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She startled.

“Forgive me.” His attention shifted from the knot he was tying around her neck to her face. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“You . . . you have gray eyes.”

The corners of his lips hitched upward a fraction. “Indeed. I’ve had them all my life.”

“I have only ever s-seen gray eyes twice before.” She drew her brows together. Was it two times? Or three? Or only once? Everything was muddled somehow.

“I suppose the color is somewhat unusual.” He cinched the knot and moved back. “Is the bandage overly tight?”

“It is fine.” She raised her hand to touch it and was reminded of how bloodied her gloves had become. “I f-fear it will be ruined though.”

“That is the least of my concerns at present.” He looked past her to where Prescott was standing. “Are you well enough to handle the carriage and horses, driver?”

“Prescott’s the name, sir. And, yes, as long as I’m sittin’, I can manage it.”

“We need to get this young lady to someone who can care for her properly.”

“Barrin’ any other problems on the road, I can make it to the Denningtons’ town house from ’ere in under three-quarters of an ’our.” He took an unsteady step back toward the front of the carriage. “Give me ’alf a minute t’ climb into the seat, an’ we’ll be on our way the moment Miss Dennington is ready.”

“I’m most grateful,” he said, and then he looked back at her. “Your name is Dennington?”

“Yes,” she said. “Hannah Dennington. You . . . you may know of my father.”

“The name is familiar.” He did not elaborate. Nor did he offer an introduction of his own. Instead, he extended his hand. “May I assist you into the carriage?”

“Yes. No.” Beyond the fact that he’d wielded a pistol at her assailant, she knew nothing about this man. “I must find Fanny.”

“Is Fanny your maid?”

“Yes.” With mounting panic, she scoured the area beyond the carriage again. Some of the men were gone, but there was still no sign of Fanny. “I have not seen her since the highwayman seized me.”

“She was told to wait in the hackney cab at the base of the hill. My associates will make sure she returns safely to your house.” He ran his hand across the back of his neck. “I do not wish to be overly forward, but it is imperative that you leave here straightway.”

“Be-because the highwayman may return?”

“Because of your injury,” he said. “You have nothing more to fear from any of the highwaymen.”

“But the one who held me hostage . . .” She shuddered. “H-he got away.”

The runner’s jaw tightened. “He did. Though I doubt his freedom will be long-lived.”

Hannah nodded numbly. The pain beneath her makeshift bandage was worsening, and her limbs had never felt so weak. She looked at the carriage. Could she manage it? Up until an hour ago, she had considered herself a woman of uncommon independence. Now she felt confused and fearful. In truth, she was not sure that she had the strength to enter the carriage, let alone survive the journey on the rough road. And yet, what choice did she have? The runner was right. She needed medical help, and she desperately wanted to be in the care of her sisters.

“If you permit it,” the runner said, interrupting her jumbled thoughts, “I shall ride with you to ensure your safe arrival.”

Hannah pressed her hand to her forehead, desperate for some clarity of thought. She needed Fanny. For propriety’s sake, certainly. But also to assist her in her weakened state. What was a young lady expected to do in a situation such as this? The dampness of her glove was a fitting reminder that nothing about her current situation was normal.

“I-I permit it,” she said, experiencing an unexpected calm the moment the words were spoken. “And I should very much appreciate your assistance in reaching and entering the vehicle.”

With a look of significant relief, he reached for her hands and drew her slowly to her feet. “Can you walk?”

She took one small step, and then the world swayed. “Oh!” She staggered and would have fallen had he not thrust his arm around her.

“My apologies,” he muttered, “but I believe the time for patience is past.” He lifted her off her feet, and pressing her firmly against his solid chest, he carried her to the carriage’s open door.

Samuel could not fathom what was wrong with him. Miss Dennington was the one who had every reason to be suffering the symptoms of severe shock and loss of blood, yet nothing had been right with him since he’d attached his cravat to her neck and his fingers had brushed her bloodstained skin. Where was the objective standing officer he’d so recently been? Or the clear-thinking principal officer he aimed to be? Concern for her emotional state had caused him to take more time than he should have in getting her into the carriage. Carrying her in his arms, which should have been done with complete dispassion, felt anything but practical or sensible.