With a quick glance left and right, the street appeared to be deserted. But a blanket of fog had begun to descend, the roads ahead disappearing into a blurry haze. If she could run, if she could get a good start, she might be able to lose him.
Grace tried to tug her hands from his grasp. "At least let me remove my mask so we can talk."
Her words seemed to placate him, and he let go of her hands. As she removed her mask, she swiped him across the face with it, ignoring his blasphemous curse as she rushed towards the cloud-like mass. But his strides were longer, his obsession fuelling his determination and he grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back against his chest. She felt the material strain in protest, heard the delicate threads tear apart.
"I'm taking you home," he said, his tone harsh, unyielding. "You'll not run away from me again."
The sound of carriage wheels rattling over the cobbles caught her attention, and she cried for help as it drew up alongside them. Lord Barrington smothered her mouth with his hand, his arm securing her tight to his body. Grace heard a door open, a gruff command and the dull thud of someone jumping down to the pavement.
"Get your bloody hands off her."
Lord Barrington fell back, pulling her down with him. As he released his grip to shield his face from a barrage of punches, she scurried away, coming to stand near the carriage door.
Despite being a good few inches shorter, Lord Markham delivered a spectacular display of fighting finesse, dodging Barrington's clumsy fists and returning with short, sharp blows to his stomach. Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, he dealt Barrington a jab to his jaw causing the man to sag to the ground.
Lord Markham glanced over his shoulder and nodded towards the carriage. "Get in."
His eyes appeared darker, dangerously sinister, his voice a little hoarse and he did not need to tell her a second time. As she fell back into the red leather seat, her heart beating so erratically she could hardly catch her breath, she heard Lord Markham telling Barrington to forget what he had seen. It seemed a rather odd thing to say. Even odder was his need to repeat the words over and over again.
Lord Markham yelled to his coachman, climbed inside the carriage and slammed the door before dropping into the seat opposite. As they rumbled along, his ragged breathing penetrated the silence, and she could feel the tension thrumming in the air. Intermittent rays of light from the passing street lamps licked at his irises, which were no longer dark but a bright, vibrant green.
She watched him slide his tongue over his teeth, no doubt to curb his temper or to prevent him from saying something he may regret. A shiver ran through her body in anticipation.
"Here," he said shrugging out of his coat. "You're trembling. And your dress is torn." He shuffled to the edge of his seat, leaned forward and draped it around her shoulders.
Grace stared at him and resisted the urge to inhale deeply as she caught the familiar scent of sandalwood. The warmth of the garment relaxed her a little, and she pulled it tighter across her chest.
"Thank you for stopping. I … I don't know where I would be if you'd not seen me … if you had just driven by."
He threw himself forward, the shock making her jump. "I'll tell you where you'd be." His breath came quick as anger burst forth. "You'd be in Barrington's carriage. He would have taken you regardless of your protests." Throwing himself back in the seat, he brushed his hands through his ebony locks and exhaled. "What were you thinking?"
"Nothing. When I left the garden after you … well, I decided to go home." She snuggled into his coat as if it were strong masculine arms enveloping her. "I didn't know Barrington had followed me."
Her explanation did not appear to soften his mood. With a scowl, he removed his gloves and flexed his fingers while examining his hands.
"Where do you live?" he growled.
"Cobham."
He gave a frustrated sigh. "I mean, where in London are you staying?"
"I came to stay with Caroline."
"Unlike most men, I have no idea where that is."
His words roused her anger. When he spoke of her sister, he did not bother to hide his contempt, and it hurt. "Your opinion of my sister's character is yours to own. But I do not wish to sit here and listen to your cutting remarks whenever I mention her name. Despite her mistakes, I love her and each jibe is like a knife to my heart."
He was silent for the longest time, yet she felt his intense gaze roam over her body like nimble fingers. "Are you always so open and honest with your emotions?"
Usually, she kept most things to herself. Sharing one's life and one's bed with a man whose heart belonged to another, blurred the lines between lies and truth. Although the three short months she'd spent as Henry's wife equated to nothing more than a tiny fragment of her life and that thought made it easier to bear.
"I'm honest when the need arises," she said, deciding not to say any more. To be truly honest would mean telling him she found him easy to talk to. He was intelligent and logical, even if his lascivious ways influenced his actions.
"Then I shall do the same," he said, arrogance replacing his anger. "You cannot return to Miss Rosemond's house."
Grace sat bolt upright. "What do you mean? I have nowhere else to go."
"Barrington will seek you out. He is renowned for his obsessions and in his warped mind he won't believe that you're not Caroline. He will assume you're using it as an excuse to refuse him."