The Reluctant Bride's Bold Escape
A woman in a long skirt and overcoat pressed a clutch deep over her face, half-hiding it as she carried a large leather trunk.
Carlisle blinked in disbelief.
No. Impossible.
Just as he crossed the street, a streetlamp cast her face into light. Her eyes were wide with terror; she darted them around anxiously.
Carlisle had nearly laughed aloud.
“How amusing.”
The innocent, demure debutante of the year—the woman who was to be my bride—was embarking on such a daring runaway.
It seemed she truly disliked the thought of marrying me.
He could understand the sentiment. Carlisle himself found Mabel distasteful.
A widow or divorced woman of similar age would have been far easier; he could have directly negotiated terms without the emotional drain.
Carlisle clicked his tongue softly.
Despite his patience—treating her with utmost gentlemanly courtesy, as any flower of a girl should be spared the terror of fleeing—he had failed utterly.
That little squirrel clearly had no idea what danger she courted.
If only she hadn’t crossed my path…
A fresh, sharp thrill of danger sent his dulled nerves tingling. What was done was done; he could not now falter.
“I should have left her to her fate,” he muttered.
In truth, that would have been far more efficient. Fear was the surest means of control.
Carlisle, fedora pulled low, deliberately made his footsteps loud as he approached.
The unfamiliar man made her jolt to a halt; her steps faltered. He did not quicken his pace but followed.
The instant Carlisle stood before her, Mabel’s face twisted in panic and she spun, fleeing.
He frowned, shaking his head.
Leave the trunk and run, Iris.
Such naïvely innocent action stirred the rot in his memory. Carlisle frowned and sighed.
She probably imagined him no more than a petty thief.
The debutante of the year had no notion of the horrors that could befall a young woman walking alone at night.
He should have warned her that when a stranger drew near in the dark, she must abandon everything and run.
Carlisle trailed Mabel at a measured pace. The trunk made her stumble, but she descended into the street.
At that moment a racing motorcar appeared from Madison Avenue. Mabel, eyes fixed behind her, never noticed.
“Damn.”
Carlisle bit off a curse between his teeth.
He closed the distance in a single stride, arm snaking around her waist, lifting her bodily. His free hand clamped over her mouth just as she screamed.
The instant her struggles loosened his grip, the car struck the trunk with a dull thud. The trunk flew, rolling into the middle of the road.
When the moment passed, Carlisle exhaled a relieved whistle. A hollow laugh escaped at the unexpected turn.
Regaining her senses, Mabel screamed again and thrashed.
“Good evening, Miss Darling-ton. What a fine night for a stroll,” he drawled against her ear.
Suddenly she fell still. She had recognized his voice. The rapid, birdlike flutter of her breath against his arm told him so.
“If you promise to stay quiet, I’ll release you.”
Mabel nodded frantically.
Carlisle removed his hand from her mouth, set her down beneath the streetlamp, then turned back to the car, lifted the tattered trunk, and asked casually, “The trunk is heavy; allow me to carry it. Where were you headed?”
Mabel stood frozen, shock still etched on her face, then jerked her head in refusal.
“N-no, thank you!”
Carlisle lifted the fedora brim slightly, studying her. Their eyes met; she dropped her gaze in haste.
“I truly appreciate the offer, but I can manage. His Lordship is busy, so I should continue on my way…”
Her voice, ready to break into tears, trailed weakly.
“No need. I happen to be out for a night walk myself.”
Carlisle stepped forward with easy grace. Mabel recoiled, face drained of color, retreating in fright.
“You really shouldn’t have to…”
He suddenly reached out, seized her chin, and lifted it.
“My, how pale you are.”
He observed her with feigned concern. Long, thick lashes fluttered like butterfly wings over trembling eyes.
Carlisle murmured, almost to himself, “Hit by the motorcar and killed on the spot… or that trunk crushed a bone, leaving you crippled for life. No wonder you’re frightened.”
Mabel’s eyes widened; her gaze flicked to the trunk on the ground, its corners dented, lid half-ajar.
“I was fortunate to find Miss Darling-ton while out for a stroll. I have earned the honor of saving her life.”
Carlisle spoke with exaggerated courtesy, his tone mocking.
Mabel bit her lip in despair. She had realized he had noticed her attempt to flee.
Yet he had no intention of acknowledging it. Acknowledging a weakness only made it sharper to wield.
“Since I’ve saved you, as my future husband I might add one more thing…”
Carlisle continued in a cool voice.
“Do you know what is the most merciful calamity a young woman can encounter when walking alone in the dark?”
“…”
Mabel’s lips trembled; she lowered her head.
“Run over by a drunk driver’s motorcar and die painlessly. Even now, in every dark alley…”
Carlisle tightened his grip on her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He leaned down slowly and whispered menacingly, “There are cruelties afoot that make one long to die.”
He held her swirling purple eyes for a moment. Whatever lay within them unsettled him.
Carlisle released her chin and stepped back.
“Miss Darling-ton, you are fortunate indeed.”
He tilted his head, sweeping her slowly with his gaze. She clutched her coat, shivering.
“The trunk is merely dented. Your slender neck remains intact; there is no breakage.”
Her breath hitched in a stifled sob. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Ah…”
Tears welled in her large eyes, spilled down her cheeks. Head bowed, she fought to silence her sobs.
Carlisle clicked his tongue sharply.
The pressure on his chest returned. He had mocked a child and watched her cry.
He had not meant his words to wound so deeply.
By his own record, this was the most courteous, considerate threat he had ever issued. It was also the counsel she most needed.
“Hah…”
Carlisle exhaled a heavy sigh.
That would suffice for today.
His patience and tolerance had grown markedly; life suited him better lately.
He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a handkerchief, and offered it. She accepted it obediently, though she knew she could have refused with sharp words.
“T-thank you…”
Even now, her manners were ridiculous.
He realized anew how unpracticed she was in the common courtesies a girl must learn when facing a man and shedding tears. Remorse prickled his conscience.
“So… where were you headed?”
He asked with marked gentleness.
“H-home…”
Mabel sniffled, accepting it.
“Indeed. Shall I escort you?”
With head still bowed she nodded quietly. Tears fell in muffled drops to the pavement.
Carlisle lifted the trunk and offered his arm. She placed her hand upon it without hesitation.
All her life she had been a well-behaved child who obeyed.
Until she chose to run rather than marry him.
A queer unease stirred within him.
“Let us go.”
They had not walked far before Mabel staggered. Her knees had given out.
Carlisle sighed, stopping.
“Allow me.”
He bent, lifted her in one arm as though she were a child, and began to walk.