A Sprig of Mistletoe, page 2
“Get out of me way!” he spat before barreling into her. Kitty lost her balance grappling for the child, their limbs intertwined, as she tried to prevent both of them from falling to their deaths. “I’m sorry, miss.” He broke free and ran off, leaving Kitty struggling to regain her balance.
Tangled in her skirts, she started to fall. “Help!” she shouted, her heart pounding so hard it might break out of her chest.
Two large, strong hands circled her waist, and she was yanked into a solid wall of muscle, the daring act sparing her from toppling between two cars and bludgeoning her head on the ironworks. “Oh!” she exclaimed at the impact.
“Are you hurt?”
She froze at the deep baritone voice. “No.” She blinked and dizzily raised her head, making out the buttons on a black greatcoat. She could hardly comprehend how this rock-hard form had connected with hers so readily. One minute, she was contemplating the architecture, and the next, a stranger was embracing her, a man. And one whose body felt surprisingly familiar yet instinctively thrilling.
How hard did I hit my head?
But Kitty wasn’t that daft . . . She hadn’t hit her head. Thanks to the man’s quick reaction, she hadn’t even made it to the ground.
Her senses jarred and mind spinning, blood heated Kitty’s cheeks. The stranger stood a head taller than she did, forcing her to lean her head back to meet his gaze. Steam swirled about them as the engine shrieked, the unwelcome mist enveloping them in secrecy. A peculiar world of sensation and folly encompassed them.
“You are shaking.” His voice eased over her like honey dripping from the comb, and her heartbeat kicked up to an even more unprecedented cadence. “Allow me to escort you to the ticket office.”
“N-No,” she insisted, despising how her body betrayed her. What had come over her? “You may unhand me now. I have found my footing.”
“But is it sound?” His face materialized before her, revealing the most rugged-looking visage in all of creation—masculine, formidable, tempered by time, and when combined with his touch, utterly intoxicating. “Forgive me,” he said. “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t insist that you seek care until every possibility of injury has been dismissed. The railroad is accountable for—”
“No.” She stepped back, needing space and air, and she immediately regretted the chill that entered her bones.
Her rescuer was handsome and dark, and his eyes were a startling blue, contrasting their rustic surroundings. Expression lines etched his brows, and there was a minor scar slanting over his right eye. It was almost invisible in the shadows cast across his forehead by the brim of his hat. His cheekbones were defined, and an aquiline nose that slanted away from his face like granite appeared to have been broken before. A mustache adorned his upper lip, and his beard was neatly trimmed around his chin, a scant portion left untouched below his bottom lip.
“No harm has been done, I assure you,” she added.
Liar! He had undone her.
“I will not be at ease,” he said, “until a physician agrees with you.”
“Kitty?” Meg rushed to Kitty’s side, diverting her attention. She hadn’t even realized her friend had been so far away. “I thought I would die of fright when I saw that little thief collide with you.” She righted Kitty’s bonnet, adjusting the ribbons beneath her chin. “Are you certain he did not harm you?”
Harm her?
Kitty flushed. Was Meg referring to the boy who’d run into her or her rescuer? Meg dusted off Kitty’s skirts. “Perhaps you should do as this gentleman suggests and seek a physician’s care.”
She shook her head, shaken to her core, but not from the child or even her brush with death. “That isn’t necessary.”
“I insist,” Meg said.
Dazedly, her senses toppling end over end, Kitty allowed Meg to gently coax her away. Inch by bone-tingling inch, her world grew a bit darker, a bit colder, though she couldn’t figure out why. Surely the dangerous situation affected her. But how could that be? Kitty thrived on danger.
“Miss?” She started as a porter handling a pocket watch and wearing a hat marched toward them. He stopped before her. “Miss?” he asked again. His discerning stare took in Kitty’s disheveled appearance and Meg’s hovering nature, then cut to the stranger.
Oh dear! He didn’t plan to blame her condition on this man’s kind act, did he?
Meg took the situation in hand, her chin lifting indignantly. “A thieving boy bumped into my friend.”
“He probably hasn’t eaten in days,” Kitty’s rescuer confessed, his eyes hardening briefly. He turned to speak to the porter. “I witnessed the whole thing. A boy ran pell-mell down the platform and collided with this woman before making his escape.” He took a pained breath and closed his eyes. “Forgive me for being so forward, but it’s my recommendation that this woman seek medical care. One cannot be too—”
“A thief, ye say?” the railway worker interrupted rudely. “We get lots of ’em.”
Meg was not satisfied. “Sir, my friend has suffered cruelly because of that little thief.”
“She ’as?” The porter fidgeted with his pocket watch, then glared at Kitty. “Are ye Lady Catherine Egerton?”
“I am,” Kitty said slowly, concern swirling through her. How did the porter know her name? Tickets only contained numbers. She tried to push away the worry. “I beg you, do not chase after the boy. He has done no real harm. And regarding this gentleman’s kind suggestion of seeking medical care, there is no need to waste a physician’s time. I am quite well and have no injuries to speak of.”
Except the unusual and unlikely tug on my spirit.
“A fine woman like yerself . . . well,” the porter said matter-of-factly, “we can’t take the chance that yer name will turn up in the weeklies.”
She warded him off with a wave of her hand, wary of any scandal that could be attached to her family. “I assure you that will not happen.”
“That’s what they all say,” he spat. “But I warn ye, regulations advise against refusin’ a physician’s help.”
The stranger took the porter aside. They spoke in hushed tones, and then he passed the railway worker several sovereigns.
Kitty, cheeks burning, couldn’t believe her eyes.
Saints alive! Is he bribing the man?
The porter addressed her again. “As I said, the railroad cannot be ’eld accountable if illness befalls ye after ye leave the station.”
Dumbfounded, she nodded.
“Well then,” he said. “Now that be out of the way, I can speak of my original purpose . . . I been sent to tell ye that yer brother”—again, a disconcerted frown at her rescuer—“Lord Egerton, sent me to collect ye. Yer carriage is ready, milady.”
“Did you say”—the stranger’s brows furrowed—“Lord Ambrose Egerton?” His transformative expression stole her breath. His brows suddenly lifted and the next moment, he looked . . . magnificent. His arresting smile set her heart to racing once more.
“Aye, that is the gentleman’s name, sir,” the porter said. “Yer carriage is ready, and he’s expectin’ ye.” The porter scrunched his nose and thrust out his chest. “This way, if ye please.”
Kitty nodded. She linked her arm through Meg’s, and together, they followed the railway worker. She halted then and turned, her faculties finally returning as she realized she hadn’t thanked the man for rescuing her. In an instant, she located him and put everything about him to memory. “Thank you saving my life, Mr. . . . ?”
“Shh,” Meg whispered, attempting to draw her away. “You haven’t been properly introduced.”
The man stared back at Kitty, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Another time, perhaps.”
There won’t be another time, Kitty thought sadly.
Meg tugged her along. “We mustn’t keep your brother waiting.”
As they traversed the platform, mothers clung to children and boys ran hither and yon, each one a sober reminder that Kitty had come perilously close to death.
Meg’s frustration began to show. “Is there no way the railroad can control these children?”
A pained keening filled Kitty’s heart. Whose responsibility was it to take care of the children of the world? That was the question she wanted answered. She produced a quivering smile. “My dearest Meg, would you deny these children a respite from sitting in a railway car for hours?”
Meg opened her mouth to disagree, then closed it. Her eyes misted. She shook her head. “I only desire to protect a friend from herself.”
Kitty bit her lip. “You are good, Meg. Truly good, decent, and kind. I do not deserve you.”
“Remember that,” Meg said, tapping Kitty’s nose, “the next time you question my judgment.”
Kitty laughed softly, and on they walked.
Fathers called after their rampant children, pointing to this and that with brittle authority as the young ones broke into giggles. Timely and efficient, the large network of porters, constables, and engineers far surpassed that of the tiny railway station in Berkhamstead.
How strange it was that thoughts of home held no interest for Kitty now. Every nerve ending in her body bristled with anticipation that she might chance to meet him again; however, the odds were stacked against her.
Meg lightly squeezed Kitty’s arm, then peered over her shoulder. “I have never seen you so affected by anyone before. It is quite shocking, really.”
“How can I explain it?” she whispered. “I feel like I have always known him.”
As foolish as it sounded, Meg didn’t laugh. “He recognized your brother’s name. Might there be some connection between them?”
London’s population was so vast only a fool would entertain the idea. “I could not say.”
Moments later, a long row of polished carriages sheltered beneath the train shed came into view. Ambrose stepped out between a team of snow-white horses.
“There he is,” Meg cooed, her falsetto filled with adoration.
Ambrose cut a classic figure in a black frock, trousers, and Hessians, his stoic, handsome features barely altered by time, except for the dark mustache growing above his lips. Meg, the besotted and overlooked devotee, stood beside Kitty, smiling broadly, clearly madly in love. Meg had adored Ambrose their whole lives, and his inability to recognize Meg’s affection exasperated Kitty.
“There you are,” Ambrose said. “What do you think about this carriage? Does it pass muster?”
“It is perfect,” she told her brother, suddenly longing to sit down, “though you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Any carriage will do, Ambrose. We are only going to Mayfair.”
“Only going to Mayfair?” He glanced from Kitty to Meg and back, frowning. “Did you hear that, Meg? To be seen in anything less in Mayfair is a capital offense!” He smiled, revealing a set of perfectly straight, enviable white teeth, then froze, staring at something behind them in astonishment. “Fernsby! By Jove, is that you?” Ambrose brushed past them. “I daresay it is!”
Fernsby?
Kitty spun around. Was he speaking of Bartholomew Fernsby? But they were not supposed to meet until they arrived at Field Lane Ragged School.
Befuddled, she turned to see the man who’d avoided visiting their home, Berkhamstead Place, for years. He’d declined every invitation, excusing himself for this or that reason as if it repelled him to travel to the country. His behavior made her family wonder if Mr. Fernsby was even a living, breathing man. They’d teased Ambrose mercilessly because of it.
And here he stood, entirely real and chivalrous and warm-blooded and handsome. And . . .
Oh my! Mr. Fernsby is the man who saved my life!
She touched the base of her neck, marveling at the coincidence as the two friends clasped each other by the shoulders. She watched, half full of hope and half full of dread, pleased that she’d get another opportunity to spend time in his presence. Gooseflesh prickled her skin at the thought. Mr. Fernsby was Ambrose’s old friend, a friend who’d saved her life. More importantly, he’d done something else no one had ever done. He’d awakened glorious sensations inside her that none of her suitors had inspired.
“You didn’t send word that you planned to meet us at the station,” Ambrose exclaimed after a string of happy solicitations. “What a glorious surprise!”
“That was the general idea.” Mr. Fernsby cocked a lopsided grin. “How good it is to see you, my friend. But—” his expression altered to one of concern as he motioned to Kitty “—I beg, attend your sister. She may be injured.”
Ambrose flinched. “What the deuce? Injured, you say?” His gaze cut to Kitty, scanning her from head to toe. “What happened? And how? I thought I left you safely inside the railway car.”
“You did. Truly, it is nothing, Ambrose.” Flushed with embarrassment, she avoided Mr. Fernsby’s stare. “The train was preparing to leave, and we happened to disembark about the same time an overzealous boy was running amuck.”
“The child carelessly knocked into her and she nearly fell onto the tracks,” Mr. Fernsby annoyingly pointed out.
Kitty rose to the boy’s defense. “He was desperate, nothing more. You said so yourself. He couldn’t have known—”
“That the railway station is dangerous? Bah! Truly, Egerton, it was divine providence that I arrived at that precise moment. I’m loath to think what might have happened if I had not caught your sister in time.”
Ambrose’s eyes widened. Fear that her brother would force her to return to Berkhamstead swept through her as their gazes locked. “You caught her? How?”
Mr. Fernsby faltered. Good heavens, this had gotten out of hand fast. She prayed for divine intervention before her brother turned them around and exchanged their tickets for the next train back to Berkhamstead.
Rescue arrived in the form of the porter, who glanced once more at his pocket watch. “I trust the lady is in good ’ands now, milord. If anythin’ is amiss, don’t hesitate to contact the ticket office. With yer permission, I must return to me duties. The London and Birmingham Railway runs a very tight schedule.”
“Of course.” As sternly as her father had ever done when she tried his patience, Ambrose nodded, then dismissed the porter. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you and Meg alone, Kitty.” She expected him to bare his teeth, but he narrowed his eyes with great care instead. “Tell me truthfully. Are you hurt?”
“No. Not at all,” she said. Meg was so looking forward to going to Mayfair, and Kitty yearned to purchase Charles Dickens’s new book as a Christmas gift for the children at Field Lane Ragged School. Even if Kitty had been injured, she’d gloss over the truth to make sure that happened. “I am not hurt, thanks to Mr. Fernsby.” She prayed the man in question didn’t notice the heated flush that crept up her neck when she spoke his name for the very first time.
“Oh, you should have seen it, my lord,” Meg added breathlessly. “Your friend rescued Kitty like a chivalrous knight.”
“What a daring rascal and a sly dog you are.” Ambrose’s eyes glowed as he laid a hand on Mr. Fernsby’s shoulders. “I cannot thank you enough for saving my sister’s life.”
“It was nothing.” Mr. Fernsby shrugged off his actions as if they counted little.
Lost in the textured undertones of Mr. Fernsby’s voice, and nearly swept away by her brother’s jubilation—a sign that Ambrose would not send them home directly—Kitty started when she felt an urging yet protective pressure on her elbow. She glanced down to see Mr. Fernsby’s hand resting on her arm. His unexpected touch reminded her that he’d shown her nothing but gentility and kindness thus far. Surprised by the intimacy but not alarmed, she followed his lead, moving with him to the carriage steps.
“Allow me to assist you,” he said. At her nod, he opened the carriage door. “You’ve had quite a fright.”
She smiled warmly as she gathered her skirts. “Thank you.” He dipped his head stiffly, then helped her up the steps. Once inside the carriage, she took her place on the squabs.
Ambrose’s voice carried to her. “Are you ready, Meg?” He appeared at the doorway with Meg at his side, and happily so. The gold feather on Meg’s brown bonnet brushed against the side of Ambrose’s face as she climbed the steps. Ambrose grinned as Meg giggled like a schoolgirl and took her place beside Kitty. The sight of the two people she loved most in this world warmed Kitty’s heart.
“I’m afraid,” Ambrose said, peering in at them, “this coach will have to do for Your Royal Highnesses, even though you deserve a gold-plated carriage outfitted in damask and velvet.”
“But the cost of such an extravagance!” Kitty exclaimed.
“’Tis little matter.” Mr. Fernsby acted as if he were talking about the weather not frivolous expenditures. “Ladies deserve the best life has to offer.”
“A lady should be grateful for what she has, not pine for what she does not,” Kitty said. “Appearances aren’t everything, Mr. Fernsby.”
Good heavens, she sounded like a shrew, but she spoke from the heart. Beauty often hid the worst of mankind. She swallowed the lump that rose to her throat, and said a silent prayer she hadn’t offended him. Mr. Fernsby had the great misfortune of not being born into the peerage, though Ambrose treated him as his equal. She’d never understood their relationship. Mr. Fernsby had inherited a fortune from a railroad magnate. Unfortunately, in the eyes of the ton, wealth did not spawn prestige.
“Forgive me, if I’ve caused any offense,” she said.
“No offense taken.” His groan suggested otherwise. The axles shifted under Mr. Fernsby’s weight as he boarded the carriage and sat opposite Kitty, his wide shoulders taking up more than half the space.
Ambrose followed and settled directly across from Meg. “Fernsby, I need reinforcements if I am to spoil my sister and her friend anon. Are you up for a challenge?”
Mr. Fernsby adjusted his hat over his eyes. “I am always at your disposal.”
A sour taste filled her mouth. If what Mr. Fernsby said was true, wouldn’t he have accepted Ambrose’s invitations to visit Berkhamstead Place years ago? “Ambrose, do not go to so much trouble on our account.”
