The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(58)

“You do not have to say anything to him, Miss Brown,” Hungerford whispered.

Unable to control himself, Vane punched Hungerford on the jaw. The sharp jab served as a warning. “The lady’s name is not Miss Brown,” Vane whispered through gritted teeth. “Her name is Miss Darcy, and she is the sister of Baron Ravenscroft.”

Hungerford gulped in surprise as he clutched his cheek.

Vane caught Estelle’s hands and pulled her forward. “Touch her again, Hungerford, and I’ll break your nose.” Her body was limp, and she flopped into his arms like a cloth doll. “Estelle, please speak to me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Ross,” she breathed. “Help me. Don’t … don’t let him take me.”

All those standing nearby heard her words.

Estelle’s head fell back and her eyes closed. What the devil was wrong with her? Vane bent his head. He could smell wine and something sweet, almost spicy.

“Someone run and fetch a doctor,” Vane cried as a deep sense of dread consumed him. “I fear the lady may have ingested something. I fear she may have been poisoned.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hungerford climbed out of the carriage. “Miss Brown may have taken a drop of laudanum to help settle her stomach for the journey. That is all.”

“Miss Brown?” Drummond raised a suspicious brow. “So this lady is not your wife?”

Hungerford’s cheeks flamed and he pushed his fingers down between his neck and cravat as if struggling to breathe. “The paperwork is a mere formality. We intend to marry once we reach Bath.”

Mr Drummond beckoned his coachman. “Step down, Albert. This coach isn’t leaving the yard until I’ve cleared this matter with the constable.”

“But you’ve no right,” Hungerford protested.

“I have every right.” Drummond stepped closer to the fop and stared down his flat nose as if ready to throttle the man. “I’ll not have folk say I came to the aid of a criminal.”

“Will someone get a blasted doctor!” Vane wanted to beat Hungerford to a pulp, too, but his only concern was for the helpless woman in his arms. He looked down at her. “Estelle, please try to keep your eyes open.”

She blinked again, lifted a weak hand to his cheek. “You … you came for me.”

The muscles in his throat grew tight. “Keep talking. Don’t close your eyes.”

A man lingering near the gates waved his hands and cried, “Here comes the constable.”

“But this is preposterous,” Hungerford complained. “Let me speak to him.” Hungerford stormed through the crowd as if ready to berate the constable for taking the complaint seriously. “We shall have this misunderstanding sorted out in no time.”

But it seemed Hungerford had no intention of confronting the constable. As soon as he reached the gate, he turned on his heels and fled in the opposite direction.

“Someone apprehend that man,” Drummond shouted. “Albert. Connor. Go after him.”

Both coachmen jumped upon hearing their names called and charged after Hungerford. What with the weight of their boxcoats and their stout figures they would be lucky to spot Hungerford let alone catch the fellow. Wickett, on the other hand, raced off like a whippet.

“Is there somewhere the lady can lie down?” Vane asked Drummond.

He didn’t care what happened to Hungerford. If he didn’t pay for his crime today, Vane would see to it that he paid eventually.

“Bring her into the office. There’s a trundle bed I use when waiting for late arrivals.”

Vane carried Estelle to the small wooden building. He was about to cross the threshold when a chorus of cries and high-pitched screams pierced the air. A cacophony of other noises accompanied the din: splintering wood, the squeal of frightened horses, a blood-chilling shriek.

Albert returned. “Mr Drummond, come quickly.” The man couldn’t catch his breath. “The … the carriage ploughed right into him.”

Fear rattled in Vane’s chest.

Don’t let it be Wickett.

Drummond hurried off after his coachman.

Vane kicked the open door and entered Drummond’s office. He placed Estelle down gently on the bed, knelt at her side and clutched her hand.

A boy knocked the door and stepped into the room. “Doctor’s on his way, my lord, said he’d be a few minutes.”

Vane nodded.

He sat staring at Estelle, brushed strands of silky hair off her face and stroked her cheek. Memories of the past surfaced, images that pained him even now. He had been too late to save her from the disaster on The Torrens, too late to save her from eight years of hell. But Fate had blessed him today.

“Ross.” Estelle opened her eyes and looked at him. “Don’t … don’t go. Stay with me.”

Vane forced a smile. “Nothing could tear me away.”





Chapter Sixteen





Doctor Hanson spent thirty minutes examining Estelle. Vane suspected Hungerford had given her an overdose of laudanum and prayed to God he was right, and that no permanent damage was done.

While Vane stood waiting for the results of Hanson’s observations, Wickett returned and explained how Hungerford had darted across the street, dodged one carriage but fell into the path of another. The poor coachman failed to stop in time and now had the death of the foolish fop on his conscience.