Page 64 of The Duke's Carriage Window
“Quite understandable,” Darius said gently. “This is a genteel establishment, and you are not expected to see such violence, and for that I am sorry.”
Once he was sure the waiter would be all right, he left the shop. The other carriage had already left. A number of women stood across the street, fans fluttering and sharing whispers that somehow managed to reach his ears, but he ignored them. He knew he must look frightful. Pastries, sugar, and melting ices mixed with blood on his coat and trousers. He could feel pieces of glass still sticking out of his sleeves.
What a damned mess!
His footman opened the coach door for him as he arrived, and Darius climbed inside. Meredith was alone on the opposite seat, which meant Frances must have accompanied Warren and Felix. He didn’t care that she was without her chaperone. The damage was done and no matter what Prince George said, they would be married soon.
Meredith’s face looked out the window, away from him. Her lip still trembled a little. One of her sleeves was ripped, and a glint of broken glass was visible in the crown of her hair. Only now did he realize that some of the blood on the floor of the shop could have been hers. Suddenly, Darius felt like he couldn’t breathe. He struggled to fight off the wave of panic he felt.
“Meredith,” he began, his voice a raspy croak.
At the sound of her name, she burst into tears. He moved to sit beside her and pulled her toward him. She struggled but then surrendered as he settled her on his lap and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. Darius rubbed his palm against her back until she stopped crying. He carefully removed the bit of glass from her hair and tried to still her shaking with his arms.
“Were you hurt?” he asked as he gently brushed his fingertips over her cheek.
“I don’t think I am injured…”
“Then why the tears? Was it because of me? I never meant for you to see me like that. I know I must have frightened you.”
She lifted her tear-stained face. “Frightened of you? Darius, you saved me,” she whispered, her breath still unsteady. “I am upset because those men heard that I spread my favors. They thought I was willing to go with them to their coach and treated me like some lightskirt in front of everyone. Darius, I believe the Lady Mary Raikes words have ruined me worse than anything that happened in the gardens last night.”
“All the more reason for us to marry.”
Meredith set her head on his shoulder and was quiet a long moment.
Surely now she would see reason, he thought. Marriage to him would be the easiest way for him to protect her now that society had taken a disliking to her.
But her answer was as brief as it was absolute. “No.”
Rather than anger Darius, that one word took all the wind out of his sails.
“I will not marry out of some silly need to be protected.” There was no fear or anger in her voice now, just simple resolve. “I will only marry for love.”
Was the protection of his name and the protection of her body not enough? Did she have to ask for something he feared to give her?
Say it. Say it, you fool.
But the words remained trapped on his tongue, unable to get free. When the coach finally stopped in front of his home, Meredith got out without another word and hurried to her bedchamber.
That was when Darius realized he was losing her. And he had only himself to blame.
15
Darius winced as the surgeon removed the last slender shard of glass from his arm. He dropped the piece into a bowl that contained several other bloody fragments. The surgeon peered at Darius’s arms closely and wiped wet cloths over the wounds.
“May I borrow some of your brandy, Your Grace?” the surgeon asked.
“Yes, of course. It’s on the drink cart over there.” He nodded at the elegant wooden drink cart against one wall in his study.
“Hold this tight, please.” Darius kept the bloody cloth pressed tight to his arm while the surgeon retrieved the bottle from the cart and soaked a fresh cloth in the liquid.
“This will sting,” the surgeon warned. He removed the cloth Darius had been holding in place and replaced it with the brandy-soaked towel.
“Bloody hell!” The burn had hit him like a runaway carriage. He bit his lip to keep a second curse from escaping his lips. “That was a lot more than a sting,” he muttered as the burn slowly subsided. The doctor nearly smiled. Darius felt like a child for overreacting, but damn, it had hurt.
“I’ve noticed that pouring brandy or scotch on a wound works far better than bloodletting.”
Darius hoped the man was right. Bloodletting was an awful experience.
