“I find no dishonor in marrying for love rather than fortune. Now, I don’t want to appear abrupt, but I must leave, and I consider this subject closed. I’m sorry you were hurt, and very relieved you are all right.”

“Believe me, this subject is not at all closed.”

“It is entirely and permanently closed. I am getting married, and I’m afraid, Father, that you do not get to cast a vote on my choice for a wife. Although I very much would like your blessing, I intend to have her, with or without it. I shall visit you again as soon as I am able.”

He quickly departed the room, then hurried down the stairs, where he said a quick good-bye to Catherine, and reiterated to Evans his instructions regarding not allowing anyone entry into the house. He then hastily donned his coat and accepted his walking stick from Evans. It was only a few minutes’ walk back to his own townhouse, where he would await Meredith.

God help that bastard if he thought to venture anywhere near Meredith. If you do, you bastard, I suggest you enjoy these next few hours. Because they will be your last.


Sitting on a stone bench situated along her favorite shady path in Hyde Park, Meredith breathed in the cool morning breeze, which lifted the gentle scent of flowers and earth and encouraged birds to twitter. Her gaze fell upon Charlotte, Albert, and Hope, who examined a group of butterflies fluttering near a group of colorful blooms a short distance away.

Tears pooled in Meredith’s eyes at the sight of her friends. Tears of joy, because Charlotte and Albert clearly loved each other deeply, and they were obviously so happy together. And, if she were completely honest with herself, tears of envy, because she wanted that sort of love for herself, and it could never be.

When they’d told her this morning that they planned to marry, she’d been momentarily stunned into silence. Charlotte and Albert? Why, she’d never considered such a thing. Yet, turning the idea over in her mind, she saw how well suited they were. They had much in common, knew and accepted each other’s pasts, and Albert couldn’t love Hope more than if she were his own child. She recalled looks given when the other was not aware and the odd tension she’d occasionally felt between Albert and Charlotte-tension she’d shrugged off as one of them being tired or preoccupied. She had not, even once, considered that they might be preoccupied with each other. Good Lord, what sort of matchmaker was she, failing to see love when it resided directly under her nose?

A humorless laugh escaped her and she blinked back her tears. Obviously she wasn’t a very good matchmaker at all, for a good matchmaker would not be so foolish as to fall in love with the man for whom she was supposed to find a suitable bride.

During the sleepless night, she’d taken a hard, cold, bald-faced look at the facts and had not allowed herself the luxury of hiding behind platitudes and rationalizations or looking the other way.

The disturbing fact was that she had-very unwisely- fallen in love. Bad enough that she should do so, but the fact that she’d fallen in love with a viscount-the heir to an earldom-well, that fell in the category of “unequivocally stupid.”

Philip needed a wife, and after last night, it was clear he planned to overlook their glaring class differences and propose. Her heart lurched, sick with loss and regret. She would have given anything, anything, to be able to accept.

But as she painfully knew, much more than glaring class differences kept her from being a suitable bride for Philip. And although she dreaded doing so, it was time to tell him that even if he broke the curse, she could never be his wife.

She rose, and together with Albert, Charlotte and Hope, they walked back to the gig, which they’d left near the Park Lane entrance, almost directly across from Philip’s townhouse. All she had to do was walk across the street and tell him.

“Are ye certain ye don’t want us to wait?” Albert asked as he helped Hope up onto the gig’s seat.

“No, thank you,” Meredith said, with what she hoped passed for a cheerful smile. “I’m not certain how long my discussion with Lord Greybourne will last.”

“But how will you get home, Aunt Merrie?” Hope asked.

“I’ll ask Lord Greybourne to arrange transportation for me.”

When Albert appeared about to voice an objection, she added quickly, “Lord Greybourne no doubt plans to go to the warehouse to continue searching through the remaining crates, and I may accompany him.” She bit back her guilt at that falsehood. After her conversation with Philip, she wouldn’t be seeing him again.

When they were all settled in the gig, Albert took up the reins. “We’ll see you later,” Charlotte said, her eyes glowing with happiness.

A lump swelled in Meredith’s throat, and, not trusting her voice, she simply smiled and nodded.

“ ‘Bye, Aunt Merrie,” Hope said, waving.

“Good-bye, Poppet,” she managed, then blew the child a kiss.

The gig moved down Park Lane, and Meredith watched it, waving, until the conveyance vanished from her sight. Then she stood for another minute, oblivious to the pedestrians moving in front of and behind her, staring across the road at Philip’s townhouse, gathering her courage, trying desperately to ignore the little voice that cruelly reminded her that everything she wanted was inside that house. And that she would never have it. And because she never would, it was time to sever all ties with Philip.

Drawing a resolute breath, her gaze riveted on her destination, she stepped into the street. She’d taken half a dozen steps when she heard a familiar voice yell a frantic, “Meredith!”

Surprise halted her steps. Looking about, she saw Philip running toward her, his face a mask of panic. “Meredith, watch out!”

Suddenly aware of the sound of pounding hooves, she looked over her shoulder. A carriage, drawn by four black horses, their legs flashing at full gallop, was bearing down on her. Her mind screamed at her to run, but terror froze her for several seconds. Seconds, she realized in a flash, that would cost her her life.

Sixteen

Philip ran as he’d never run before, his every muscle straining to reach her in time. He saw the terror flash in her eyes, saw her freeze for those few vital seconds before she moved. Too late… too late.

He leapt toward her, grabbing her around the waist, knocking her off her feet and propelling them both forward. They landed near the edge of the road with a bone-jarring, skidding impact, just as the carriage thundered by them, spewing dirt and grit, shuddering vibrations through him as the wheels passed them with only inches to spare.

Heart pounding, breath scorching his lungs, he pushed himself off her. He’d tried to twist sideways to protect her from the impact, but they’d gone down hard. Shaking with fear, he gently rolled her onto her back.

His stomach dropped at the dirty scrape marring her cheek, and the trickle of blood seeping from a cut on her temple. Her chin was smeared with dirt and already showing signs of bruising. Her gown was torn in several places, and covered with road dust, as was her hair. She stared up at him, her normally crystal-clear eyes glazed and unfocused, but at least she was conscious.

“My God. Meredith.” He gently touched shaking fingers to her uninjured cheek. The rational part of his mind shouted out a litany of things he should be doing-checking her for broken bones, moving her from the side of the road-but every other part of his mind was immobilized with stark fear. And fury. Turning his head, he noted the carriage had nearly disappeared from view. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus. One more second. Just one more second and she’d have been killed under those churning hooves, those speeding wheels. “Please say something,” he implored.

She blinked, and some of the cobwebs left her eyes. “Philip.”

He had to swallow to locate his voice. “I’m right here, darling.”

“Are you all right, sir?” a gentleman asked, running over to them.

“I’m fine. I’m not yet certain about her.” Philip didn’t look up, but he was aware that several people had gathered around, all of them murmuring about how it wasn’t safe to cross the road these days, how the speeding carriage had seemed to appear from nowhere, and what a splendid rescue he’d made.

“Meredith, I want you to remain still while I check to see if you’ve broken any bones.” He examined her arms and legs, then gently pressed on her ribs. “Nothing appears broken,” he said, his voice hoarse with relief. Scooping her up into his arms, he rose, trying to push down his alarm at her silence. If she were completely herself, his Meredith would surely scold him for scandalously hauling her about like a sack of potatoes, especially in public. And God knows he’d have given anything to hear such a reprimand, to know she was truly all right.

“She’s going to be fine,” he said to the half dozen people who had gathered. A collective sigh of relief went up, but Philip didn’t waste any more time. He strode quickly across Park Lane, then up the steps to his house, where he banged on the door with his boot. A young footman named James opened the door, his face set in a fierce scowl.

“Now, see here-” He cut off his irate words as Philip marched across the threshold.

“Miss Chilton-Grizedale is hurt. I need warm water and bandages. Lots of them.” He headed down the corridor to his private study, cradling his precious cargo close to his chest. “Also, there’s a bowl of Bakari’s ointment in the kitchen. Cook will know where. Bring that as well. Then I want a bath made in my bedchamber.”

“Shall I send for the doctor, my lord?”

“Not yet. There are no broken bones, and I’ve some experience in treating injuries. I’ll let you know if the doctor is needed.”