The Viscount's Unconventional Bride. Mary Nichols

been spilled, but most praising him for the show he had put on. It had been a fair fight between skilled opponents and most had no complaints. Louise turned to Jonathan, who was dabbing at the cut on his arm. ‘Are you hurt, Mr Linton?’

      ‘A scratch, nothing more. You fight well, Mr Smith.’ Did she imagine it or did he put unusual emphasis on her name?

      ‘Thank you, Mr Linton. So do you.’

      They walked side by side, the tall muscular man and the slight, effeminate youth, to where their seconds held their coats. Betty had joined Joe and was watching them approach, her eyes alive with excitement. As Jonathan reached out to take his coat from Joe, his arm accidentally knocked against Louise who was reaching out for her own garment. Already more than a little shaken by her ordeal, it took her off balance and she would have gone down if he had not reached out and grabbed her.

      The contact of his hands on her shoulders was only momentary, but it was enough for him to feel the soft feminine flesh beneath his hands and for her to shudder at the sensation his touch caused. She felt so weak with the shock of it, she was afraid her knees would give way. This man was so strong, so masculine, so…so physical. The feeling was different from anything she had experienced before. Her brothers often grabbed hold of her, especially when she was younger and joining in their rough and tumble; her father sometimes took her shoulders in his hands to emphasise some point to her, but it had not felt like this. This made her tremble all over.

      Pulling herself together, she stepped away from him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘My pleasure.’ Her masculine attire was off-putting and alluring at the same time and made him feel ill at ease. He could not smile at her as a man would smile at a woman, he could not take her hand, certainly he could not kiss her, which he had been very tempted to do as they stood so close, facing each other.

      Betty came forwards to help her on with her coat. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she whispered. ‘You shouldn’t hev took your coat off. The binding’s slipped.’

      ‘I could not have fought in a coat, could I?’ Resisting the temptation to put her hand to her breasts, she hurriedly did up the buttons, picked up her sword and strolled off arm in arm with Betty, as casually as she could manage.

      Jonathan watched them go. Here was the missing Miss Louise Vail, he was sure of it, though why she was not miles ahead he had no idea. She had not been abducted and as far as he could see, no crime had been committed. She was simply a spoiled young lady looking for adventure. It annoyed him to think he had been sent on a wild goose chase. The Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club was never founded to investigate such a paltry affair. He would return to Barnet and make his report to her parents and then wash his hands of her. But could he leave her where she was, prey to whoever decided to have some sport with her? Besides, the memory of those lustrous eyes, appealing to him not to tear her shirt off, could not be cast aside. And had not Mrs Vail entreated him to see no harm came to her? And had he not promised to do his best to return her to the bosom of her family?

      ‘Do you think anyone else noticed the slipped bindings?’ Louise asked when they were out of earshot and making their way back to the George.

      ‘Don’ know. I reckon Mr Linton did. He was closest.’

      Too close, she realised. ‘We will stay in our room until the coach is ready to leave. Perhaps we will not see him again.’ It was said more in regret than hope, she realised. But now was not the time to be mooning over a handsome man; she was on a mission, a most important mission, one that would probably dictate how the rest of her life would evolve. It was certainly not the time to get involved with cards and duels and handsome young men, whose touch excited her. She must hold herself aloof.

      ‘Much hope of that,’ Betty said. ‘He’s bin with us all the way so far, so I don’ reckon he’ll stop now.’

      The coach was in the yard, the horses harnessed and the driver and guard inspecting the vehicle, tackle and horses, making sure all was well before taking his passengers on board. A woman with a young child, a young man escorting a schoolboy, and a man in a black coat, green with age, were waiting to board it. Louise and Betty just had time to go to their room, rebind her breasts, collect their bags and pay their bill before hurrying out to take their seats.