EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK
Kitty’s vision blurred. “Dearest Meg, how I wish we had been born sisters! Then things would be quite different for both of us.” Meg would be loved and cherished, and they could conquer the marriage mart together. But then Ambrose would be Meg’s brother, too, and that wouldn’t do. Meg was in love with Ambrose—or at least the idea of him. Hence Kitty’s interference . . .
She squeezed Meg’s hand then broke away, turning to study the smartly polished crimson-and-black first-class train cars rimmed with gold behind them. She had never seen anything so grand. It was almost as if the designers had built the train carriages to resemble Queen Victoria’s own royal coaches. Each car was equipped with three separate private compartments, decorated with luxurious interiors. There was a stark difference between the packed second-class boxcars and the windowless third-class carriages, which were truly fit only for livestock. No wonder the lower class bounded out of their cars with boisterous glee, causing a scene at which the well-to-do people frowned.
Her sadness for Meg’s situation fading, Kitty tilted her head to gaze in wonder at the station’s glass ceiling, marveling at its pristine architecture. Centuries of soot and dense fog had yet to mar its beauty, which was the main reason why people flocked to Euston Station—to appreciate the masterful splendor. But like relationships, tarnished by pride and prejudice, nothing existed for long without blemish. Life even scarred lovers.
Love and duty had brought her to London. She was only standing here now because Papa had ordered her to pry into her brother’s affairs, something she found terribly offensive. She’d agreed, if only to visit poorer sections of the city that called to her heart. Her brother was supposed to meet an old friend from Eton there—Bartholomew Fernsby. Mr. Fernsby and several investors were campaigning for a new Poor Law Union that would regulate education in London’s poorest areas, which meant he had connections her father could utilize. Papa desired to expand the Bridgewaters’ philanthropic efforts to the East End, and Mr. Fernsby’s connections would help make that possible. But could the man be trusted? He’d been a phantom, darting in and out of Ambrose’s life for the past fifteen years, which made Papa suspicious. If Papa was going to support the new Poor Law Union—and the schools it spawned—he wanted proof that Mr. Fernsby wasn’t a fraud. And if she suspected Mr. Fernsby misled Ambrose, Papa had ordered her to put an end to their relationship by whatever means necessary.
She took no pleasure in spying on Ambrose, and doing so weighed heavily on her. What right did she have to destroy Ambrose’s friendship—or his ambitions—when all she wanted to do was share them, to do likewise and take her philanthropic place in Society?
“All aboard!” a porter hailed from the platform.
“Thief!” another demanding bellow followed. “Get back here, boy!”
The engine whistled off more loudly than the previous time, preventing her from hearing more of the altercation as she dragged her attention away from the decorative ceiling to search the platform for its source. In London, or anywhere crowds gathered and innovation excelled, pickpockets roamed, and wherever there was a crush of people, thefts and accidents occurred.
Compressors for the brakes shifted, creating a chuffing sound. Steam and exhaust burst forth from the train, propelled with great force from a continuous line of pipe, giving Kitty hardly any time at all to respond before the little thief suddenly appeared out of the ether.
“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.
