Page 29 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Rain soaked into his thick hair. “You could have been killed.”

The coachmen nodded behind him in unison like a Greek chorus.

“I’m fine,” Sybil assured them with a smile. She wiped more mud from her ear. How had it managed to get inside her ear?

Keir stared at her with disconcerting intensity, as if he could see down to her bones. He was thorough, inspecting her for bruises.

“I’m fine,” she said again, softer.

The coachmen were just as scandalized as Keir. She forgot to mention that she put herself in much worse situations on a regular basis. A traffic mishap was an ordinary danger on a London street.

“That almost never happens! Must be three sheets to the wind, that one.”

“That bastard didn’t even stop.”

“Swear he sped up!”

“Did you see whose carriage that was?” Keir demanded of them. “I want a name.”

“No family crest, nothing. Couldn’t even see his face, all wrapped up in that scarf.”

Sybil’s smile died.

No identifying crest, a scarf worn high, a hat worn low.

She knew what that meant.

It was no accident.

She clawed her smile back. No need to worry the coachmen, who were staring at her with wide, frazzled eyes. The one on the left might start weeping.

“Where’s your carriage?” Keir asked.

“I don’t have one. I’m not going far.”

He stared at her for a long moment as if she had suggested she liked to leap off the spire of St. Paul’s Cathedral on a regular basis just to see if she could fly.

She had climbed out of a cathedral window once, but he did not need to know that.

Not if the muscle twitching in his jaw was any indication. “My carriage is just here. Get in.”

His carriage was all perfectly polished mahogany, with gleaming gold accents, swaying lanterns at each corner. It was understated and practical while also being the height of luxury. Exactly right for the Marquess Blackburn. It would be warm and pleasant inside.

“Really, I’m not going far,” Sybil said instead.

“Sybil.”

“It will not help the rumors I’ve just worked so hard to squash.”

“Sybil.” That calm tone, patient, knowing, faintly exasperated. A hint of the Keir she used to know. Missed desperately, even now. “I am not letting you go home alone covered in mud, in rain that is rapidly turning to snow after nearly being run over.” His voice dropped. “You’re cold.”

She did shiver, though it had nothing to do with the temperature. “I am certain you need to see Lady Violetta home.”

He frowned. “Her mother just left with a headache. How did you know?”

“A lucky guess.” She knew Lady Pontefract. And the marriage-minded mamas of the ton. And her own luck.