Although Lydia gave him a silly, flirtatious smile, Sophie could not meet his gaze. She knew she should show her appreciation for his brave intervention, but all she could do was pretend to study her boots. She’d been unsettled at his unexpected kindness and valor. Sophie was not used to being the center of attention. She’d learned to take care of herself out of necessity and was uncomfortable with the acceptance of assistance of any sort.
The owner of the millinery shop, roused from the commotion at her front door, hurried to Captain Bellingham’s side. “What has happened?”
“The ladies were accosted outside your shop by ruffians who tried to spirit Miss Brancelli away in a hired carriage.”
“Please let me help,” the small woman pleaded. She shook her head so hard, her tight curls bounced. “I have never had anything so terrible occur at my doorstep. I will arrange for a tea tray at my neighbor’s shop.”
Once Lydia and the captain helped her to a chair in the small shop, Sophie began to shake and was grateful to be able to sit in a comfortable, cushioned chair and have others cosset her with a steaming cup of tea and sweet tart provided by the milliner who had returned to her shop. Thankfully, there were only one or two customers at a table near the front of the shop.
Captain Bellingham bent low over their table and spoke to Lydia. "She appears to be in shock. Wait here. I will find your carriage and have your man, Thomas, come for you.” He headed toward the door, but turned at the last minute. "What did she lose? What does it look like? I'll try to find her lost 'lines' if I can."
"Her poetry," Lydia said. "She's been trying to finish her latest poem. It was on a worn piece of foolscap she must have been holding when they tried to grab her."
He nodded thanks to Lydia before heading out into the street.
Captain Arnaud Bellingham returned to his friend, Dr. Cullen MacCloud, who still paced up and down Bond Street outside the tea shop, making sure the men who tried to abduct Miss Brancelli did not return. "Thank God we happened by when we did," Arnaud said, and let out a whoosh of breath. "Those footpads meant that poor woman harm."
“Harm?” Cullen said with a sputter. “They wanted more than just her reticule. Those bullies meant to rip her from the very street.”
Arnaud shook his head. He’d acted out of instinct and could only imagine how terrified Miss Brancelli had been. Hell, he was still shaking and almost light-headed at the memory of the terror in her dark eyes. He checked himself at the forbidden line his mind had taken. He was back in London for only a month or so until his ship was refurbished for his next assignment off the coast of Africa, his first posting under his own command. He could not afford an entanglement with a young woman like Miss Brancelli. He’d already made up his mind on his life’s path.
As if reading his thoughts, his ship’s surgeon added, “And such a fine lass. I can tell she turned your head.”
"No," Arnaud said with emphasis. "This is not what you think. She's an innocent. I did what you or any of us would have done." He did a quick, surreptitious look at the walkers along the street to make sure no one could overhear their conversation.
"Yes, of course," Cullen said, with a quirk of a smile. "Was she injured?" he asked, his teasing tone gone. "Should I see to her?"
"No," Arnaud said, his voice hard. "She's just badly shaken. Could you walk to my mother's townhouse and get that beast, Achamé, out of the mews? Since the young woman seems uncomfortable in my presence, I'll ride behind the carriage to see them safely home."
"Of course, I'll fetch him,” Cullen said, and headed out at a trot, northeast toward Hanover Square.
After Cullen disappeared, Arnaud thought over the fast-moving series of events as if looking through the wrong end of a spy glass. Everything seemed off, small and faraway instead of up close and precise.
He and his ship’s surgeon had walked to Bond Street from the Admiralty where they’d received orders for their next ship. They’d planned on being fitted for new shirts at a tailor’s shop before they parted ways, Arnaud to his mother’s townhouse, and Cullen to his father’s house on Savile Street.
From the time the two villains had jumped out of a hack and grabbed the young woman, to when he and his friend had rushed across the street, he hadn't paid much attention to what she looked like.
She had a bit of an unusual accent, perhaps French or Italian. Arnaud cursed the direction of his thoughts. All he wanted was to see her safely home. After that, he would forget the depths of her dark brown eyes, move on with the refit of his ship, and return to his squadron.
After her attackers escaped, she’d turned on him, probably assuming he was one of them. His hand still ached, and blood dribbled from the stab of her hatpin. She'd put up a hell of a fight. He smiled at the memory of her wild pummeling of her attackers, and him.
Two street urchins approached with brooms and one asked, "Save your boots, sir? Let us sweep a path across for you."
Arnaud knelt down to their level. "I have a better idea," he said, and spun a coin between his fingers. "Were you two here when those fellows tried to grab the young lady?"
The small boys gave each other a look and then seemed to come to a decision. One reached for the coin and said, "Mebbe."
"There's another one in it for you if you can describe them and say which way they went. If you lie, I'll know, and we'll be back," Arnaud added, rising to his full height.
“Cor,” one of the boys
