The impact, though I tried to roll my body to mitigate the worst of it, sent me from my horse. I landed hard, on my shoulder and bad leg, cursing as gravel cut my face.
Out of the corner of my eye, as I lay in fury, I saw Brewster emerge from the trees that lined the Row and hurtle toward the rider. He reached the horse and got his hands on the man’s coat, but the rider struck out at Brewster. A knife blade flashed, Brewster let go, and the rider and horse skimmed away.
A pair of small boots landed next to my face. “Papa.” Peter’s worried voice sounded. “Are you dead?”
Through my pain and frustration, a warmth flooded me. He’d called me Papa. Not sir or Captain, or any of the formal monikers by which he’d addressed me thus far, but an acknowledgment of how he wished to regard me.
The moment ended when Brewster inserted himself between me and the rest of the world, going down on one knee.
“Bleedin’ ’ell. You alive?” He turned me over to see my glare. “Thank God for that. Don’t know what I’d tell his nibs.”
His hard face took on a look of relief. Whether for my own sake or the fact he’d not have to report to Denis that he failed to keep me alive, I couldn’t say.
Other riders were stopping, as did a sleek, two-wheeled curricle. “Who the devil was that?” The rather large and long-nosed countenance of the second Baron Alvanley peered down from his seat, his hands competently on the reins. “I had no idea there were highwaymen in Hyde Park.”
William Arden, Lord Alvanley, was fairly young, not quite thirty, but he’d already had a distinguished army career and was firmly in with the Prince Regent’s set. Grenville found him witty and entertaining, but Alvanley was ever trying to push Grenville aside as the successor of Mr. Brummell.
“What happened, Lacey?” Alvanley went on. “Shall I fetch someone?” He looked disapprovingly at Brewster, obviously too much of a ruffian to be my servant.
“I will be well,” I said in some irritation.
Brewster’s strong hand under my arm got me to my feet. Peter, trying to hide his tears, handed me my walking stick.
“I’m all right, Peter,” I told him reassuringly. I rested my gloved fingers on the boy’s shoulder and felt him trembling.
Alvanley’s tiger—a young lad hired to tend the horses when the driver of a curricle or phaeton was away from the vehicle—had leapt down at Alvanley’s command and caught my horse.
The boy, not much older than Peter, led my mount, a strong bay with a thick black mane, back to me. The tiger patted the horse in admiration before he handed me the reins.
I’d need a leg up. Before I could ask, Brewster was next to me, cupping his hands to heave me onto the horse. He pushed so hard I nearly slid off the other side but caught myself in time to save me that embarrassment. Brewster boosted Peter into the saddle of his smaller horse with more gentleness.
Alvanley, still on the box of the curricle, called to me. “Did you catch who it was? We should have the Runners on him. A man can’t go about knocking gentlemen from their horses.”
“No.” I peered in the direction the rider had disappeared, but of course, he was nowhere in sight. “He was too covered. Could have been anyone.”
Peter spoke up. “Fine bit of horseflesh.”
He was right—and the fact that the horse had been a good one should narrow the field. Horses were expensive, well I knew. I’d only been able to be a cavalryman because of the generosity of Colonel Brandon, who helped fund my horse, tack, and uniform. Only a wealthy man could afford a well-bred horse.
“An Irish hunter,” Peter went on. “Red with two white stockings, and a star on his forehead.”
“Jove,” Alvanley said to him. “You have an eye, Breckenridge. I had better watch out when you start your stable.”
Peter flushed but looked pleased.
Alvanley took up his reins, and his tiger jumped to his seat. “That will be it. Find the horse, and you find the man. Good day to you, Captain. My best to Mrs. Lacey and Mr. Grenville.”
With a polite nod, he slapped the reins to the horses’ backs and they walked on. Brewster watched him go, then turned to me.
“Who was it, Captain? You must a’ seen.”
“I assure you, I was more interested in keeping the man from hitting Peter,” I said in irritation. “He was well dressed, but he could have picked up his clothes secondhand and hired the horse. We know nothing.”
Brewster made a huffing noise. “We know one thing. He was after hurting you or the lad. Best you take yourselves home, Captain.”
I had to agree. Peter, looking nervously about, drew his mount in close to mine, and we rode to the mews behind South Audley Street, our contentment shattered.
***
Peter wasted no time, once we were home, seeking his mother and telling her of our adventure.
I had never seen Donata as distressed as I did now. I’d taken Peter up to her private parlor, where Barnstable said she waited for us. Once Peter, who’d recovered his fright, excitedly blurted out the tale, she went down on her knees beside him and caught him in her arms.
Peter succumbed to her embrace, somewhat puzzled. “I’m all right, Mama. Truly. The captain was there.”
Donata looked at me over Peter’s head. “What the devil happened, Gabriel?”
“Nothing Peter hasn’t already told you. It must have been a madman. Came at us, tried to strike Peter, but I blocked the blow. I’m only sorry I didn’t knock the blasted man down myself.”
Donata returned to hugging Peter tightly. “Who would do such a thing to a child? To my boy?”
I had a few ideas, but didn’t want to mention them in front of Peter.
Peter patted Donata’s back, still uncertain about his mother’s outpouring. “I am very well, Mama. And hungry.”
Donata released him with a little laugh, but remained on her knees beside him. “Aren’t you always? Very well, run along and have Nanny give you plenty of tea and bread with extra jam and honey.”
Peter grinned and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mama!”
He dashed from the room. Bartholomew, waiting outside, swept Peter onto his big shoulders and carried him up the stairs.
I watched them until I made certain they reached the top floor without mishap, and Bartholomew and Peter had ducked into the nursery. I closed the door to find Donata sitting on the floor, her silver and ivory striped skirts flowing about her.
“Love.” I joined her, rather painfully, on the carpet, and put my arm around her. “He’s all right. Peter is a sturdy lad.”
“He is my lad.” Donata leaned into me, her usual bravado gone. “Thank God for you, Gabriel.” She closed her eyes, her hand straying to my thigh folded next to hers. A few moments later, she opened her eyes again and regarded me in concern. “Are you all right? You fell. Were you injured at all?”
“Ah, now you remember to ask about the fate of your husband.”
“Do not joke. Not now.” Donata’s hand tightened on my leg. “You seem to me so … indestructible, Gabriel. The only reason I ever remain strong is I think of you, and your courage. I could not bear to have that taken from me.”
Chapter Thirteen
I sat dumbfounded. I’d never heard Donata speak so, not with this ragged breathlessness and using such words. I pulled her closer.
“Dear lady.” I kissed her temple. “When I met you two years ago, you already possessed great strength. What sustained you before I did?”
Donata wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Anger and bitterness. It wasn’t strength; it was striking out in defense. You have anger too, but beneath it all is a constant sense of honor, of right and wrong. It drives you. I had lost that compass. You gave it back to me.”
My dumbfounded state continued. I knew Donata had fondness for me, or she’d never have agreed to marry me, but I had not known any other reason.