing.

And besides, there was his forthcoming engagement to Miss Spry to consider.

“We will go to Grafton Street.”

“Your lordship?” The young coachman’s expression was shocked.

“It is close by, and she will be safe there. That must be the only consideration.”

The lamps in the carriage illuminated her face. Her skin was greyish, and her eyes were still closed. “Miss Ryder?”

She made an indistinct noise.

“ Miss Ryder. ”

Her eyes fluttered open. Slowly, they focused on him. She gave a shriek.

“Miss Ryder!” He laid a hand upon hers. “It is I. Keynsham. Do you remember me? ”

She swallowed.

“You are safe now.”

Her pale lips moved. “ Keynsham. ”

“Yes. You know me.” She’d recognized him in Grosvenor Square. Why did she seem confused now? Had she hit her head? “Remember?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. “You—you helped me get back my pocketbook.”

“Yes. Good.”

But she must remember more about him than that! If she didn’t, that would mean… well, that would mean that he’d imagined the connection between them. And that couldn’t be possible. He refused to believe that one heart alone could bear the weight of such powerful emotions.

She glanced about the interior of the carriage. He remembered her as brave and defiant. Now she seemed fearful—even cringing. “Where are you taking me? Whose carriage is this?”

“Please do not be afraid. You are safe. We are going to a house owned by… well, by my family. Would you like me to call you a doctor?”

She drew herself up and shrank away from him at the same time. “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Perhaps she had hid her head. “I live here. I live in London. Do you not remember?”

She took a shaking breath. “What I mean is... Were you following me?”

“ Following you?” He blinked, affronted. “No! Of course not!”

“But you were in the square. You walked into me.”

“Because I was taking a shortcut on my way to a… Never mind.” He couldn’t think about any of that now. “Miss Ryder, you are plainly in some serious trouble. Tell me what is the matter. Please allow me to help.”

She gave a quick shake of her head and looked out the window, refusing to make eye contact.

“You knew those men. They were not merely ruffians out to rob passersby. Why were they chasing you? I heard you call the well-dressed one Wilkes.”

“No! Do not say his name!” Her face was anguished. “Forget that you ever heard it! You cannot become involved.”

“I am already involved. Surely you do not believe that I would walk away and abandon you after such an episode! Why, what would you have done if I had not happened to be walking through the square?”

She bit her lip. “I do not know.”

“Where were you going?”

“I was not going anywhere. I was trying to hide!”

“Then where had you come from? You did not drop into Grosvenor Square from the sky.”

She shook her head. And before he could press her further, the carriage slowed. They drew up before an elegant double-fronted house. He leapt out first and checked up and down the street as far as he could see through the fog.

His throat was tight, as though all the things he wanted to say to her were trapped there. Fate had brought them back together. There could be no other explanation. But for now, his one and only duty was to ensure that she was safe.

“What is this place?” Miss Ryder stared up at an enormous Rococo-style painting of a lady whose porcelain-skinned, naked breasts were displayed above the bodice of the pale pink silk robe à la francaise that was inexplicably slipping off her body.

“Your lordship!” A footman hurried into the foyer, buttoning his jacket as he came. “I beg your pardon! We weren’t expecting you! Betty! Come light the candles! His lordship is here!”

“Good evening, James.” Keynsham glanced at Miss Ryder. “Come with me to the library, and I will explain.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she followed him across the hall to the library—or what passed for a library in this house. The only books in it had been purchased by the foot. He knew this because he’d paid the invoice from the company that had supplied them.

The housemaid bustled about lighting more candles and laying a fire. He cringed inwardly as he saw Miss Ryder’s eyes lingering on the lewd statuary that decorated the room. He hadn’t considered the impression that the place would make on her.

A moment later, the elderly housekeeper appeared. “Master Charles! Your lordship, that is! Dear me—what has happened?” She held a candle up. “Why, you are hurt!”

“It is nothing.”

“Oh no it is not!” She frowned up at him. “I do not like the look of that eye! And your jacket is torn as well! You have been brawling!” She looked suspiciously at Miss Ryder, as though she might be responsible for Keynsham’s injuries.

“Merely a minor altercation.” But now that the excitement of the fight had begun to wear off, he felt the throb in his cheekbone and lip and the ache in his sides. He would be sore tomorrow. “Miss Ryder, allow me to present Mrs. Barley. Mrs. Barley, Miss Ryder is an… old acquaintance. She has become separated from her companions and has suffered a great shock. As she has nowhere to stay in London, I suggested that she would be comfortable here.”

“Of course, your lordship.” Mrs. Barley made Miss Ryder a curtsey, though she still looked suspicious. “Let me take your jacket, at least. I shall brush and sponge it.” She hurried off.

The moment that they were alone, Miss Ryder leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Is this a… a brothel ?”

“Good God! No!” He cleared his throat. “But it was my father’s… Well, it was the home of his… close friend.”

Her eyes widened still further.

It was not good ton to acknowledge the existence of mistresses. Indeed, it was not a subject which a gentleman ought to discuss with an unmarried lady—or really, any lady. Still, he had to say something to explain why he had the keys to this gaudily decorated house. “My father was not… He was not what one would call a family man.”

“Oh.”

“His, er… light o’ love vacated the property a few months ago. I have had to station several servants here to ensure that she does not return and help herself to any more of the furniture. They are all completely trustworthy. Mrs. Barley—the housekeeper—was my nurse when I was a boy. No one else knows that this place exists.”

In truth, Keynsham hadn’t known that it existed himself… at least, until some inexplicable half-yearly bills had arrived via his banker. After some investigation, he’d traced them to a large house on one of the most exclusive streets in Mayfair. And then, to his surprise, he’d learned that—via a fictitious company incorporated by his father—he was its owner.

Unlike most of the properties belonging to the Alford estate, the house wasn’t mortgaged. But when he’d tried to visit it, he’d found that it was occupied by his father’s most recent mistress, Miss Aurora Celeste.

Miss Celeste had been reluctant to leave. She swore that his father had left her penniless (apart from all the presents of jewelry and money that he’d made her, of course.) However, she told Keynsham, she was luckily in possession of some very, very, very personal letters sent to her by the late fifth viscount. And a kind publisher had offered her a very generous fee to print them—which would be enough to secure her future.

In the end, it had cost Keynsham a great deal of money that he couldn’t afford to buy back the letters—and to relocate Miss Celeste to an establishment of her own in Brighton… with the deed in her own name, as per her stipulation. Miss Celeste was only nineteen, but she was no fool.

He wrenched his eyes away from a particularly explicit statue and cleared his throat. “I—I am quite confident that you are safe here. There is no obvious connection between me and this house. Its ownership is—well, my father took steps to conceal it.”

“Oh.” She stared at him. “But he will not come here… will he?”

“Who?”

“Your father.”

“Good God, no! He died over a year ago. Only a few days after we… we met, in fact.” Why did he sound so confounded awkward?

“Oh! I am very sorry to hear it.” Her heart-shaped face flushed. “That explains why the servants are addressing you as…” She broke off and frowned. “I am sorry. I do not know your title.”

“Viscount Alford. But of course, I am still Keynsham to friends who knew me before I acceded to the title.”

“Viscount! ” Her face fell. “Oh.”

“Now, the men who were chasing you…”

Mrs. Barley bustled back into the room, bearing his jacket. “I am warming up some of what we had for dinner, and Betty will make up one of the guest rooms for Miss Ryder.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barley. I cannot stay to eat, however. I have…” Did he still have an appointment? It was now past eight o’clock. “Well. I have an obligation elsewhere.”

When the housekeeper had gone again, an awkward silence fell. He knew that he ought to leave. He knew that he was only looking for a reason to delay his departure. But he couldn’t seem to make himself go. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in the sight of Miss Ryder.

He could have spent hours memorizing her face all over again… the play of candlelight on her light brown hair, the delicate lines of her brows, and the dark sweep of her lashes along her cheeks. He wanted to ask her what had happened in every moment of every day that they’d been apart—where she’d been, what she’d done, what she’d thought, whether she’d ever thought of him…

He cleared his throat. “I trust that you will be comfortable. You may, of course, stay here as long as is convenient for you. But please—promise me that you will not go out alone. Not until we can be assured that it is safe.”

She looked down and swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Tomorrow, when you are rested, we will discuss what is to be done about this man Wilkes. His actions cannot go unpunished.”

Her eyes went wide again. “No! Please! Do as I ask, and forget his name! I require no assistance.”

He couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “Miss Ryder, you always say that you require no assistance, even when it is plain that you do.”

She looked at him in blank confusion.

Oh. He felt his face warm under the bruises. Apparently, of the two of them, it was only he who’d mentally replayed every word of their conversations from a year ago. He was making a cake of himself.

He cleared his throat again, realizing as he did that he must sound as though he had the catarrh. “Well. I shall call upon you in the morning. I trust that you will be comfortable.”

Wait. He’d already said that. He forced himself to rise and move to the door before he could embarrass himself further, although part of him feared that if he took his eyes off her for so much as a moment, she’d vanish again. “Good night, Miss Ryder.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. He couldn’t read their expression. “Good night. And… and thank you.”