Page 29 of The Blind Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Annette waited at the side of the ballroom for her husband to return from his errand of retrieving the closed carriage.

Watching couples whisk across the dance floor to the steps and music of a Viennese waltz tugged a smile from her.

The colors in the soft candlelight were beautiful, while the sway of the dancers reminded her of paintings she’d seen at the British Museum.

The Earl of Blackthorne circulated among his guests, and he cut quite a striking figure among those acquaintances.

Though he was handsome enough, she much preferred her husband’s dark looks and his tinted spectacles as well as the shallow divot in his chin.

Since the day she’d married him, her views on having a husband again had changed.

Yes, she would always have a spot in her heart where she missed Timothy, and no doubt that grief would bedevil her, but she’d also learned that there was nothing wrong in carrying those feelings even while wed to another man.

The human heart had a large capacity for love.

A tiny gasp left her throat as she stared unseeing at the dancing couples.

Did she love Peregrine? Every day that had passed since their nuptial ceremony, he had proved exactly what sort of man he was and how romantic he was at heart.

The small floral bouquets he continued to bring her with each new morning never failed to bring a smile, but it was his words, his patience, his encouragement, his capacity for incorporating her into every aspect of his life that had eventually wormed its way into her heart, her soul, and had bonded them together more than anything else.

Perhaps I’ve fallen in love with him gently, sneakily, and without fanfare.

How very odd and somewhat lovely. With a shake of her head, she came out of her bemusing thoughts knowing that she wished to say those words to him, and the sooner the better. Yet he hadn’t come back into the ballroom to retrieve her.

Had there been traffic? Could he not immediately locate his driver?

Then a couple came into the ballroom in some agitation. Clearly, it had started to rain, for the woman’s skirting clung to her legs in places, and the man’s hair was plastered to his head since his top hat was missing.

“There has been a rather horrid carriage accident just now,” the woman said in a breathless voice as one of her friends rushed over to the late arrival. “That is why we are delayed; we couldn’t get through the street.”

The man nodded. He took a hand towel offered from a footman. “It probably happened due to the rain that came on all of a sudden, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was loss of life.”

Seconds later, they were engulfed in a circle of friends and acquaintances, and the ball resumed around them since the waltz had ended.

Yet the damage had been done. The strength in Annette’s knees gave out, and she sank onto the nearest chair at the wall.

Was that why Peregrine had been delayed?

It was her worst nightmare, especially since Timothy had died from violent causes.

A bit of lightheadedness came over her while her mouth went dry and her heartbeat accelerated.

I need to know what happened to him.

When she rose to her feet, the room spun slightly, but before she went crashing to the floor, the Earl of Blackthorne was there with a supporting arm about her waist.

“Easy, Lady Masterson.” The rumble of his voice as he whispered to her only provided a modicum of comfort. “When I saw your unease, I came immediately over. Are you all right? I can escort you to the ladies’ retiring room.”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “With the news of the accident, my mind went to the worst-case scenario, and since Peregrine hasn’t yet returned from retrieving our carriage…” Tears filled her eyes. Was he even now hurt and bleeding within the wreckage?

“Come with me. We will find out for ourselves what has delayed your husband.” Then the earl escorted her from the ballroom.

With every step, Annette’s chest tightened. Fear played icy fingers down her spine. As soon as they exited the townhouse, she couldn’t help but crane her neck to peer down the street, for there was a large gathering of people standing around the most horrific scene she’d ever seen.

“Oh, no.” Again, the strength in her legs failed her, but Blackthorne was there, keeping her upright. She barely noticed the rain seeping through her hair and into the fabric of her gown or even the sound of it as it came down and dampened everything around her.

“Breathe, Lady Masterson. We don’t know anything yet.” As he spoke, he guided her closer to the accident site, but he left her on the pavement. “Stay here. I will inquire about what happened and who was involved.”

She’d barely nodded when he went toward the carnage of what appeared to be two carriages and a larger vehicle much like a post coach.

The frames of the vehicles lay twisted and broken around each other.

Benches had been ripped from their housing.

Horses uttered terrified whinnies as other men worked to free them from the tangle of leather reins and harnesses.

Blackthorne moved among the gawkers at the accident.

He helped to haul one of the drivers from the mess, and thankfully, that man was alive and conscious.

However, there was a male form dressed in evening clothes that rested in a crumpled heap at the opposite side of the crowded street, and she nearly retched from worry.

Was it Peregrine?

She couldn’t wait, couldn’t be one of those women who stood by wringing her hands in the hopes of some sort of news would make its way to her.

Quickly drenched from the rain, Annette staggered closer to the accident site.

In the dark, it was nearly impossible to identify the remains of the carriages, but she looked anyway, needed to see some sort of sign of the duke’s crest on a door or the shiny gold-painted letters of his title.

When that wasn’t to be, hot panic rose in her chest. “Peregrine!” If he was alive, would he even hear her call?

Dear God, I can’t lose him. I’m not strong enough to survive widowhood a second time.

She pushed her way through the swiftly gathering crowds of people who were there more to look at the potential deaths than to lend a helping hand.

Rain hindered her progress and added a filter in her vision.

“Masterson! Has anyone seen the Duke of Masterson?”

Of course there was no answer, and what was more, no one seemed to care.

Movement in the shadows from the corner of her eye caught Annette’s attention.

It was then she spied a closed carriage sitting perhaps fifty yards away from the horrible wreck in front of her.

From the illumination of a lantern hanging at the side of the carriage, she caught the unmistakable golden embellishment of the duke’s crest.

With a cry of relief, she ran along the street, regardless of the mud that sucked at her slippers and completely destroyed the lower third of her gown. Once she reached the set of matched bays that pulled the vehicle, she glanced at the driver. “Is the duke within?”

“No, Your Grace.” The young driver shook his head. “He came to the mews and ordered the carriage brought ’round to the earl’s townhouse, but he told me that he’d rather walk back. This was before the rain began. I don’t know what became of him once he left.”

Once more, dread filled her chest as she cast her glance about. “Masterson?”

The driver manipulated the reins, for the horses were skittish. “If you wish, I can drive back into the mews and help you search for him.”

“No, please stand by. If I locate him and he’s been a part of this,” she gestured toward the horrific scene behind her, “he’ll need medical attention immediately. I’ll return shortly.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Lifting her heavy, wet skirting, Annette ran past the carriage.

She moved her head back and forth, peering through the rain and the darkness for any sign of her missing husband.

The more she put distance between herself and the wreck, the more quiet it became, but then, her breath caught, and her heart lodged in her throat.

Just outside a golden pool of illumination made from a gaslight was her husband, sitting on the side of the road with his knees drawn up and his forehead resting on them.

Oh, dear God.

“Peregrine!” Not knowing whether she should laugh or cry, she gave into tears as she pelted toward his location.

Once she arrived, she dropped to her knees beside him.

“I was so worried when you didn’t come back, and then when there was the news of the accident…

” She scrubbed at her cheeks, but the tears blended with the rain, and it was a useless endeavor. “Are you injured? Are you hurt?”

“Annette?” He raised his head and blinked at her even though she knew he couldn’t see. “What are you doing here?”

Clearly, he hadn’t heard anything she’d said. “Searching for you. I feared you were involved in the carriage accident.”

“Oh.” Slowly, he lowered his legs then took one of her hands. “I very nearly was.” Fear and shock reflected in the blue depths of his eyes behind his tinted lenses. “I needed a moment.”

“Tell me.” The dark shadow of stubble that clung to his cheeks and jaw sent a shiver of need through her insides, but she clung to his hand.

“Tell me what happened.” It didn’t matter that it was pouring rain or nearly midnight or that seemingly half of Mayfair was out to gawk at the carnage fifty yards behind them. Her husband was here, and he was well.

“I, uh, I went to the mews as I told you. It took a bit to find Teddy, the driver, but once I did, I told him to bring ’round the carriage, that we wanted to go home.”

“Yes, your driver said as much.”