Page 7 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
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Leah awoke to the scent of wet horses and the sounds of clattering wheels.
I am in a coach.
She peeked beneath the lashes of her eye that would open at the man who rode across from her on the cushioned bench. He had short, mahogany hair that was gently dusted with flecks of silver. Despite the day’s worth of stubble cropping up on his jaw, his features were generally handsome, which was more than could be said of most men at the time.
He wore a grim expression on his face as he searched through the rain for unseen enemies lurking in the shadows. He seemed at ease, yet restless all the same; his shoulders caged, waiting to spring open like a Bengal of India. They were an odd pairing of contradictions that intrigued her more than she thought they should.
He struck her as a man who cared for others more than his own well-being – possibly too much. She had known her share of people like that. They always meant well, but they always botched things up. The furrow in his brow was evidence that he worried quite often, but the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of a man who smiled often, or at least used to.
Leah was content with observing him as the sounds of trickling water calmed a place in her heart, which otherwise screamed for her to run. She moved her eye about for the doorknob. This man had shown her kindness, but she could not afford to owe a debt to a man of his evident wealth and status. Leah refused to be controlled by anyone other than herself any longer, this rich man included, kind as he may be.
She looked around the confines of the remarkable transport. Having only stolen a coach for Riphook, she’d never had the privilege of riding in one, especially one this fine. Leah felt tiny raindrops splash her face. She’d always loved the rain. It washed away the dirt and grime that stained her skin and soul. For Leah, it was redemption, freedom, and grace all rolled into one.
The wonder on her face drew the attention of her companion, who moved his gaze idly from the window. Leah was unprepared for the depth of his articulated, raspy voice as he spoke, “You are awake,” he sounded surprised. “Sooner than I might have expected.”
“This is your coach?” she asked, struggling to bring herself to a sitting position.
“It is,” he said softly. “How are you faring, Miss Benson? It has been a difficult evening for you, it would appear.”
She cleared her throat, praying the silence would return. She could handle silence; it was the talking that made her uneasy. Talking revealed too much about a person, and Leah wasn’t interested in baring her soul to anyone, much less the man beside her. He looked at her expectantly but remained patient in his waiting. The city streets slowly faded into muddy country roads.
“Seen better days,” she finally answered abrasively. She was thankful that the man hadn’t tried to assist her in sitting up. Her body could withstand many beatings, but her ego could take no more.
“I can imagine,” he gave a friendly smile. It seemed after another pause that he did not know what to say next. Leah appreciated that he sat silently instead of saying words that meant nothing and thought for a moment about how to proceed.
At least he doesn't talk too much.Perhaps I will be safe with him, at least for tonight.
She gingerly touched the cut on her lip and winced. It was time to change tactics.I should take full advantage of this opportunity.
“May I know your name or title, sir? I would like to properly thank you for saving my life, for upon consideration I find myself completely in your debt,” she spoke suddenly with a composure that surely shocked him. It was likely that he, like every other noble, thought her incapable of reading. The use of elevated language was a disarming tactic she employed often with the rich.
“Certainly,” he sat back, raising his eyebrows. “My name is Kenneth Wilson, Duke of Worthington.” There was a note of regret in his voice. He more than likely assumed she would hate him on principle; strange thoughts were often swirling about in the brains of the highborn. Leah didn’t hate his kind, she simply treated them as they had treated her – an untrustworthy stranger.
She didn’t understand their world, so she was indifferent to most of it. One thing she had a proper handle on was housekeeping; it was how she earned her living. Not actually cleaning the houses but robbing them disguised as a house servant. Beyond that, she was near clueless about the upper class.
“Thank you for saving me life, Your Grace,” she said. “I cannot imagine the tarnish upon your status that your actions have caused, but I will find a way to repay you for your kindness,” she uttered, attempting to sit correctly, but still she was bruising, and her left eye had begun to blacken.
He seemed pleased by her efforts and offered her a kind smile, saying, “There is no need to pretend. Take rest.”
Leah looked down at her appearance and for the first time in her life, she was ashamed. Wearing a dingy old chemise tucked into muck-covered trousers, a bloke’s patchwork jacket with tears in the side, and shoes that were too big for her feet, beneath all of which was a body so beaten that she could not breathe without some pain, Leah felt the cruelty of her reality.
Chapter 3
Kenneth watched as a flush of color touched Miss Benson’s cheeks. He imagined she was resisting the temptation to fidget with her hair or pick at the threads of her clothing. Apparently, she was anxious, but hiding it well, and where he had first been excited, he was now nervous. He did not know where to proceed from here.
He had rescued this woman from street thugs, in part because of his personal code of chivalry, and in part because he felt a rush in the strange events that were such a welcome break from the monotony of his life. Something inside him had hoped for an adventure, nay, assumed one of this battered woman. He felt a slight flare of disappointment.
Clearly, Miss Benson was no different from everyone else in his life. A person with the same base desires and emotions, nervous in an unfamiliar setting, and reeling from a recent physical assault.
He remembered the Marquess' blunt words upon his departure. ‘Intent on robbing you when you least expect it.’ What nonsense!
For once, he wished others would not worry about perception of wealth or image. Anyone else would have left her on the street. They would not have followed into the alleyway.
Kenneth accepted that his role in this woman's story was a limited one, and realized he had to be content with what little adventure he had gleaned from her thus far. It had been ages since he had been in a fist fight, after all.
“It was my duty and honor to assist you, Miss Benson,” he said, tipping his hat.
