The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“Now you listen here,” Drummond began. “I’ve had a fist to the face and a pistol to the head because of you. I’ll lose business when people hear of this ruckus. And all because you won’t let his lordship speak to the lady.”

“Ross?” Estelle’s voice sounded weak, helpless.

“Who’s Ross?” Drummond said to no one in particular.

“That would be me,” Vane said.

Drummond turned, waved him forward and stepped aside.

Vane cast an assessing gaze over Estelle. Her eyes flickered, her head lolled forward. Hungerford sat next to her. Amid all his bravado, panic flashed in his eyes.

“Estelle, can you hear me?” Vane reached for her hands but Hungerford slapped him away.

“You do not have to say anything to him, Miss Brown,” Hungerford whispered.

Unable to control himself, Vane punched Hungerford on the jaw. The sharp jab served as a warning. “The lady’s name is not Miss Brown,” Vane whispered through gritted teeth. “Her name is Miss Darcy, and she is the sister of Baron Ravenscroft.”

Hungerford gulped in surprise as he clutched his cheek.

Vane caught Estelle’s hands and pulled her forward. “Touch her again, Hungerford, and I’ll break your nose.” Her body was limp, and she flopped into his arms like a cloth doll. “Estelle, please speak to me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Ross,” she breathed. “Help me. Don’t … don’t let him take me.”

All those standing nearby heard her words.

Estelle’s head fell back and her eyes closed. What the devil was wrong with her? Vane bent his head. He could smell wine and something sweet, almost spicy.

“Someone run and fetch a doctor,” Vane cried as a deep sense of dread consumed him. “I fear the lady may have ingested something. I fear she may have been poisoned.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hungerford climbed out of the carriage. “Miss Brown may have taken a drop of laudanum to help settle her stomach for the journey. That is all.”

“Miss Brown?” Drummond raised a suspicious brow. “So this lady is not your wife?”

Hungerford’s cheeks flamed and he pushed his fingers down between his neck and cravat as if struggling to breathe. “The paperwork is a mere formality. We intend to marry once we reach Bath.”

Mr Drummond beckoned his coachman. “Step down, Albert. This coach isn’t leaving the yard until I’ve cleared this matter with the constable.”

“But you’ve no right,” Hungerford protested.

“I have every right.” Drummond stepped closer to the fop and stared down his flat nose as if ready to throttle the man. “I’ll not have folk say I came to the aid of a criminal.”

“Will someone get a blasted doctor!” Vane wanted to beat Hungerford to a pulp, too, but his only concern was for the helpless woman in his arms. He looked down at her. “Estelle, please try to keep your eyes open.”

She blinked again, lifted a weak hand to his cheek. “You … you came for me.”

The muscles in his throat grew tight. “Keep talking. Don’t close your eyes.”

A man lingering near the gates waved his hands and cried, “Here comes the constable.”

“But this is preposterous,” Hungerford complained. “Let me speak to him.” Hungerford stormed through the crowd as if ready to berate the constable for taking the complaint seriously. “We shall have this misunderstanding sorted out in no time.”

But it seemed Hungerford had no intention of confronting the constable. As soon as he reached the gate, he turned on his heels and fled in the opposite direction.

“Someone apprehend that man,” Drummond shouted. “Albert. Connor. Go after him.”

Both coachmen jumped upon hearing their names called and charged after Hungerford. What with the weight of their boxcoats and their stout figures they would be lucky to spot Hungerford let alone catch the fellow. Wickett, on the other hand, raced off like a whippet.

“Is there somewhere the lady can lie down?” Vane asked Drummond.