The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Kenneth removed his hand from her face as she began to stir, the shame of touching her lingered in his mind. She blinked open vivid emerald eyes with impossibly long lashes. Like a painting of an enchanting pagan goddess, she honored him with a phantom smile as her mouth barely curled at the edges despite the swelling and bruising about her face.

  “Anybody there?” he called out into the rain. “Somebody, help!” but no one seemed to hear him. The square seemed so far away, like a distant portal.

  Kenneth considered the consequences. If he left this woman here in the rain, she would likely die. If he carried her back to his coach, as was his first inclination, he could be inviting a whole world into his life which he had not intended.

  Her head twitched in his arms and she stifled a sound. Kenneth looked down to her as one of her eyes moved over him, the other one fluttering shut.

  “My apologies, good sir.” she croaked out. “I mean no inconvenience.”

  “Come now, it is none at all.” Kenneth reassured her, bracing her against the wall.

  “You’d think I’d have learned not to bait a man when he’s drunk as a wheelbarrow.” the woman feinted a laugh. “I can walk, set me down.” Kenneth could tell that she was trying to push him away.

  “That's all that was, eh?” he asked, helping her to stand on her own. She could not support herself, and he gave her his arm to lean upon.

  “It is nothing.” she mumbled, shaking her head, likely dizzy from the beating.

  Kenneth watched as her lip began to tremble. Her emotions fought against her pride to keep the tears at bay, a sign of a girl who had learned long ago to be wary of the world. He pulled the cravat around his neck until the knot gave way. Kenneth used the cloth to dry the dampness on her face and sop up some of the blood on her cheek.

  The night was coming on in full now. In the faint light from a nearby window, he could just make out the hollows of her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. The poor girl was exhausted. There was no telling how long she’d been running from those men.

  “What is your name?” he asked gently.

  “Leah,” she managed, reaching out vaguely for the wall in front of her. “Leah Benson. Release me now, really, I am fine,” she released a shuddered breath, stepping blindly forward, and she once again fell unconscious.

  Kenneth positioned his arms carefully and lifted her from against the wall where he had steadied her. Her head lolled to the side and came to rest on the breadth of his shoulder. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this mysterious woman as he cradled her, marching back to the street. It was a strange feeling; Kenneth had preached the good of the common folk for some years now, but beyond that he had never taken personal action such as this.

  In this, he was directly responsible for someone other than himself and his estate, and that thought was a forgotten one that he would have rather left behind. I must get her to the carriage. One thought at a time.

  Footsteps sounded through the night, accompanied by voices calling out his name. Kenneth took inspiration from Miss Benson and maintained a firm grasp on his pride, not caring what lingering stares or hushed whispers he would face as he stepped from the darkness with her in his arms.

  “I am here.” he called out. “Bring the coach, quickly!”

  The male members of the search party met him near St. James’s Street while the ladies kept their respectable distance. His rushing off from the Assembly Rooms had apparently attracted quite the crowd of onlookers, despite the off-again, on-again rainfall.

  Several of the ladies present gasped with indignation at the sight of him being so familiar with a member of their gender, and then gasped even more when they could see the state of the poor girl.

  Some mentioned the unconscious woman as if she were a novelty, although he very much doubted their irate nature was due to the fact that she was unaccompanied by a guardian or husband, but more so to do with the telltale signs of poverty she wore.

  Practice what you preach.

  The disdain in the atmosphere was hard for him to tolerate, and for some reason there was a slight hint of embarrassment at the back of his mind.

  “Daniel,” he addressed one of his footmen. “Bring the coach about and ensure that Miss Benson is comfortable for the ride home.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.” Daniel took Miss Benson from his arms, supported by another servant, and made quick work of his tasks.

  “Worthington,” the Marquess huffed, approaching Kenneth from the crowd. “You have given us quite the show.”

  “So, it seems.” Kenneth replied. “Although apparently it has been made an unnecessary spectacle.” he addressed the crowd that had amassed with his last line. He was glad that no one had seen the fight in the alleyway. There would be talk enough of this. Plenty already thought him too rambunctious, and it had impacted his ability to find a wife.

  The Marquess was unenthusiastic about Kenneth's display of valor and made it known, “Whoever this woman may be, she should not be trusted so readily. This ‘Miss Benson’ you speak of is likely a criminal intent on robbing you when you least expect it, Duke. You are always fast to act, 'tis true, but you must be sure you act in the proper manner. The drink hour has been spoiled now.”

  Kenneth was unwilling to neither explain himself nor feed into the chatter already surrounding the evening.

  Let them make their own ideas.

  He was eager to return to Miss Benson and see that her needs were attended to.

  “I bid you all a grand evening,” he said as he placed his top hat upon his head and climbed into the back of the approaching coach.

  Miss Benson had been placed gently across the bench, covered with the footman’s tailcoat. Kenneth sat beside her and covered her more carefully. He stuffed himself into the corner to ensure no part of him was making contact with her body, lest she wake and think the worst of him. He resolved not to bother her; she had been through enough for one night.

  Kenneth had strove for many years to avoid the repute of a libertine. Although moralities were changing with each passing year, Kenneth wished to uphold at least a few facades of modesty, especially when in public. While he tended to go against the grain of nobility, there were some things that were still imparted, and he took seriously. The first of which, being his family name.

  * * *

  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.

  “Leah,” she corrected boldly.

  “Beg pardon?” he blinked twice.

  “My name is Leah. I’m not a lady with a title of my own; I’m just someone down on her luck, is all. I know you’re guessing me as a vagabond or a thief, but that’s not who I am,” Miss Benson switched back to her normal, informal dialect, slouching down into a comfortable position on the bench. She chewed her nails nervously.

  She glanced down at her hands and winced at the dried blood and dirt that covered them. Seeing her distress over the blood, Kenneth handed her a crinkled-up cravat from his pocket. She accepted the offer and wiped her hands before folding them neatly in her lap.

  “I always like them to be neat,” she said absently, admiring the folded cloth. Miss Benson appeared to be lost in her thoughts momentarily. She then asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you save me? I mean no insult but not many of your position would do such a thing, not that I’ve seen anyways. They will give you proper gossip for it too.”

  “Yes, well,” Kenneth cleared his throat against the strong language. “I have a proposition for you. Let us cast aside any prejudiced opinions of one another and simply exchange in polite conversation. If you wish to inquire upon the societal standards of the high society, I will not indulge in your curiosity, for I find it one of the dullest subjects there could ever be. However, if you wish to speak to me of the joys and wonders of life, then I would be happy to share my own experiences with you.”

  Kenneth took a deep breath before he continued, “I shall only speak honestly. It is the least you deserve. There is no profound reason as to why I intruded upon your encounter with those men. I saved you because firstly it was the right thing to do, and secondly because it was thrilling.”

  Miss Benson avoided his penetrating stare as he spoke with sincerity he assumed she was not accustomed to. She continued to glance out the window as if the rain could summon the words she needed. Unfortunately, at that moment, it switched off once again.

  “Were you injured on my account, Your Grace?” she asked, wincing as the carriage went over a series of bumps.

  “Nothing I am unequipped to handle, Miss Benson,” he replied gallantly.

  “Leah,” she corrected once again.

  “Of course. So, you’ve stated.” Kenneth smiled playfully in her direction, hoping to put her mind at ease. He watched as she studied his profile and found himself becoming uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I was in the army for some time.”

  She stroked her fingers against the bench like a painter creating something beautiful on a canvas.

  “Fightin' old Bony?” she croaked coyly. Despite her wit and charisma, she was still injured.

  “And the Americans.” he indulged, popping his eyebrows. It seemed that her spirit was lifting a bit.

  She chuckled softly, playing along, “Bloody rebels.”

  “Quite.” he answered, adjusting his hat with the hilt of his cane. He found himself smiling, even blushing a bit perhaps. It had been some time since he had found even an extended conversation with a woman at all enjoya
ble.

  Kenneth was aware that he caught the attention of many young ladies despite being nearly thirty years of age. His skin was pale, and his eyes were dark. He lived quickly, and with passion, and made it clear for all to see. There was power in that image, and he wielded it as a great suit of armor against the world. Yet here it seemed this woman could see through him, like some sort of mystic of old. He was disarmed but pleasantly surprised. Miss Benson had a warm complexion and the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen. How do I proceed? I know not how to speak with her, it seems.

  “Do you enjoy being a Duke?”