He stepped closer and put out a hand to my cheek, forcing me to look right at him. “Miss Wyndham, when I first met you in London, I thought you the most intelligent and the strongest girl I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She would never moon after some mopey, dark boy. She would look for the man that challenged her, amused her, and made her sparkle and enjoy life.”
I sucked in air, trying to understand and sort out all the stirrings, the pressure, the knowledge, the trust I felt. But could I? Could I ever love this man, who’d only care for comfort, who’d skate on the surface with wit alone, who’d refuse to let us confront anything deeper, who’d ask me this question at a time like this?
Miss Grey rolled up with the carriage, Sebastian jogging behind. If Mr. Kent would not join me, I could waste no more time.
“You are right about one thing, Mr. Kent. I don’t need a hero,” I said in a firm, even voice. “But I could never love a man who would not be my ally.”
His confident smile faltered. I took Sebastian’s outstretched hand, and he helped me into the carriage, following right after. I refused to look back. But just as Sebastian pulled the door shut, Mr. Kent’s figure appeared on the other side of the carriage with a reluctant smile.
“Then if that’s what it takes, by all means, let’s get ourselves killed.”
THE CARRIAGE FLEW north at breakneck speed. Pedestrians dove onto sidewalks, and the occasional constable would blow his whistle, chase us on foot, and finally abandon the futile task in exhaustion.
Soon, we reached the outskirts of London, where the smog, bustle, and gray of the city opened up to the verdant, hilly scenery and quiet of Hampstead. The driver slowed his pace, bending around corners and rolling past languid Heath Street lamplighters making their evening rounds. Despite the tranquil setting, I still felt bilious, in part from the turns, but mostly from our impending task. Mr. Kent had kept up a stream of babble, presumably to keep our minds off the upcoming fight, but I don’t think anyone had listened to a word. We were all busy trying to form plans without knowing what to expect upon our arrival. There was only one matter of which I was certain: Sebastian and I could not go together to get Rose, unless I wanted things to end as badly as last time.
Once the driver veered onto the right road, Dr. Beck’s large corner house was not hard to find among the scattered buildings; the two unconscious policemen on the side lawn served as a rather helpful signpost. Several yards away stood Robert, the last man standing, cornered by Claude against the side of the house. My stomach flipped furiously at the sight. We were too far, and Claude only needed a few seconds to do his worst. Frantically, I banged at the carriage roof and turned to the men and Miss Grey. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Kent’s mouth, with its vast experience, proved quicker.
“Allow me.”
He leaped out of the slowing carriage and reached into his coat, brandishing his silver pistol, which glinted impressively in the late sun. My body flinched as he fired a shot into the air to draw Claude’s attention away from Robert, then hurdled a fence, and ripped across the vast lawn with unexpected speed. Looking taller and fully the hero, he took aim directly at a charging Claude, sending my heart into my throat, and fired.
And then somehow Claude had taken the bullet in his arm and taken the pistol away. We heard the distinct snapping of bone, and Mr. Kent was on the ground, cradling a broken arm, while the other man in my carriage was already racing to stop Claude from breaking anything more. I dithered between the awful uncertainty of the fight and the certainty I’d weaken Sebastian by going any closer. My heavy knock at the roof sent our carriage forward with a start.
As we rumbled away, the house slowly blocked our view of the fight. Mr. Kent climbed to his feet, as if to give us one final reassurance and persuade my heart to climb down from my throat. His words floated back to us on the wind: “Blast it all, you overgrown oaf! What are your weaknesses, besides, of course, the obvious French qualities?”
The last we saw was the start of Claude’s answer and Sebastian’s fierce leap at the giant. And the three were out of sight.
“They will be all right, Evelyn,” Miss Grey said weakly. “Mr. Kent’s injuries can wait.”
“I hope so.”
The carriage slowed to a pitiful stop in front of the unimposing house. It took everything within me to remain on our side of it as we held our breath, listening for any sound, any sign from the fight. There was only dead silence, broken by the heavy huffs of our horses and the distant smacks and clatter of the street traffic.
What now?
I had two choices: wait for Sebastian to handle everything or stupidly charge in and get myself captured or all of us killed. There had to be a better alternative.
Unfortunately, Robert, staggering from around the side of the house, seemed to disagree. Unperturbed by his brush with death, he headed straight for the front door. Miss Grey and I were barely able to clamber out of the carriage and block his idiotic path in time.
“Robert, stop!” I whispered sharply, grabbing his arm. “We must wait.”