Tired of his mind being a chaotic swirl of indecision, he cursed beneath his breath. He clutched Miss Vale by her trim waist and lowered her to the ground. With an impatient sigh, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it around her shoulders, helped her thrust her arms into the sleeves.
“Cavanagh, take the carriage and follow Layton. In all likelihood, he’s turned into the Strand. Wait for us there.”
Lawrence did not wait for Cavanagh’s reply. He slammed the carriage door, grabbed Miss Vale’s hand and led her into the dark alley known as White Hart Yard.
“Under no circumstances must you remove your mask.” His heart thumped so hard he could barely catch his breath. “You will remain by my side the entire time.”
“While such brusque commands would ordinarily trigger a need to run,” she said, breaking into a jog to keep his fast pace. “I shall abide by your request.”
“You want an adventure, Miss Vale. I can guarantee you will get one.”
Hell, this woman drove him to distraction. She tore down his defensive barriers, left a crippling sense of vulnerability he fought hard to suppress.
“The thrum of excitement is addictive,” she said, puffing beside him. “I don’t think I have ever felt so alive.”
“Not even when praying over my brother’s grave at midnight?”
“No, not even then.”
“When one lives recklessly, Miss Vale, one must be prepared for the consequences.” The need to protect her and ravish her waged an internal war. He should have his mind fixed on catching Wincote not looking for ways to please this woman.
“A life spent wasting away over one’s needlework is hardly a life at all,” she countered. “The satisfaction that comes with righting a wrong must surely be worth the risk.”
“And some wrongs can never be rectified. One must learn to live with the injustice.”
“As you have done.”
“As many people have done. We all have our crosses to bear. Yours is the weakness of your sex.”
“And yours is the illegitimacy of your birth.”
She was wrong. He could have coped with society’s criticism had his parents loved him. “Mine is rejection, Miss Vale. I do not need the aristocracy’s approval, but I would have preferred that my parents had not cast me aside.”
Good Lord. He had not uttered those words to another living soul. This woman was more dangerous than he’d first supposed.
“Come, let us focus on our task,” he said before she offered a sympathetic reply. “We should keep our wits when wandering the dark al
leys at night.”
Miss Vale gripped his hand firmly. “Mr Cavanagh has the easiest task, I’m sure. Here, it is impossible to see anything through the gloom.”
That was what worried him. Vagabonds and petty thieves took shelter in the shadows. From there, they eyed their unsuspecting prey. Stalked them through the murky lanes where they were more likely to escape detection.
Wincote might be halfway across town by now.
They should have stayed with Cavanagh and chased Layton instead. But ever since Miss Vale mentioned Wincote having the same bearing as her masked attacker, Lawrence had been ready to rip the man’s throat out with his hands. And of course, the devil inside welcomed any opportunity to keep her close.
He mocked those men who allowed passion to overrule logic but had never experienced the dilemma firsthand.
Eager to reach the relative safety of the Strand, and still with no sign of the blackguard they were chasing, they turned left into Swan Yard.
Lawrence had taken but five steps when every hair on his body sprang to attention. An icy chill ran down his back. Upon hearing muffled voices and the scuffle of boots on the cobblestones, he brought Miss Vale to a crashing halt.
Damnation!
With no time to lose, he pulled her into the nearest doorway, wrapped his arms around her waist and held her so close he could feel every glorious curve.
Lord, he should berate himself for making such a reckless decision. Indeed, after this, he’d have to indulge in some form of self-flagellation.