She’d stepped into the carriage with a stranger. She’d put herself in a dangerous position. And, heaven help her, she wasn’t certain she wanted to step back out.
Whatever you need,I will deliver.
Had he just said that? Bloody brilliant, Blake. Why not offer her the moon? The sun? The whole damn kingdom? More importantly, howdidhe plan to help? He did not have the barest idea and would have to come up with something more substantial.
His mind reeled.
As far as his intentions went, they had been straightforward when he’d first set out—rescue her and her brother, and that would be the end of it. But the moment he nearly ran her down, he had realized how inadequate that plan truly was.
It had never been that simple.
If her brother had signed papers—though they had yet to confirm this—and if debts or obligations loomed, it would take far more than a show of bravado and a bit of money to set thingsright. This was, after all, the work of that blackguard Baston, a man who felt nothing about betrayal. And if things went wrong, Lady Rosilee’s reputation could be dragged through the mud. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen.
Of course, Bishop had sent men to investigate the situation, to retrieve her brother and any incriminating documents. They were supposed to be efficient and meticulous, and if anyone could handle a matter this delicate, it was them. But even Bishop couldn’t guarantee success, and Blake was not about to sit back and leave things to chance. At least, not in this.
Because this was abouther.
He would do anything for her.
She suddenly rubbed her hands together, studying him with a smile. “Anything, likeanythingI need?”
“You don’t believe me?” Of course, he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t entirely trust him. Why should she? He was a stranger who had swooped in, claiming to know her brother and offering vague promises of help.
“I mean, I—”
“Name it. I give you my word, you shall have it.”
She waved her hands for him to stop. “Very well, no need to go on, I shall believe you for now.”
“Do you always believe strangers so easily?”
A grin split her face. “I have a good feeling about you. And you know Leopold.”
Of course. The viscount.You really ought not trust everything you hear, Lady Rosilee.A knot lodged in his chest. He didn’t deserve her trust. But he would earn it. “I hope I will not disappoint you then.”
“The only way you can do that is by preventing me from achieving my goal.”
Ah, yes. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the notorious matchmaker. Who hadn’t heard the whispers of her dealings, the despairing womenshe catered to, and the wealthy men who sought amusement and became distraught cannon fodder for the veiled widow’s schemes. Such a place was unworthy of Lady Rosilee. “What if I can secure you a match without having to enlist the widow’s help?”
Surprise flashed in her eyes. “You could do that?”
He didn’t know. But he could damn well try. No matter what, he couldn’t let her walk into the Lyon’s Den without at least attempting to offer her an alternative. “I still have contacts in London.”
Christ.
That rang flat even to his own ears. He supposed he did have some connections, or would, eventually. Or rather, his title would afford him influence. Did Bishop have any contacts? Probably not. If he did, the man wouldn’t have ended up half-dead in a ditch on his property, would he?
Her eyes locked with his, and he tensed beneath her scrutiny.
Blake could see the wheels turning in her mind. She was deliberating his offer. He understood her hesitation. How many times had he heard tales of men promising help, only to disappear when it was most needed? Books were riddled with them. But still never as much as reality was. He would never be one of those stories.
“Very well,” she finally said. “Let us see if your London contacts can procure me my solution.”
Relief numbed his limbs. “I assure you, Lady Rosilee, I shall do everything in my power to help you.”
“May I ask how you know my brother?”
Blake paused for a moment, picking his words with care. “He, we...” Damnation. He thought back to that night. It wasn’t her brother, but it was a Fairchild. “We crossed paths some years back. He...”—you—“...helped me out of a predicament.” She didn’t remember him, so it shouldn’t matter saying this much.After all, he couldn’t simply tell her they, she and him, had met before. How could he remind her? It would seem strange for him to come to her rescue over something she’d done so many years ago. She would think him a monster of sorts, wouldn’t she? “I’ve been grateful to him ever since.”
