“Take care not to bump his head.”
Fergus grimaced. “Are you certain you want him inside? He’s covered in mud.”
“I am aware, but unless you wish to carry him all the way to Mayfair, there is no other choice.”
That settled matters quickly, and Fergus dumped him on the carriage floor. The baron roused long enough to release a string of curses damning the servant’s manhood before he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Helena arched her brows at Fergus. “Well, that saves me the trouble of taking you to task for carelessness, I would say.”
“Aye, that it does, milady.” He took the lantern from her and grinned. With his assistance, she climbed inside and stepped over Lord Thorne to settle on the bench.
Fergus eyed the baron crumpled on the carriage floor taking up the majority of space inside. “I’ll be on the box with Robert. Signal if he wakes.” He closed the door, shrouding the interior in darkness. When the carriage jerked forward, the motion elicited another miserable moan from her passenger.
When a wheel hit a rut and his head knocked against the floor, she winced. It was bad enough the baron had taken a beating from the footpads. He didn’t need additional bruises courtesy of her assistance.
She opened the curtain to allow for light, slid onto the floor, and arranged his head on her lap to cushion any further blows. The scent of ale wrinkled her nose. Perhaps his addled state had more to do with overindulgence than injury, at least she hoped.
She had never made Lord Thorne’s acquaintance. He didn’t attend the assemblies, but she couldn’t blame the poor man. Invariably, details of his jilting were on gossips’ lips at balls, garden parties, and every at-home. Helena had begun to feel she knew him personally, and her heart went out to him.
She wiped his lips clean with her handkerchief and sighed wistfully. Such a lovely set of lips. If a duke’s daughter had jilted him, Helena wanted to see his competition. Lord Thorne was quite possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen, even caked in mud.
He mumbled something in his sleep. On instinct, she smoothed a hand over his hair. “Shh, you will be home soon.”
Perhaps if circumstances were different, she would ask for a proper introduction. She shook the thought from her head. No, she wouldn’t. Sebastian Thorne was trouble, and she didn’t need trouble getting in the way of her finding her sisters and giving them a better life now that she was free of her husband.
The carriage rolled to a gradual stop, and the door swung open. Fergus filled the doorway. With his face in shadow, she couldn’t see his expression, but she thought she had heard a small gasp. She supposed she’d shocked him by touching the baron, but there was nothing inappropriate about the situation.
“He didn’t wake,” she said. “Perhaps he requires a doctor.”
“His family will summon one if need be.” When the Scot grabbed Lord Thorne’s arms and tugged, the baron’s head rolled back. Fergus tossed him over his shoulder again. “Thorne Place is around the corner. Robert will take you home, and I’ll wait out of sight to make certain his household discovers him.”
She scrambled to her feet as Fergus turned. “Wait!”
The servant raised a bushy brow in her direction. She had no idea what she wanted or why she had called out. It was just… Well, something inside of her wasn’t ready to let the baron go yet.
“Do not let anyone see you.”
Fergus flashed a cockeyed grin. “That is part of the plan, lass.”
Two
Sebastian’s thoughts were preoccupied with angel’s wings and harps as he drifted into consciousness. More precisely, he was thinking the angel from the mist had possessed neither wings nor a harp, which meant his savior had been no angel at all.
From the feel of the thick mattress beneath him and the familiar sounds of the house settling, he wasn’t in heaven either. He was in his bedchamber. God only knew how he had gotten there.
He smacked his lips. His mouth was dry, like someone had shoved a wad of muslin in it. With eyes still closed, he fumbled for a glass of water on his side table without success. He cracked open an eye.