Page 42 of The Heart of an Earl

Things he’d missed. Things he hadn’t thought about in years. A parasol. A reticule.

All things any fashionable lady would not dare to go outside without and Jules hadn’t asked for any of them.

He looked to her. “Would you wait out here—I forgot to mention something to the shop girl.”

Her eyebrow lifted, but she nodded. “I will lean against the brick of the shop.” A grin crooked her lips. “You know I cannot get far on these legs.”

With a wink, Des ducked back into the shop, requesting a matching parasol and reticule for Jules. The shop girl hustled about the store, bringing him back several choices of each.

“All of these would work well with her dress, sir.”

Des stared at the items on the counter—foreign, all of them to him. And he had no clue what Jules would like—what she wouldn’t. Parasols and reticules had not made it into their topics of conversation.

He knew nothing of the person she was on land. What she would like or dislike in the surroundings of the real world. Not the world defined by the few feet of his cabin.

Des waved his hand over the items. “Whatever you think would work for her best will do.”

He’d find out eventually—what she liked, what she didn’t, how she moved through the world now that it was hers again. He’d find all of that out eventually, but first, he had to get her home.

The shop girl chose a reticule and a dove grey parasol, and Des quickly settled the bill, clutching the items without having them wrapped, and he went back out to the street.

No Jules.

He looked down the lane to where their hired coach had been waiting for them.

No carriage.

He searched back and forth along the rows of buildings in both directions, his look stopping at every nook and cranny, hoping for a glimpse of her.

Panic swelled into his throat.

He hadn’t even left her for five blasted minutes. Where could she have disappeared to?

Des started down the street, moving toward the docks, his head swiveling, searching.

Ten buildings ahead of him, a black carriage turned sharply to the left and cut off a wagon, the back of the cart nearly tipping over as it veered to avoid crashing.

The hired carriage. But it hadn’t been just the hackney driver atop the coachman’s box. The driver had another man sitting next to him. Rough clothes. Scraggy beard. Someone just off a ship.

Dropping the parasol and reticule, Des ran at full speed, shoving aside carts and people. He reached the crossroad the hack had turned on and looked for the coach. It crested the hill that lined the land just before the area of the docks. Too bloody far away for him to run.

The coach would get lost in the maze of those streets in no time.

Des looked around, frantic, and saw a man on a horse. Good enough. He jumped into the roadway and simultaneously grabbed the reins and the man’s arm, yanking him off the horse.

A yelp, but the man didn’t fight it, surprised as he was to be falling and hitting the ground. Des tossed two sovereignsonto the man’s chest and then jumped onto the horse, yelling over his shoulder at the poor soul as he sent the horse running. “Apologies, sir. You’ll find her at the docks, unharmed.”

Blasphemies rang into the air behind him, but Des had set the horse into a gallop down the street and the swearing quickly faded behind him.

Blood pounding in his ears, he set his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it past carriages and wagons bringing goods from the docks.

He caught up to their hired coach just as it started to slow a street away from the waterfront. The horse reared as he yanked on the reins, and Des slid off the saddle jumping to the ground before it settled.

He shifted into a spot directly behind the carriage just as it stopped.

Muffled voices. Screeching.

Jules screeching.

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