Page 19 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
“What has happened?” he asked. “Why are we slowing down?”
“We just passed a woman lying in the road,” Nash explained. “She might be hurt.”
“Or a trap laid out for travellers by bandits in these parts.”
Johnson could be right, but Nash felt differently in his gut. “I suggest you keep your pistol within reach if you are afraid,” he told the man. “But I mean to help that woman.”
“You do not mean to get out, Your Grace!” the valet exclaimed.
“That woman could be hurt, Johnson. It’s our responsibility as humans to help one another. Now, you can either follow me or stay in the carriage.”
Johnson shook his head but drew out his pistol. “Where you go, I go.”
Although he had been prepared to go out alone, Nash was relieved he would have his valet at his back.
He climbed out of the carriage with caution, briefly looking around before going over to the woman. Much of her body was covered by a dark cloak, but he could see half of her face.
Crouching down before her, Nash attempted to gain her attention. “Miss? Miss?”
No response. Was she asleep? But why would a woman fall asleep in the middle of nowhere? It didn’t make sense unless Johnson was right and he had just walked into a trap.
Nash gently shook the woman, alarmed not to get the slightest response from her. Was she dead? Had something happened to her?
He crept a little closer and rolled her onto her back, surprised to see the woman was young and rather beautiful. What was a woman like her doing here? Nash grew queasy when he noticed a dark substance on her temple and realised a rock lay under the woman’s head. Had she fallen and hit her head?
“Is she alive, Your Grace?” Johnson asked.
Nash held the woman’s wrist and was relieved to find a strong pulse. “Yes, she is, but she is hurt. Help me lift her.”
“You do not mean to put her into the carriage!”
“Would you rather leave her here to fall prey to whoever comes this way? She seems harmless to me, Johnson. Look at her.”
The valet peered over his shoulder, sighing. “I suppose so, but your sister will not be impressed that I allowed you to do this. She frowns upon such things.”
“No one allows me to do anything,” Nash reminded him. “I am my own person. She seems small enough to carry on my own, but I’ll need you to help me get her into the carriage.”
“I do not know, Your Grace ...”
“I am not asking you, Johnson.”
The man sighed. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“Help me quickly so we can move on,” Nash ordered the man. “You did say bandits might be around these parts.”
The valet moved away, and Nash tried his best to lift the woman without jostling her. She could be hurt elsewhere, and he did not wish to worsen her injuries. Once he had settled her against him, he gazed upon her face, once again struck by how beautiful she was.
The woman’s cap must have been loose because it slipped off and freed the hair underneath, enveloping him in jasmine. She had been beautiful with her cap on, but without it, she looked ethereal, especially with the moon shining on her porcelain skin. Who was she? How did she end up on the side of the road?
“I am ready, Your Grace,” the valet informed him. “Give the woman to me.”
Nash turned to him and reluctantly placed the woman in the man’s hands. “Put her on my seat. I’ll put her head on my lap.”
“That is not necessary, Your Grace. I’ll put her on my side.”
“No,” Nash said firmly. “You were not so keen to help her a moment ago.”
“I still have my reservations, Your Grace. Allow me to sit with her and spare you the trouble. We still have several hours ahead of us.”
