Page 22 of The Viscount's Code
Although why that made any difference to him, he had no idea. He was only spending time with their family while he solved this code and then he would return home once more. Lady Hope was none of his concern.
And he would do very well to remember that.
* * *
Hope had thoughtthe fair would be a lot more entertaining than it was. So far, the food had been the only part of it that had truly interested her. The roasted almonds had been heavenly, and she wished she could have spent more time in the market. But it wasn’t worth antagonizing Faith, which she wished that Lord Whitehall would understand.
Instead, they were now back to the fair, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk through the exotic displays once more. Faith had rejoined their mother, and so Hope tugged on Lord Whitehall’s sleeve, as she guessed he would be the only one willing to accompany her to where she wanted to go.
“The fair rides are over that way,” she said. “Would you come with me?”
His gaze followed her finger to where the roundabout had been situated.
“Are you sure you’d like to partake?” he asked her. “I’m not sure I quite like the precarious look of it. How was it assembled so quickly? I doubt it is completely safe.”
She laughed lightly.
“Why, Lord Whitehall, are you frightened?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what is the harm? It is low to the ground and turned manually by a crank. It seems like it would be much fun.”
His face twisted in a grimace that told her he thought it would be something quite other thanfun, but she wasn’t overly concerned. It would be good for him to have a little joy in his life, to allow himself some freedom to do things he wouldn’t normally agree to.
He let out a sigh so quiet she almost didn’t hear it before he led her toward the contraption. She did wonder how they had configured it so quickly, but surely, they must know what they were doing, did they not? It was not as though Harwich was the first town the fair had visited.
It was rather charming. A menagerie of wooden animals were attached to the arms that stretched out from the centre, and Hope skipped toward the ride, choosing a small wooden horse, sitting on it as though she was riding side-saddle.
“I am not sure you should be doing this,” Lord Whitehall grunted, and Hope smiled at him.
“I’m certain it’s fine,” she said. “What harm could it do?”
He grunted out a “hmm” as he turned around, the only seat left for him the large lion in front of her, and Hope had to hold in her laughter as she watched how gingerly he climbed over top of it, his leg swinging around.
After a few more moments, a man called out a countdown, and with a groan, the entire apparatus began moving. Hope let out a slight squeal of glee, enjoying the rocking motion of the ride. It was only when Lord Whitehall turned to the side that she noticed he appeared rather green.
“Are you all right, my lord?” she called out, but he simply nodded curtly, refusing to turn around to look at her.
The creaking continued, until suddenly it became much noisier, and there was a massive groan in the wood before, suddenly and inexplicably, one of the arms began to crack.
Hope looked up, uncertain, opening her mouth to call out a warning, but it all happened so quickly that she had no time to react.
Lord Whitehall, however, was already moving, diving forward, lifting the small child in front of him off his horse and leaping to the side before the arm above them fell, right where the child had just been. The breaking of the wood disrupted the balance of the entire apparatus, and Hope was so busy watching what happened that she began to wobble as she slid off the side of her horse. She was running down away from her seat when she fell into Lord Whitehall’s arms, and he pulled her away, half-leading, half-dragging her until there was a safe distance between them and the roundabout.
Hope clutched onto his arms, panting, before she was able to recover from all that had happened and look around them. She had no time to say anything, however, as a woman was running up to them, tears running down her face, the boy from the roundabout in her arms.
“Thank you,” she said, sniffing. “Thank you so much. You saved my son.”
The boy, who appeared to be around eight years old, nodded with maturity beyond his years.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Of course,” Lord Whitehall said, his arms still around Hope.
“What is going on here?” They turned as one to discover Hope’s father storming toward them, pushing through the crowd of people who had gathered around the accident. “Unhand my daughter.”
“Father,” Hope said, stretching her arm out. “Lord Whitehall was only aiding me as I nearly fell from the roundabout. He saved this boy,” she said, gesturing toward the mother and son beside them as the woman nodded frantically.
