Page 69 of Honor Unbound

“Are there any that don’t belong to you?” I asked. It seemed all dark roads led back to Mr. Cooke.

“A few.” He stroked his horse’s neck. “If you were so curious, you need only have asked for a tour.”

I paused. “And you’d have given me one?”

He considered for a moment. “For this club, yes.”

That only made me more curious about the ones he wouldn’t show me. But I didn’t want to miss the opportunity he presented. I scooted to the edge of the seat and turned so my abdomen pressed into the bench. I searched for the step below me with my toe, but found nothing but air.

I hissed out a breath. Ernest’s legs couldn’t be that much longer than mine. The horse behind me stamped the ground, as impatient as I was.

Large hands gripped my waist. I was lifted from my perch and set on my feet on the pavement.

My stomach fluttered. “I would have made it down myself.” I shook out my skirts, not meeting Cooke’s gaze. “No need for you to dismount just to assist me.”

“I’ve reached my destination, in any case.” Cooke’s blue eyes pierced the darkness, glittering with humor. “Discomfiting you was merely a bonus. Are you not going to tell me what you were actually doing?”

I pursed my lips. “I think not.” It was about time that I was the one sitting atop private information. It didn’t offset Cooke’ssecret lairs, or my servants’ suddenly tight lips, but it helped. “Now, about that tour?”

Mr. Cooke sighed. “Let me stable my horse. I’ll meet you by the front door.” And taking the reins of his beast, he walked down the street and turned at the corner.

Ernest leaned over from the driver’s seat. “We’re not going home yet, are we?”

“No.” There hadn’t been a pedestrian on the street since we’d arrived here, but leaving the carriage blocking the pavement most likely wasn’t the most polite thing to do. “Can you move the carriage back across the street from the front door? I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shoulders rounded, he picked up the reins and clicked at the horses.

I turned down the street. When I reached the corner, I saw Mr. Cooke handing his horse off to one of the burly doormen, speaking to him in low tones. Farther down the street, Mr. Platt’s hackney sat idle.

Ernest turned the carriage onto the street. He waited for a barouche to pass before pulling over to his original spot. In case Mr. Cooke presented me with the opportunity to make a wager, I began across the street for the reticule sitting in the back of my carriage.

The shout made me pause. The sound of a body hitting the earth had me turning. The hackney driver lay in the middle of the street. He clutched his arm, rocking back and forth in the dirt. I started forward to assist.

A sharp crack spurred the hackney’s horses into action. The dark figure sitting in the driver’s seat brought the whip down several more times.

My indignation over the treatment of the horses had me overlooking the danger. The hackney bore down on me, inexorably.

I stumbled back, my heel catching in the bottom of my skirts. Falling, I threw my arms out to brace my fall.

I never hit the ground. Mr. Cooke’s now familiar hands grabbed me and pulled me off the street. The scents of bay rum and tobacco teased my nose as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me from the path of the coach hurtling past, inches from my face.

Cooke shoved me behind him and loped into the street after the hackney.

Ernest jumped down from his seat and ran over. “Are you all right, Lady Mary? He didn’t even try to turn.”

I blew out a shaky breath, blinking. I tried to piece together the last few seconds, to make sense of it. My mind didn’t seem to want to hold onto their thoughts. “I’m unharmed.” My voice warbled, and I exhaled another long breath. I nodded to the man still lying in the street. “That hackney driver might need help. Will you see to him?”

Ernest nodded and hurried over to the man.

Cooke strode back to me, tucking a small pistol into his pocket. “Shall I call for a doctor?” The lines on his face seemed more pronounced.

“No.” I pressed my hand to my abdomen. My body shook slightly, as though finally realizing how close my escape from injury had been. I straightened. “I’m fine. What on earth just happened?”

Cooke’s thick black eyebrows slammed together. “Someone knocked the hackney driver from his seat, then drove the carriage straight at you. Someone tried to kill you.”

I swallowed, the back of my throat aching. “How fortunate for me he wasn’t skilled at driving large carriages.” The man had waited too long to try to steer the horses to the left, into me. Ernest would have had no problem running someone down.

“This isn’t something to be taken lightly,” Cooke said sharply. “Why are you here, looking in my windows? I must insist you tell me.”