He shook his head. “You are the oddest creature, Miss Sutton. Come along. I must decide whether or not I will take this missive to the watch, and I haven’t time to remain here, exchanging barbs with you.”
“The watch ain’t going to do a thing about finding Aidan,” she grumbled. “Trust me. Their palms are all being greased, and not by nobs such as yourself.”
“You would suggest that, would you not? You would not wish to be caught.”
Naturally, he would continue to insist upon clinging to his distrust of her.
She thrust aside the sting of disappointment and brushed past him, descending from the carriage first by leaping from the step and landing on her feet. Unfortunately, her overly large boots made her ankle roll to its side, ensuing pain branding her limb as she toppled forward.
Large, capable hands caught her waist, hauling her against a broad, familiar chest.
“What the devil were you thinking, leaping from the carriage like a tiger springing from a curricle?” he growled. “Have you done yourself injury?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip to stifle the pain and corresponding prick of surprised tears.
She would not indulge in a bout of the waterworks before this man. She would show him no weakness.
“Blast you, Pen.”
She knew a moment of startled surprise at his use of her given name. But then he further dashed her wits by scooping her into his arms. She clutched at his shoulders for purchase. It was almost as if, for a moment, his façade had slipped. He had forgotten himself. And he was Garrick again, rather than Viscount Lindsey. He was simply a man who had kissed her breathless and brought her exquisite pleasure and scooped her into his arms when she had hurt herself.
What an inconvenient thought to have, and at the worst possible moment, too.
She sniffed and surreptitiously dashed at the evidence of tears with the back of her hand, keeping her eyes on his sharp jawline as he carried her through the mews. “Do you think you ought to be carrying your gentleman friend into your fancy town house, Lord Lordly? Only imagine how the tongues would wag.”
“You are weeping,” he observed without looking down at her.
How did he know?
She sniffed. “Of course I am not. Do not be silly.”
“I am a great many things, but I do not count silly amongst them.” His tone was grim as he shouldered his way into a door and through the dimly lit halls of what was presumably his home. “You are in pain, and I have no wish to see you suffer. Even if your injury was caused by your own stupidity.”
She frowned at him. “I nearly thought you a caring man, but that last sentence quite ruined the illusion.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Excellent.”
He had brought them to a set of stairs which was lit with wall-hung sconces, and then began ascending.
“Put me down,” she told him. “I am capable of walking.”
“I trust you more when you are in my arms,” he quipped. “You are less capable of causing me trouble.”
Indeed. From her perspective, it was the opposite instead.
“My pain was momentary and it is gone now. Truly, think of what will happen should one of your servants come upon us,” she hissed.
Although the prospect did not bother her in the slightest, she was suddenly desperate to be on her own feet and away from his warmth and delicious scent.
“This hall is private thanks to the diabolical proclivities of one of my predecessors,” he intoned, reaching a landing and turning to ascend another flight. “Apparently, it pleased him greatly to bed his paramours in the privacy of his home and without the knowledge of his wife or servants.”
“Ah, yes, far more civilized to bed one’s paramour at a separate residence entirely,” she said, and then scolded herself for the bitterness she could not seem to strip from her voice.
It should not matter to her that he had kept a mistress at the home where he had previously taken her. His past had no bearing on either her present or her future. And yet, she could not deny the burning coal of something that felt a lot like jealousy.
“Is that censure I detect in your voice, Miss Sutton?”
“I am merely pointing out the hypocrisy where I see it, milord.”
She suppressed a shudder when he took them through a tight passageway that was decidedly dark and unlit. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she pressed herself tightly against him as fear clawed up her throat.
It was irrational and she knew it, for it had been years since her father had left her locked in a tiny dirt-floored room as punishment, but that did not keep the old emotions at bay.
“You are going to leave marks, my dear.”
Although his tone was easy, there was an unspoken question in his words.
One she did not want to answer. Although her oldest brother Jasper had done his best to protect Pen and her siblings from their father’s wrath, he had been scarcely more than a lad himself.
A resurgence of memories better left buried along with her father sent fear shooting through Pen. She buried her face in the viscount’s throat, despite her every intention to present herself as invulnerable.
“What is the matter, Pen?” he asked softly, still guiding them through the inky corridor, his footfalls steady and his breath scarcely labored.
She swallowed, trying to form an answer. “Nothing.”
“Your ankle?”
“The ankle is fine,” she denied.