Page 6 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

A cheek of rose and cream

And eyes of softest blue

Have sparked so sweet a dream

In a longing heart that’s true.

Hugo smiled as he tooled his stylish yellow-and-black curricle onto Bond Street.

Under instruction from Ivor, who might be a nitwit but who had very strict ideas on how a Town buck should comport himself, Hugo had joined the parade of notables in Hyde Park.

Each afternoon, everyone who was anyone made an appearance to see and be seen.

On a cold October afternoon, Hugo had a suspicion that numbers had been down, but he’d been game.

And the idea of taking his spirited pair of black horses out had appealed.

He’d bought them at Tattersall’s last week and so far was delighted with their high-stepping magnificence.

He’d never imagined that he’d take to cutting a dash in London, but the admiring glances his smart vehicle and fine horses attracted had provided unexpected satisfaction.

Even Ivor had tendered his approval when he and his sister had promenaded past Hugo.

Now he deviated from Ivor’s instructions and took a detour past a certain sweet shop on his way home.

Hugo hadn’t thought that he was so superficial as to desire the crowd’s admiration, but it seemed he was.

Even worse, he drove along Bond Street now because he hoped to encounter Miss de Smith on her way home.

His natty rig and skill with the ribbons might gain her attention.

If his sisters could see him, they’d mock him unmercifully as a vain popinjay.

As he rolled up to Sweet Little Nothings, he was delighted to see Miss de Smith standing outside the shop. He was less delighted to see a heavyset gentleman looming over her. He was positively furious to notice the possessive way that the man’s hand curled around her arm.

Hugo reined the horses back to a walk, as he paused to assess the situation. He knew nothing about Aphrodite de Smith’s private life. She could have a suitor, or even a lover. But something about the man’s belligerent manner and Miss de Smith’s defiant stance told him that she was afraid.

The idea of Miss de Smith being afraid made Hugo livid, although even in the light of the street lamp, she was too far away for him to see her expression. “Hold the horses’ heads, Paul,” he called to his tiger.

“Aye, Sir Hugo,” the lad said, jumping off the back of the carriage and scampering up to grab the halter.

Without being aware of running, Hugo leaped from the curricle and covered the distance to the couple near the sweet shop. Now he was closer, he read the tension in Miss de Smith’s delicate jaw and the way she braced her shoulders.

“Miss de Smith, is this gentleman inconveniencing you?”

She turned to him with unhidden relief. “Sir Hugo!”

The man, swarthy and dark-browed, shot him a hostile glance. “Not your concern, old man. Go on your way.”

Hugo planted himself at Miss de Smith’s side. “I’d like to hear from the lady.”

“You’re interfering.”

“No manners. Never had any,” he said cheerfully. “Happy to brawl in the street like a ruffian if I have to.”

He saw the sod consider pushing the point, but something about Hugo must convince him that he didn’t want to provoke a physical confrontation. Perhaps that Hugo was a good five inches taller and knew that he could beat any ham-fisted Londoner if it came to a fight.

“No harm meant, old chap.”

Hugo kept his smile in place. He could see it unnerved the lout. “You should release the lady, sir.”

When the man’s expression turned savage, Hugo prepared to use his fists. He wasn’t by nature a violent man, but the prospect of pummeling the brute’s oafish features to a pulp was fiendishly tempting.

After a suspenseful second, the fellow lifted his hand away from Miss de Smith and stepped back. “You’re welcome to the bitch.”

Hugo’s vision turned red and he lurched forward to eradicate this presumptuous slug, only to stop at the sound of a soft protest. “Please, Sir Hugo. I don’t want a scandal.”

He sucked in a shaky breath and forced his gloved fists to his sides. Controlling his temper felt like putting a stopper in a volcano. “He should pay for his discourtesy, madam.”

“He doesn’t matter,” she said in a reedy voice.

Hugo had calmed down enough to see the barely hidden alarm on the man’s face. They both knew that Hugo had come close to committing murder. “Get out of my sight. And leave Miss de Smith alone from now on.”

The man looked like he wanted to object, but caution overcame bravado and he performed a curt bow. “Miss de Smith.”

Hugo took her arm, worried that she might crumple. It was the first time that he’d touched her. Even through layers of winter clothing and his leather gloves, he felt the thundering impact. After his anger of seconds ago, the powerful reaction left him reeling. “Are you all right?”

“I…”

The man in the black greatcoat had turned the corner and was no longer in view. Hugo felt Miss de Smith slump. He shifted to put his arm around her. “Let me take you inside.”

“No,” she said faintly. “He might come back.”

The words “I could stay” rushed to his lips, but he bit them back. She was already frightened. He didn’t want to frighten her further.

In her office, she made a formidable figure. Strong. Confident. Commanding. Now he held her, he realized that she wasn’t as tall as he’d thought and her body was willowy rather than whipcord. She was trembling. He hated that.

He resisted the urge to tighten his embrace, even if every masculine instinct urged him to shield and comfort. He was well aware that in her eyes, he could pose a threat as much as the man he’d sent off.

Although he noticed that she wasn’t doing much to break free. Interesting. “Where do you live? My carriage is at your disposal.”

“I have a room behind the office.”

So that wouldn’t work. “Do you have family or friends I can deliver you to?”

“No…no family.”

“Friends then?”

“Only Sylvie.”

How was it that this resplendent creature was so alone? “Where does Madame Lebeau live?”

“Blackfriars.”

“Then let me take you there.”

The weakness had subsided and she straightened.

Hugo should release her, he knew. She was capable of standing now.

His arm didn’t heed the command of his brain.

Miss de Smith remained pressed against his side.

She was close enough for him to catch a drift of her scent.

Something warm and vaguely redolent of paper and ink, with an underlay of lovely woman.

He resisted the impulse to bury his nose in the nape of her neck.

“Thank you,” she said. “And you should let me go.”

He should, by Jupiter. She’d already told him that she had to be careful of her reputation. Cuddling up to a man outside Sweet Little Nothings would cause talk.

The street was quiet and night had fallen. Nevertheless, Hugo swung around until they stood in shadow. He was in a heavy black greatcoat and her pelisse matched the depressing shades of the rest of her wardrobe. Or at least what he’d seen of it.

Instead of releasing her – his gut still churned with the anger and dread that had surged when he realized someone was bullying her – he asked, “Who is he?”

“Lord Alfred Plunkett. He came into the shop yesterday with Alexander Comerford and made a nuisance of himself.”

“Comerford seems a good fellow.” The young Viscount Orford was one of London’s most eligible bachelors and heir to his father Lord Lumsden’s title.

“He is. He gave Plunkett a dressing-down and got him out of the shop quick smart. I thought that was the end of it. But Plunkett was waiting after I finished up tonight.”

When she shuddered, Hugo’s rage threatened to slip out of control. “You need protection. Two lone women together are asking for trouble, especially when you’re dealing with all these men.”

“We’ve got our storeman Joseph. He used to be a prizefighter. Although most of the time, Sylvie turns on her aristocratic tone and that keeps any unruly gentlemen in line.”

“And you do your best to crush any disrespect,” he said, relieved that someone was on the premises to repel unwelcome advances.

“It doesn’t seem to have worked in your case,” she said with something approaching her usual crispness. “I really must insist you let me go, Sir Hugo.”

She was right. They were in a public street. Not to mention that she’d already fought off one importunate male this evening.

He set his jaw and made himself step back.

Releasing her required an enormous effort, completely out of scale with the action.

She’d been beguiling in his grasp. Even more, it had felt right to him.

Like someone had opened a window to a new and beautiful landscape that he’d never known lay just outside.

“I should apologise,” he said. “I could promise that I mean you no harm, but because you don’t know me, that’s just words. You’ve already had to fight off one knave tonight. I’d hate you to put me in the same category.”

“I don’t think Lord Alfred is coming back.”

Hugo bit back his disappointment when Miss de Smith didn’t insist that of course she trusted him. Even though it was unfair to expect that she would. “Nonetheless, I’d feel better if I took you to Madame Lebeau. Will you allow me that privilege? I swear I’ll keep my distance.”

He felt her studying him through the gloom. “I can walk there. It’s not far.”

“I’d rather make sure you arrived safely.”

“A gentleman’s carriage turning up at Sylvie’s will create too much interest.”

She had a point. But if she thought that he was going to let her wander off without his protection, she had another think coming. “Very well. I’ll drive you back to my stables. My tiger will act as chaperone. Then we can take a hackney to Madame Lebeau’s rooms where I’ll consign you to her care.”

“You’re very high-handed,” she said in a neutral voice. “I’ve coped on my own in London for several years without you.”

“Do you want to walk unescorted halfway across London and through a cold night when Lord Alfred may be waiting?”

“You scared him off.”

Hugo thought so, too. He’d straightaway recognized that the bastard was an arrant coward, ready to impose himself on someone who couldn’t fight back but quick to turn tail when faced with a genuine threat. “He’s not the only dangerous man in London.”

She released a breath that sounded like impatience. “No, so I gather.” Before Hugo could protest at the unspoken accusation that he was dangerous as well, she went on. “What a very persistent man you are.”

“I am. But I can’t in conscience permit a lady to put herself at risk. You have my word as a gentleman that I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“Very gallant.”

He ignored the irony in her response. “I’ve got a pistol in my pocket. I’m happy to hand that over, if you fear my intentions.”

Her eyes rounded. “You expect me to shoot you?”

“No, I don’t. Because I’ll behave with perfect decorum.”

To his regret.

Her short laugh conveyed both chagrin and surrender. “Very well.”

This swift capitulation surprised him. “You’ll let me accompany you?”

“Yes. It’s too cold to stand out here arguing and you’re right – I’ve had a long day and a nasty fright. Riding to Sylvie’s in a nice warm carriage appeals more than a freezing hike where I jump at every shadow.”

“Excellent.” He took her arm. Really what he wanted to do was sweep her back to his house on Jermyn Street. That time would come, but not yet. Miss de Smith was right. He was a determined man. Even more, he was a patient man.

“Paul, over here,” he called.

“Aye, Sir Hugo,” the lad replied and brought the carriage up to where Hugo and Miss de Smith stood. “I started walking the horses. It’s too cold to let them stand.”

“Good thinking, lad. It’s too cold for mortal folk to stand, too. We’re taking Miss de Smith to Jermyn Street, then I’ll send you for a hackney.”

“Aye, sir.” While the boy held the horses’ heads, Hugo handed Miss de Smith up into the carriage. She moved with a smooth elegance that made his heart skip in admiration. Her confidence when she settled into her seat suggested a familiarity with expensive conveyances.

There was a mystery about the ladies at Sweet Little Nothings.

Both carried themselves like women of breeding.

Both wore invisible but unmissable signs around their necks which said, “Don’t touch and don’t ask questions.

” More patience was required, but Hugo promised himself that one day, he’d learn all this woman’s secrets.

He wasn’t convinced by Miss de Smith’s unlikely name. He wasn’t convinced about much that he knew about her at all. Perhaps she was attached after all. Perhaps there was a husband, dead or alive, in the shadows.

By Jove, he didn’t like that idea.

Hugo jumped in beside her and gathered up the reins in one hand. “I’ve got them, Paul. Into the back with you.”

He held the horses, while he dug in his coat and produced the small pearl-handled pistol that he’d inherited from his father. “Here.”

They were under one of the street lamps, so he could see Miss de Smith’s face below the plain black bonnet. By heaven, she dressed like a poor parson’s widow.

She was staring at him as if he was mad. “I couldn’t shoot you.”

Amusement quirked his lips. “You might change your mind about that when you know me better.”

He waited for her to put him in his place and tell him that she had no intention of furthering their acquaintance. After all, she’d refused his invitation to dinner. But she surprised him. “You saved me from Lord Alfred. It would be ungracious to take a potshot at you.”

Hugo smiled. Partly at her wry humor which he liked. More because she opened the door to further meetings. He pocketed his gun and clicked his tongue to the horses. “That’s reassuring. It would be a pity to bring such a promising friendship to a premature end.”

“I’m sure I’ll write many more verses to help you win Lady Petronella,” she said with a hint of warning.

He restrained a smile and kept his gaze fixed between the horses’ ears. “Who?”