Page 48 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Unsurprisingly, Meg listened intently, then equally unsurprisingly, frowned. “So if, after all, we decide we don’t suit and dissolve our engagement in early June, you’ll have to very quickly look about you for another suitable candidate.”
His lips tightened, but he had to admit, “Yes. But you don’t need to worry about that—not if it comes to us deciding to break things off after all.” He suddenly had a horrible thought and hurried to say, “Promise me that you won’t allow my need of a suitable bride to sway you when it comes time to make our final decision.” He met her gaze and, with all the authority he could muster, stated, “When you make up your mind to marry me, I don’t want you putting my impending need of a bride on the scales.”
Meg studied his face, his eyes. She was starting to be able to tell when he was wearing no mask, and he wasn’t at that moment. He was entirely sincere in issuing that last, distinctly ducal command—definitely an honorable one when all was said and done.
When he continued to wait as if for her agreement, she inclined her head. “Very well,” she conceded and looked ahead.
They continued strolling toward the gate.
A minute later, she asked, “Could Hubert know about your father’s will?” She met Drago’s eyes. “Could knowledge of the situation you would face were we not to marry be behind his resistance to Joshua’s suit?”
“I was pondering that, but I can’t see how he might know. As you can imagine, I’ve kept that fact a closely guarded secret.”
She thought, then huffed. “If that stipulation had become widely known, you would have been fighting off the matchmakers from the moment the will was read.”
“Exactly. When I asked Aunt Edith for her help, I swore her to silence on that point, and she’s not one to break her word. So I can’t imagine how Hubert would have learned of it, nor can I guess why he’s interfering in Alison and Joshua’s lives.”
Meg—and she suspected Drago, too—was still pondering that mystery as they reached the York Gate and passed through. On the pavement, they turned right and were strolling toward where Drago’s carriage waited, with his tiger straightening from his slouch against the park rails, when a sudden pained yelp had her and Drago whirling around.
A half-grown, golden-pelted puppy shot out into the street.
Directly into the path of a phaeton-and-four being driven smartly along the paved road.
“No!” Without thought, Meg dashed after the pup. “Look out!”
Drago’s heart leapt into his mouth. For an instant, time slowed, and he saw with absolute clarity what was about to occur.
He raced after Meg.
He reached her just as she crouched and scooped the now-cowering pup into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her, puppy and all, and knowing that the driver would haul hard on the reins and instinctively swing the high-stepping chestnuts the other way, he lifted Meg and pivoted sharply so that she was closer to the pavement and protected by his body as the off-side horse’s shoulder rammed into his back. He was jolted forward, but he’d braced against the blow and didn’t go flying.
Pandemonium ensued. The near-side leader attempted to rear, and the curricle’s driver cursed as he frantically tried to manage his panicking horses.
Men ran from all around to help.
Drago’s heart was still pounding. He took another step toward the pavement, out of the immediate melee, then ducked his head and looked into Meg’s white face. “Are you all right?”
Sky-blue eyes huge, apparently mute with shock, she nodded.
The horses were still restless, shifting and stamping, but more or less under control. A crowd had gathered and were staring and exclaiming, but the danger was past.
“Good God, Wylde! Is that you?”
Drago looked over his shoulder to see Carmichael-Craik sitting on the phaeton’s elevated box seat and staring down at him, utterly incredulous. “Daniel,” Drago replied. “My apologies. That was…entirely unexpected.”
Carmichael-Craik goggled at him.
Imperturbably, Drago rolled on, “I have to confess that, all in all, I’m rather glad it was you behind the reins.” He tipped his head toward the four powerful horses. “Not many men would have been strong enough to hold them.”
“Yes, well…” Carmichael-Craik, who was well aware of the quality of horses Drago drove, plainly didn’t know whether to preen or give in to his justifiable anger.
Before anger bubbled up again, Drago adjusted his arms about Meg and turned so that, with one arm at her waist, steadying her, they were facing the phaeton side by side. “I don’t believe you’ve yet met my fiancée—my duchess-to-be, Miss Cynster.”
The name had Carmichael-Craik blinking.
Confirming that while Meg might not like horses, she knew she’d committed something of a sin, she raised a contrite face to Carmichael-Craik. “I’m so very sorry, sir. I would never normally have chanced injuring your superb team, but…” She glanced down at the soft, squirming bundle of golden puppy who was doing his best to bury his muzzle beneath her arm, then looked up at Carmichael-Craik. “I simply couldn’t let him be trampled under your horses’ hooves. That would have been…dreadful.”
Carmichael-Craik stared at her, then cleared his throat. “Indeed, Miss Cynster. Absolutely ghastly.” His strangled tone left Drago in no doubt that Carmichael-Craik was envisaging what would have happened had his horses trampled Miss Cynster, fiancée of the Duke of Wylde.
