Page 7 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
“I am being reasonable,” Laurence replied as they walked.
Laurence Thornwaite, the Duke of Alderbourne, knew his friend well enough to know that James would not drop the issue until it was resolved to his satisfaction.
“I would not call being a recluse reasonable.”
“If you were in my situation, you would have a much different opinion,” Laurence sighed.
“Laurence, I am your good friend. I have known you for how long now?” James asked.
“Too long.”
“Oi!” James laughed. “Do you really think I would lead you into trouble?”
“You have done exactly that,” Laurence said, trying not to smirk. “Frequently.”
“Ah! I saw that! You’re stifling a smile,” James drawled.
“That does not mean I will agree to go to that… frivolous gathering of gawkers with you.”
“I would hardly call a charity ball frivolous!” James protested.
Laurence almost rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he had little interest in dancing, nor did he think the ton would welcome his presence. He instinctively put a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the edge of the scar. The twisted knots of skin marred the left side of his face, neck, and shoulder.
Suddenly, a massivecrackrippled through the street.
Laurence’s head snapped in the direction of the noise. He watched as the groom lost control of the team, the horses surging forward in a frenzy of flailing hooves and snorts, the phaeton jolting and swaying behind them as it careened down the street.
“Help!” the groom shouted, before losing his balance and being thrown off the phaeton.
Laurence’s stomach lurched as screams split the air and people shoved past one another, fleeing in all directions.
“Mama!” a little boy shouted.
The child stood in the middle of the road, too terrified to move out of harm’s way.
“Move! Get out of the way!” Laurence shouted as he hurled himself down the street.
He grabbed the bridle of a nearby horse, swung himself into the saddle, and thundered toward the frightened team of horses. The cobbles jostled him, but he ignored the pain.
“Steady now. Steady!” he muttered, forcing his steed to go faster.
Just before the horses could trample the boy, Laurence yanked their bridles to the side. He gritted his teeth as sharp pain shot through his shoulder at the force, nearly tearing his arm from its socket.
Hooves clattered against hooves. The phaeton wobbled dangerously.
“Hold together!” someone cried.
One horse whinnied.
The phaeton slammed into a post, and its axle shattered, finally halting the horses. Laurence pulled hard on the reins to stop his steed, his chest burning from the adrenaline.
He dismounted. “Are you both all right?” he called to the couple, then turned to face the assembled crowd.
The boy’s mother came running, pulling Laurence into a grateful embrace. “Thank God!” she cried, hugging him tight. “Thank y—” She stopped once she realized whom she was thanking.
Gasps echoed down the street as Laurence felt the crowd’s collective gaze land on his face.
The boy Laurence had just saved pointed up at him and whispered in a trembling voice from behind his mother’s skirts, “Mama…”
