Page 7 of My Disastrous Duchess (The Untamed Ladies #2)

" I t’s you ,” the woman said.

Alexander sighed.

He understood now what had caused his driver to stop, having exited the carriage to see what was happening.

A young woman stood on the roadside – what he thought was the roadside, in that endless dark.

Her pale, wet face stared at him in horror.

He had half a mind to instruct his driver to pretend they hadn’t seen anything and let her wait for another hero to come along and rescue her.

But on a night like this, there will be none. We will be the last carriage traveling this way until morning. Miss Pembroke’s survival is, horrifically, in my hands.

“Have you set this scene up as a trap for me?” Alexander said, quickly directing his footman to leave them and speak with the driver, leaving him with the lantern.

He was drenched in an instant from the rain, looking no better than Margaret did.

Although there was something satisfying about seeing her in this state, with mud caked on one of her cheeks, her pelisse clinging to her shoulders, and her hair stuck to her neck.

She was shivering, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from fear.

He held the light up to her. The howling of the wind forced them to speak closely, and he was hit with a wave of nostalgia by the smell of her.

That dratted perfume of hers, sweeter than he remembered, reminded him of dryer places.

“A rather complex enterprise, don’t you think?

” Margaret’s tone was no less piqued than earlier.

“I would have had to pray for a storm, and then know where you were headed, wound myself and my driver, and then hope that you would see me and not just drive past.” She cast her eyes heavenward.

“Believe me, you are the last person I had hoped would come to my rescue.”

“And yet I am the only one who has come.” He began walking back to the carriage. “So, I suggest you start addressing me with a modicum of respect, or else I will order my driver to leave you to your fate. The cold is a harsher master than I shall ever be.”

When he looked back, Margaret had remained in the same spot.

“This is not an invitation that can be refused,” he said. “You will come with me. I will not be held liable for your untimely death.”

“Fine. I will go with you,” Margaret said tentatively. “But I cannot abandon Lady Jane’s driver. You must ask your men to look for him... Please, Your Grace.”

Lady Jane ? Alexander suddenly understood why Margaret had been traveling alone. After their skirmish at the Assembly Rooms, Lady Jane must have sent Margaret home in her vehicle. Margaret had been staying with them. Did the widow not realize how that would look to everyone else?

Alexander observed Margaret. She was a persuasive little thing, despite her shortcomings.

He didn’t linger on the thought that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t publicly insulted Viscount Pembroke and been coerced into a fight with her.

There were many things he could blame for this outcome, such as the inclement weather, Lady Jane’s driver, and Margaret herself for escalating the situation beyond repair.

“Then I will see to it that my men search extensively for him before we leave,” Alexander agreed, stepping forward to shepherd her into the carriage under the flickering lamplight. “With any luck, this tempest will have abated by the time we find him, and the road will be easier to navigate.”

Seemingly satisfied, Margaret took the offered lamp with a nod of thanks.

Her fingers brushed against his gloved hand for the briefest second, and Alexander flinched.

The wind had grown sharper, needling through the wet fabrics of his clothes.

Margaret was visibly affected by his touch, by the cold, wrapping her free arm around herself as she fell into step beside him.

His boots squelched through the churned earth, carefully steering them to safety.

“In all my years of living in Wiltshire, I have never known a storm like this,” Margaret began, glancing down. “I had once thought Salisbury the gentlest of places, but— Ah!”

Alexander started at the sound of Margaret’s cry. He barely reached her in time, catching her just before she hit the ground hard. Her weight tipped into his awkwardly, knocking the breath from his lungs as he steadied her. A jolt of electricity raced up his spine.

“My ankle— Dash it all!” The curse escaped her in a hiss, sharp with pain.

She looked down at her foot, which was bare, muddied, and already trembling at the joint.

Her lips pressed into a tight line. “I slipped in the mud,” she said, like there was any doubt this might have been a performance orchestrated for his benefit.

They were only a few paces from the carriage, but with a driver missing, time was of the essence. Without asking her permission, Alexander swooped Margaret into his arms, the lantern casting shadows all around them as it dangled lamely from her hand.

She made a small protest sound while Alexander pressed onward.

Her body was light and cold, trembling in his arms. She was on the taller side of average height, with long legs that dangled like a puppet’s from his arm.

She started slipping and reached for his shoulder, fingers clenching around the muscle.

Though she muttered something under her breath, she didn’t ask him to put her down.

And Alexander, despite feeling his blood turn hot, wasn’t inclined to put her down either.

Having carefully moved Margaret to the carriage, Alexander turned to check in with the footman.

He ordered a search for the missing driver, making it clear that they wouldn’t leave until they found him.

Alexander did his best to aid, preferring to help outside rather than be stuck with Margaret inside .

Before long, he heard his driver exclaim that a man was lying face down in the adjacent field.

It took all three of them to hoist the man out of the dirt and bring him to the boot. In the light, they could see that the driver had suffered a blow to the head, blood trickling down his brow. Alexander pressed his ear to the man’s chest and caught the faint pounding of his heart.

“He’s alive,” Alexander said, directing his men to leverage the driver onto the boot. “Ride as quickly as is safe to Somerstead, or there will be no hope of saving him. Detach Lady Jane’s horses so they can cause no further incidents. We will return to search for them once morning comes.”

A few minutes later, the wind slammed the door to the carriage shut as Alexander entered.

Margaret gasped, curled into the opposite corner, watching him like a wounded animal.

She had taken off her pelisse, exposing her ruined dress.

It was dry and warm inside, despite the floor and upholstery being stained with mud.

Alexander didn’t like messes, and this was, every part of it, one tremendous mess.

Margaret looked at him. “Did you find him?”

“A few yards from where the carriage landed. I suspect he was thrown from his seat and stumbled, dazed, into the field beyond the road,” Alexander explained as he dropped into the space beside her.

“It is thanks to you that he will live. For he is alive, Miss Pembroke, but we should make haste to Somerstead Hall all the same.”

“What do you mean, Somerstead Hall?” Margaret leaned forward in shock, wet ringlets of hair bobbing around her face. “Your Grace, you are not returning me to Lady Jane?”

“Somerstead Hall is much closer, and in this weather, we cannot afford a detour.” He couldn’t believe that she was still arguing with him. “I will send a rider out with a note for Lady Jane once we arrive to let her know where you are. This is the only realistic course of action, Miss Pembroke.”

He doubted she was a very realistic woman, given how she had behaved earlier.

Alexander couldn’t recall much about Margaret from their first meeting.

The shock of finding the painting had eclipsed the memory of her.

But no young lady could have behaved like she had that night and not suffered the consequences long ago.

Pembroke’s disappearance – death, whatever it had been – had obviously had a devastating effect on her senses.

At present, she seemed to be concentrating the bulk of her senses on trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

The carriage began to move cautiously forward, and Alexander searched around for something she could use to cover herself.

Hoyden though she may have been, it was a test of both their prides for her to be cowering in a corner in such a state.

There were no blankets to be found, so Alexander shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

“I cannot,” she protested.

“You will,” he replied. “I will not be forced to watch you die beside me, nor will I be held hostage by your stubbornness.”

When Margaret hesitated, Alexander reached over to drape his coat around her shoulders himself.

She froze under his ministrations, watching him as he fixed the lapels around her neck.

His hand lingered a moment too long, something like guilt suddenly rising inside him.

Sitting this close, her doe-like eyes were rounded, innocent.

It was easy to forget that for all of Pembroke’s wrongs, his daughter had only been an unwitting victim in his schemes, and that just because he was morally bankrupt didn’t mean that Margaret was too.

Although she certainly liked to act that way.

“You left the Assembly Rooms early,” Margaret said, evidently trying to fill the awkward silence as Alexander leaned back. “You would not have been on the road otherwise.”

“I was in no state to remain overlong.” Alexander turned from her to the window. “A gentleman should not be seen as I was seen tonight.”

“Dripping with wine?”