Page 38 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
Someone called her name when she started to climb out of the coach. “Miss Suzannah!” She blinked, peering through the rain at the cloaked figure coming toward her. It was Mr. Samuels, the man Kit had been hiring each night to bring her to Kit’s home.
“Mr. Samuels.” She reached for him when he held out his hands to her. “What happened?”
“Another coach struck us, miss. It was racing through the rain. I couldn’t stop in time. My horses... they’re dead.” The poor man looked ready to weep, but he helped her out. She didn’t dare look at the driver’s beautiful horses—it would have broken her heart. She couldn’t help but think of the two horses Kit had bought, one for himself and one for her, and how she’d feel if they had been the ones who had died. Right now, she had to be strong for Henry. Heneededher.
“How far are we from Lord Kentwell’s home?” she asked the driver.
“It’s that house just up ahead.” He pointed a shaky hand through the rain toward the street known locally as Devil’s Square, at a stately townhouse with ivy crawling up its walls.
“Please help me down. I will go for help.”
“I should be the one to go, miss,” Mr. Samuels insisted.
“Please stay with Henry and make sure he can’t hurt himself. I think his leg is broken very badly.”
Mr. Samuels lifted her down onto the ground, and her boots sank into standing rainwater.
“I’ll be back as fast as I can.” She ran, pausing only once to prevent herself from being run over by another carriage that crossed her path. Then, panting hard and more dizzy than she had been before, she reached Kit’s home and pounded on the door. Mr. Palmer opened it, smiling expectantly since she and Henry were due to arrive, but his smile faded at the sight of her disheveled state.
“Miss Townsend, what on earth—?”
“Kit!” She screamed his name. “Kit!”
Kit appeared at the top of the stairs ahead of her. He wore no coat and looked like an angel, albeit a frightening and imposing one. He came down the stairs, and before she could react, he had pulled her inside the townhouse.
“Where’s your coach?” he demanded. “What the devil happened to you? Where’s Henry?” His barrage of questions only made her headache worse.
“Accident...,” she gasped. “We had an accident. Henry’s hurt.Please, you must help.”
She was in shock, she knew it. She couldn’t seem to pull herself together.
“Where?” Kit asked, his dark eyes flashing.
“Up the street.”
Before she was even done pointing, he was past her and had disappeared into the storm.
Palmer tried to usher her away from the door, offering her tea and warmth, but she jerked free and chased after Kit into the misty gloom.
By the time she reached the overturned coach, Kit and Mr. Samuels were lifting Henry out of the broken conveyance. The odd angle of the boy’s leg had Suzannah fighting off nausea.
“We’ll take the boy to my home, Samuels. When I return, you and I will deal with the horses and the deceased man.”
Her gaze drifted to the other vehicle. It was a curricle designed for racing. A body lay on the cobblestones, and by the cut of his clothes he seemed to be a gentleman. His horse was still alive but whinnying in pain and favoring one foreleg. It was a miracle the horse had survived.
Kit slung Henry over his back—the boy seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness.
“Suzannah, come with me now. I shall need your help.” He moved quickly, despite the burden of Henry’s body. She kept pace with him, but by the time they reached the house, her dress was soaked through and she was shaking hard from the cold.
“What—what do you need me to do?” she asked. Her teeth were chattering, but she tried to push away her own discomfort.
He pointed across the street. “You see that house?”
“Y—yes.”
“That is the Duke of Tiverton’s residence. Darius is a dear friend of mine. Go there and tell him I need a doctor urgently. Then return here and Palmer will find you something to change into while you sit by the fire and warm up.”
Palmer ushered them inside and immediately ordered a bed prepared for Henry.
