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He bellowed in laughter and stepped aside, watching the carriage pick up speed, careening recklessly down the road as people leapt aside. The gentlemen whooped and hollered in triumph over the sputtering engine.

So much for the unpatented vehicle causing panic. Everything was going well!

Just then, a young maiden—not looking where she was going—stepped into the paint Tyrone had spilled onto the street, reeled in shock, and swayed right onto the carriage’s path.

It was the happiest day of her life.

Emily Fitzwilliam was bursting with excitement as she hurried toward Petticoat Lane with a skip in her step, ready to buy the silk and lace necessary to fix her and her sisters’ gowns. After all, she was getting married soon!

The image of Bernard on his knees before her, reciting a line of poetry he’d written as he asked for her hand in marriage floated through her mind. He was such a romantic.

She clasped her hands before her chest, not caring that people looked strangely her way.

It didn’t matter what was happening around her.

The street was dirty and noisy. The scent of paint from the ongoing street repairs made her nauseous. A few feet away, a few gentlemen argued with the constables next to a large carriage with a metal box on top, emanating steam. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen passed through the street to get to or from the Petticoat Lane market, giving her disapproving side glances. A few boys ran around looking to pick those well-to-do ladies and gentlemen’s pockets. But it might as well have been an enchanting forest with whistling songbirds.

Nothing could ruin Emily’s mood.

Bernard—the man she had been in love with since she was fifteen—had finally proposed to her! Soon, she would have a family of her own, while at the same time saving her mother and siblings from poverty.

As much as she loved Bernard, she could not help but take into consideration the fact that marrying a well-to-do viscount’s third son would help find suitors for her sisters and possibly even help afford school for her little brother Reggie!

She twirled in glee, her arms stretched wide at her sides, her reticule dangling from her fingers.

Plop!

Emily came to a halt, before slowly prying her foot from a red, sticky liquid.

What is that?

Wrinkling her nose from the pungent smell, she stumbled backward. It was paint! She had stepped into bright red paint, successfully ruining her favorite slippers.

Gasps and shouts rose around her, forcing Emily to look up only to see a gigantic, monstrous carriage accelerating her way.

Emily froze in horror, helplessly watching as the carriage barreled toward her.

Is it a carriage? If it is, then where are the horses?

This ridiculous thought would have been her last if it wasn’t for the strong, steel-like arms encircling her waist, gripping her close to a hard, warm body and propelling her out of the way.

The world turned and tumbled as if in a whirlwind. Everything flickered before Emily’s eyes, and then… nothing.

For a moment, the world went black and a light buzz in her ears obscured all other sounds. Emily opened her eyes and had to blink a few times before she was able to recognize the gray London sky.

Her head vibrated with a vicious headache, and she couldn’t take in a full breath. Why was it difficult to breathe?

Emily tried to move her limbs before finally realizing what restricted her breathing and movements—the large, warm body of a very heavy male who was lying on top of her!

She tried to turn her head, but his hair was in her face, tickling her nose and wiggling its way into her mouth.

Panic gripped her tightly from the inside. She flailed her arms, trying to shake the gentleman off her.

It seemed to work as the stranger raised his face just enough to look into her eyes.

“Who are ye?” he slurred terribly as the smell of alcohol hit her face.

The strange man stared at her with a dazed look in his eyes. Despite his pitch-black hair with not even a hint of silver, the unkempt beard on his face made him look sixty years old.