Chapter Twenty

M ark was about to summon his carriage to go to his club. There was really no other place he could go to escape his family or their unrealistic expectations. He had tried shooting at Manton's with Pelford, but the sound of the gunshots brought back the trauma of the battle and the dead faces of friends. His wooden leg made both fencing and boxing too difficult. He would not be able to retain his balance or speed for attacking. He hadn't even ridden a horse since his leg was amputated. Helen had chided him for not even trying. She was fearless.

He called for his butler. ‘Mr Greeley, can you see that one of the grooms hires me a riding hack? The calmer and older the horse, the better.'

‘For your young cousin?'

Mark shook his head. ‘No, for me.'

Mr Greeley bowed his way out of the room and Mark followed more slowly behind him. When he reached his room, he asked his valet to prepare his riding clothes.

His valet blinked, but showed no other sign of surprise. ‘Very good, my lord.'

After changing, Mark made his way to the front of the house and rested until the groom arrived in front of his house with a brown-and-white-spotted horse. His butler opened the door for him and handed Mark his hat. The hack was already saddled, but Mark could see the horse's age in its yellow eyes and slight sagging in his legs.

The groom holding the reins bowed to him. ‘Would you like help into the saddle, my lord?'

Mark shook his head. ‘No. Thank you.'

He limped purposefully towards the animal and first placed his wooden leg into the stirrup. Setting his hands on the horn of the pommel, he put weight on his severed limb and swung himself into the saddle. The horse stepped forward a little bit and Mark held tightly to the pommel to find his balance. Closing his eyes, he tried to find his core. It was harder with only half a leg and a wooden artificial appendage on one side. It threw off his equilibrium. But his thighs were still strong. He could grip the horse and stay in place with them. And his arms had grown stronger since he'd lost his leg. He had to use them to lift himself up and down and in and out of things.

Taking a breath, he accepted the reins from the groom. He dug one ankle into the horse's flesh, forgetting for the countless time that he was missing a second foot. Despite only feeling pressure on one side, the horse began to move forward. The groom had chosen well. Mark didn't think that this hack could have galloped without dying. But its slow pace and uneven shoulders were perfect for Mark's purpose.

As his body moved with the horse's, Mark realised how much he'd missed the freedom that could be found on the back of a horse. Carriages and buggies had to stick to roads, but a horse could go anywhere. Astride a horse, he didn't feel like less of a man. He felt almost whole.

Mark rode slowly through the city until he reached Hyde Park. It was nearly midday and the fashionable of the beau monde would not be promenading for several hours yet. The serious riders would have gone earlier in the morning. Hyde Park was filled with children and nurses. He stayed on the paved path until he reached the turn before the Serpentine. There was no wading in its waters today.

No Helen.

He saw a young child run in front of his horse. Mark jerked on the reins to slow his animal and avoid the boy. Then a whirl of turquoise ran in front of him, scooping up the child and carrying him to safety. Her blonde hair hung unbound down her back, her usually pale skin flushed from her exertions. She wasn't wearing a habit or a spencer. Her boots were liberally covered in mud and in her arms was the little boy. He couldn't have been more than two or three years old. Helen looked beautifully maternal holding a child.

‘Miles, you have to be more careful,' she chided. ‘You can't run in front of horses.'

‘Helen.' Her name was out of his lips before Mark could stop it.

She turned to look at him and her mouth opened like a rose.

‘It's Aunt Helen,' the boy corrected.

‘Forgive me. I mean, Aunt Helen,' Mark said gravely.

Helen set her nephew down and they both watched him run as fast as his little legs would take him to his mother, Lady Cheswick.

He sensed more than saw her, move closer to him. She touched his leg—right above where the artificial one met what was left of his flesh and bones. ‘I think we both know that I am the one who should apologise. I shouldn't have come last night.'

Mark no longer felt embarrassed that she was touching his wounded leg. He could only focus on the way her touch affected his heartbeat. His pulse. His temperature. He remembered her kisses in the carriage. How much his body wanted her. How much his mind missed her.

Had her embraces truly only been to warm him?

Or had she enjoyed the kisses as much as he did?

Had the memory of the embrace kept her up at night, like it had him? Was that why she had sneaked into his house to speak to him?

He covered her hand with his own, leaving only one hand on the reins. Something he couldn't have done even five minutes ago. But every moment he spent on a horse reminded his body how to ride. That he'd grown up with horses. His brother James had taught him.

Helen was not wearing gloves, but he could still feel the heat of her hand through his leather ones.

‘Foolishly, I am glad that you did.'

She smiled at him and he felt hotter than ever. ‘Then you'll be at Wick's party tonight? I know he sent you an invitation. Well, Louisa did because I asked her to.'

Mark vaguely remembered a card from the Cheswicks. ‘I'm afraid that it would be bad manners to leave my family at home.'

‘You should bring them with you. Wick won't mind. All London parties are squeezes after all. What's two or three more people among hundreds?'

Lady Cheswick came up to them and pulled Helen slightly away from Mark so that she was no longer holding his leg, severing the physical connection between them.

The very pregnant lady smiled at him. ‘My sister-in-law is correct. My husband and I would only be too pleased if you came tonight with your family. We should all like to meet them.'

He tipped his hat. ‘Then we shall be there, Lady Cheswick.'

Helen clapped. ‘And you can meet Jason. He's come to town for a short visit.'

His heartbeat slowed. Mark didn't need to be reminded who Jason was. The cheery curate was the last person in the world that he wanted to meet, but he'd already verbally accepted Lady Cheswick's invitation. And he knew that Niamh would love to attend a glittering party of the ton . His mother and aunt as well. He would simply have to suffer through it.

Without glancing at Helen, he touched his hat once more. ‘I look forward to seeing you all this evening.'

Lady Cheswick inclined her head. ‘Tonight.'

Mark urged his horse to walk again. It was not a grand dramatic exit, but a slow plodding one.