Page 23 of When You Rescued Me

He lowered her gently onto the carriage seat. Already, blood was seeping through his cravat. He did not bother checking his jacket. The chances were good it was now stained with her blood as well. Taking the seat opposite her, he pulled the carriage door closed and tapped the roof. The vehicle immediately began moving. Thankfully, Prescott appeared to be as good as his word.

Samuel turned his attention back to Miss Dennington. She was watching him, her pretty hazel eyes a little wider than they should be.

“If it makes the drive easier for you, you could lie across the seat,” he suggested.

“You know that if any of London’s old biddies catch wind of this, my reputation is ruined,” she said.

He stared at her. It was one thing for him to be questioning his own response to this situation; it was quite another for her to be worrying about the impressions of those wholly unconnected to it. “If anyone—old biddy or not—casts aspersions upon you for surviving a highway robbery, they deserve to experience it themselves.”

To his surprise, she did not agree. Instead, she turned her head away, and moments later, he saw a large tear roll down her cheek. His stomach clenched. He had obviously been overly harsh. He was far more used to buoying up the spirits of hardened sailors than sensitive young ladies.

“Miss Dennington?” he said.

She sniffed. “No one deserves an experience like this, Mr.—”

“Ross,” he supplied.

“Mr. Ross,” she repeated. “No matter how unpleasant they may be.”

“You are right. Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”

Another tear fell.

“He stole my mother’s brooch,” she whispered. “I wore it often because she loved it so. And now it is gone.”

Samuel slid his fingers into his jacket pocket and withdrew an oval object. In his anxiety to relocate Miss Dennington into the carriage, he had all but forgotten about the item he’d lifted from the highwayman’s cloak. Samuel may not have captured the despicable villain, but he could at least return her precious jewelry to her.

“I found this when I wrestled the highwayman who held you hostage to the ground,” he said, unwilling to admit that he’d purposely pickpocketed it. “Is it the item you lost?” He extended his arm to her.

Her gaze fell to his open hand, and she gasped. “You . . . you have it!” Taking it from him with trembling fingers, she clutched it to her breast. “How can I ever thank you?”

By recovering completely. The intensity of the thought surprised him, but instead of giving it voice, he simply shook his head. “I only wish that I had reclaimed your reticule as well. Or captured the man himself.”

“This is enough,” she said. Her tears were falling even more freely now. “It is one of my most precious possessions.”

“I have a compass that was given to me by a gentleman who was as dear to me as a benevolent father,” he said. “I understand your attachment to the piece.” He hesitated. “May I see it? I had no time to study it earlier.”

“Of course.” She set it on the palm of her hand. “My mother passed three years ago, but one of her greatest loves was flowers.”

Samuel stared at the finely carved ivory daffodils set in a thin layer of sparkling gold, and time stood still. He saw it as he had the first time in a smaller hand—that of a young girl with the same brown hair and hazel eyes that Miss Dennington possessed.

With no warning, the air was gone from his lungs. Dear heaven. Surely it could not be the same piece. But the brooch was exactly as he remembered the one at Bailey’s pawnshop. And the girl. He forced a ragged breath. Now that he knew what to look for, he recognized the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose and the hint of a dimple on her right cheek.

“My sisters insisted that I keep the brooch because I was the one who picked it out and gave it to Mother for her birthday,” Miss Dennington continued. “I . . . I do not know how I could have faced telling them that I had lost it.”

The carriage rolled over a bump in the road, and Miss Dennington swayed alarmingly. Instinctively, he lunged across the vehicle to steady her.

“Oh!” She shook her head slightly and tightened her grip on the brooch. “Forgive me. In my excitement, I momentarily forgot my weakened state. Perhaps . . . perhaps with so bumpy a road, I should lie down after all.”

He cleared his throat, willing his voice to sound natural. “It might be for the best, as we still have some distance to travel.”

“Yes.” She eyed the bench as though not sure how to accomplish the feat.

“Here,” he said, slipping off his jacket, rolling it into a bundle, and placing it on the far end of the seat. “Set your head upon this.”

“But the blood—”

“Rest,” he said, taking her arm and easing her into a horizontal position.