Page 87 of His Scandal
On the Strand, Emmeline’s horse suddenly reared up. With a cry, she caught the pommel before sliding off. Hands reached out of the fog, dragging Alex from his saddle. When a club bashed him over the head, she screamed, then felt herself being pulled down into the mist.
Alex awoke to soft hands touching his head and face, even as he felt his body vibrate with the motion of a moving coach. A smell that was all Emmeline, a refined hint of roses and some other mysterious fragrance, wafted about him. He felt pressure on his chest, heard the rustle of silk skirts, and opened his eyes.
Ah, she was close, her face inches above him in the gloom, her hands holding a cloth to his temple. Her changeable eyes were wide and moist and so concerned.
“Alex?”
He gave her a lazy smile, then grimaced. “So is this your attempt to get me alone?”
“This is serious!” she whispered, looking toward the closed door of the coach. “We’ve been captured!”
“So I see.” He almost straightened up from his slumped position, but thought better of it when he realized Emmeline was practically lying across his lap as she dabbed at his head. “I take it that I’m bleeding.”
She bit her lip and held up the cloth that she had obviously torn from her own underskirts. There wasn’t much blood, though his head was pounding enough to ring a church bell. He deliberately winced, then watched in satisfaction as she leaned even closer.
“Does it hurt much, Alex?”
“Not if you’ll continue your tender ministrations,” he murmured, heaving a sigh and leaning into her hand.
“Oh, you!” she suddenly cried, throwing the cloth at his chest and sitting back into the corner of the bench. A dim lantern hung just above her head, barely piercing the darkness.
He laughed as he sat up and waited for the dizziness to pass. “How long have I been unconscious?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but her glare was already fading. “Close to an hour, I imagine.”
“And we’ve been in the coach the whole time?”
She nodded. “The windows and doors are barred shut from the outside.”
He tested her claim with his own strength. The door didn’t budge, though cracks of daylight teased them.
“’Tis those men, isn’t it?” she said softly. “The ones who attacked you before?”
He glanced over his shoulder to smile at her. “How do you know it’s not a suitor, jealous of my attentions toward you?”
Her eyes glinted with anger. “That isn’t amusing, Alex. We’re in danger here.”
“Not if they’re who you think they are,” he said lightly, though tension tightened his body. “They have yet to do any dirty deed well.”
“But you haven’t caught them, have you.”
He shrugged, then sat back opposite her and stretched out his legs.
Emmeline straightened, glancing between him and the door. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Why aren’t you trying to escape?”
“I’ve already tried, and it seems impossible. All we can do is wait until they confront us.”
“Or kill us!”
“If that’s what they wanted, they’d have done it by now. They want something of me.” Hellfire, she was angry, not even afraid.
But he was. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid—because he’d put her in danger. He’d ignored the threats, pretended that these foolish criminals weren’t capable of carrying out their promises. How would he live with himself if she came to harm because of him?
Huddled in her corner, Emmeline tried not to glare at Alex. He was right—there was no sense in beating futilely at the coach, though the impulse to do just that almost had her squirming.
