“I am making it my problem.”

“Your grace,” she said, her tone exasperated, “Winifred is one of my dearest friends, and I wish to handle this problem on my own.”

Drew’s mouth twisted wryly. “Didn’t any of my lessons sink in? Your authoritarian manner is likely to put off your suitors,” he chided lightly. “You should be playing damsel in distress instead.”

“So you can play the silver-armored knight?”

“Quite. It’s good for a man’s self-esteem, letting him feel heroic once in a while.”

Roslyn rolled her eyes. “There is only one difficulty. I have no desire to attract you-or to have you for my suitor.”

“I know. Which I find rather amazing. How many women would reject the hand of a duke?”

She gave him a quelling look. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“And I don’t wish to discuss my involvement any further. I’ll pay a visit to Bow Street as soon as I return to London. Now just say a gracious thank-you, sweeting, and hold your tongue.”

“Very well, thank you, your grace,” Roslyn said grudgingly.

“That wasn’t gracious enough,” Drew observed. “I can be of help to you and you know it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, you win. I would appreciate your help.”

Drew regarded her with satisfaction. After their tumultuous parting last night in the garden, he wanted very much to have Roslyn smile at him again. “That is much better-”

He had only completed half the sentence when a sudden crack of lightning split the sky on their left, followed swiftly by a ferocious clap of thunder. His high-strung horses shied violently at the boom and lunged forward, jerking the curricle behind them.

Drew swore under his breath and tightened his grip on the reins, struggling to hold the grays, yet it was difficult when a gusting wind began buffeting them. And when a second jagged streak of lightning was accompanied by more explosive thunder, the pair panicked and bolted into a gallop.

It was all Drew could do to maintain control as the curricle went careening down the country lane. He had just started to slow the frightened horses when one of the wheels hit a pothole with a loud crack, jolting the vehicle so hard that both he and Roslyn were nearly thrown from their seats.

Drew caught her and clung precariously as the curricle canted at a dangerous angle. They were dragged behind the racing pair for a hundred yards or more, until at last he managed to haul the horses to a trembling halt.

“Are you all right?” he demanded of Roslyn.

“Yes,” she said shakily. “What of the horses?”

Tossing her the reins, Drew jumped down and went to their heads, trying to soothe them. “They’re unharmed, but the wheel is shot.”

The metal rim had come off and the wooden wheel had splintered in fragments, so that the axle was almost touching the ground. The wheel would have to be repaired before the curricle was functional again.

In any event, outracing the storm was out of the question, for already they were being pelted by stinging raindrops.

He was debating whether to walk back to the village or search for the nearest farm when the heavens suddenly opened up. In seconds they were drenched by a torrent of icy rain.

Drew immediately set to work unharnessing the horses, and when another lightning bolt shook the ground, Roslyn climbed down from the curricle and pointed at a shadowy structure set back off the lane.

“There is a cottage,” she shouted. “Can we take shelter there?”

“Better than remaining here,” Drew responded over the din. The cottage would offer nominal protection from the lightning and slashing rain at least.

Roslyn helped him to unbuckle the leather straps of the harnesses, but for her safety, Drew led the nervous horses through the deluge.

It was slow going. They could barely see in the downpour, and her shoes were not made for trudging over uneven ground made treacherous with mud.

The lightning struck dangerously close again just as they finally reached the cottage. The small dwelling was built of stone with a thatched roof, Drew saw, and boasted a shed for livestock against one wall.

“I recognize this place,” Roslyn shouted again. “It belongs to the Widow Jearson, but she may not be here. I heard she is visiting her granddaughter for her lying-in.” Stumbling forward, Roslyn dragged open the door to the shed. “Yes, I was right. She has a pony and cart, but they are both are gone. There is room for your horses, though.”

Tags: Nicole Jordan Courtship Wars Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net