Chapter Text
It would be after nightfall by the time he reached London.
Adrien Agreste, the Marquis of Orwell and only son of the Duke of Ipswich, would have preferred to take his journey in easier stages, but when the Duke demanded an audience with his heir, Adrien knew better than to dally. It had been almost two years since his father had last summoned him to his presence, after all, and Gabriel Agreste was not a man who enjoyed being kept waiting.
Adrien had dutifully mounted his horse a scant half hour after his father’s summons had arrived, leaving his faithful valet Plagg to pack his trunk and follow more sedately in the carriage. His gentleman’s gentleman would most likely arrive at Ipswich House in London midmorning tomorrow, after spending the night in one of the inns along the way; Adrien was long used to his valet’s particular ways, and Plagg always did prefer to be comfortable. The thought of a warm fire, a hearty meal, and a good mug of ale had Adrien longing for the chance to stop somewhere for the night, but he had little choice but to press on.
A signpost at a crossroads had Adrien sighing with relief as it stated he had only five miles more to travel, even as another carriage bearing grand insignia came thundering by in the opposite direction. He caught sight in the dying twilight of a gentleman wearing a domino mask within the carriage and guessed someone was hosting a masquerade ball at their country estate just outside of town. That explained the mass exodus of the
ton
then. It was the fourth such carriage he had seen.
The road was wide enough here for him to not need to slow down overmuch for passing carriages, so he continued his pace even as the road dipped down through some woods and around a bend, bringing him to a clearing in a rather startling fashion.
More startling, however, was the carriage pulled up at the side of the road, and even as Adrien came around the corner, he observed one scoundrel pulling the driver down from his seat and dealing him a nasty blow, and another flinging himself upon the fresh-faced footman riding up behind, the pair quickly engaging in fisticuffs. A third man flung open the carriage door as Adrien drew his mount to a stop.
Footpads, preying on innocents simply out to enjoy a party.
Adrien couldn’t not stop and help, his father’s summons and sense of urgency be damned.
“Give me all your jewels,” the footpad at the carriage door demanded.
A feminine voice, sounding not at all scared, answered him in the negative, demanding to be released. The scoundrel reached in, his jerky movements and the subsequent shouts insinuating he had raised his hand to the lady who had objected, and after a further scuffle, he drew someone out with him, a young woman who was calling for her Mama in a panicked voice that suggested her Mama had been the victim of the scoundrel’s fists.
“Your dear Mama won’t save you. I’ll have your pretty baubles for meself, and mayhap a bit of you while I’m at it. You’re a fresh one, and it’s been a while since I’ve had a woman. What do you say, boys, should I keep the chit for myself?” the footpad holding the girl snarled.
Those vile words made Adrien’s blood boil, but a calculating coldness had overcome him, his anger an icy blast. He vowed to himself the scoundrels would not lay a finger on the lady, even if it meant his own death.
Adrien slid from his saddle on the far side of the road and crept closer, his adrenaline pumping. They were all too preoccupied to hear Adrien’s approach as, finished with the driver and footman, the other two gathered around the young lady who looked more annoyed than frightened. Choosing the nearest scoundrel, the big one who had dealt to the driver, Adrien tapped the man on the shoulder to gain his attention, then as he turned, Adrien delivered him a powerful blow, sending him reeling.
The young lady seemed to take that as her cue, whirling around and bringing her knee up to the groin of the man who held her with some force. Then, as he doubled over in pain, she brought her elbow down on the back of his head, causing him to stumble forward face first. His head glanced off a rock as he fell, and he let out a loud groan as he sank into unconsciousness.
The one Adrien had punched was the largest of the three, and though well stunned by Adrien’s surprise attack, did not go down as quickly as the Marquis would have hoped. Instead, he staggered to his feet, sending a lumbering blow in Adrien’s direction which he easily dodged.
“You won’t hit me if you aim for where I
was
,” Adrien couldn’t help jibing, as it was clear his opponent wasn’t seeing straight and his own darting movements were further discombobulating the man. His words had the intended effect, however, as the man’s somewhat limited focus remained on Adrien and away from the girl.
Behind the oaf, the young lady was now circling wearily with the slowly-advancing third man. In the dying twilight, Adrien caught the glint of a knife in the third man’s hand and a mean smile on his face. Determined to save her, Adrien darted in and engaged his own opponent in a swift series of blows, but the oaf, though big and slow, managed a punch to Adrien’s ribs that had him flying back and landing the dirt, winded. The oaf then turned and joined his wiry companion in advancing on the young lady.
“Tikki? A little help?” she called in a tone that suggested she was trying to remain calm and not altogether succeeding, but even as Adrien sat up and shook himself off, he realised her call had not been to him, but to her maid.
Staggering to his feet, he watched as someone within the carriage - her maid, most likely - reached behind her, then threw her mistress an item which the young lady deftly caught.
Both her assailants seemed as puzzled as she as they all stared at the item.
“A cushion?” she asked no one in particular. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
The wiry one, clearly not the fastest thinker in the land, nevertheless retrieved what wits he had, and began advancing upon her once more, now making playful jabs in her direction with the knife as his companion also closed in.
“I’ll have those rubies at your ears!” he declared, his grin showing that most of his teeth were rotten or missing.
She held the cushion before her as a shield, using it to catch the knife as his jabs became more intentional. The velvet covering did little to stop the knife as the blade was sharp, but it was short enough that it wasn’t able to penetrate the thick stuffing.
Two jabs later and the stuffing came out with the knife through the slashed velvet, wrapped around the blade and caught on the hilt, leaving only the empty sleeve of velvet in her hand.
It was as good a moment as Adrien was going to get. He launched himself onto the back of the oaf, wrapping his arm firmly around his neck in a chokehold. The wiry one, not the brightest candle in the chandelier, was torn between removing the cushion stuffing around his knife and watching Adrien taking on his fellow conspirator.
The oaf was not going down as easily as Adrien would have hoped, though his breathing was becoming more laboured.
In short, no one was paying attention to the young lady for a few scant seconds. And that was all she needed.
Whirling, she covered the wiry man’s knife hand with the cushion cover so that it was caught completely. The knife sliced through the thick velvet at once, of course, but the hilt and the man’s had was wrapped and completely in her control. Swift as lightning, she darted to the side, forcing the man’s hand out before them both in a long-armed jab--
--just as the giant oaf staggered forward.
The knife lodged deeply in his shoulder.
Giving out an almighty howl of pain, the oaf struck out at the wiry man, sending him flying back. He did not stand up again.
The young lady wisely took several steps backwards. Adrien did not let up on the man’s throat, and gradually the oaf sank to his knees, still gasping, but slowly, slowly sinking into unconsciousness.
A step sounded behind Adrien, and for a moment he feared the worst, then a fist struck out, hitting the oaf in the temple, and finally he sagged. Adrien released him, allowing him to fall in the dirt, and turned to find the driver, chest heaving, glaring at the assailant he had downed.
“That all of them?” the groom asked, his eyes darting to his mistress and then back to him.
“I believe so,” the young lady replied, then turned to the carriage, her eyes seeking out her maid. “Mama? How is she?”
“Only stunned, Miss,” the maid replied soothingly. “Already coming around.”
The groom helped Adrien to his feet, and then went to check on the young footman, slapping his face none too gently until the boy roused. Adrien joined them, pulling out a small flask of whiskey, taking a swig, then offering it to the two men, who each took a grateful sip. When it appeared all was well there, he came back to the young lady, who was standing at the carriage door, watching her maid tend her Mama.
“Is there anything more I can do to be of assistance?” he asked with a courtly bow, and it was only as he straightened that he got his first real look at her.
She was beautiful.
What he could see of her, that is.
He saw shining dark hair and sparkling blue eyes looking out from behind the mask that had somehow stayed affixed throughout the whole ordeal. The mask was crimson, as was the gown she wore beneath her cloak, an unusually bold choice for a young lady of the ton , and both were delicately embroidered with glossy black thread that somehow made the whole ensemble shine.
She was breathtaking.
She was also distracted by her mother’s condition. “Thank you so much for your assistance, sir. Once my groom and footman have collected themselves, I will have them bind these three, and we will return to London so that my mother might be cared for. I will ask my footman to go on to bow street and alert the authorities; there is no need to trouble yourself further on our account.”
“Are you sure you would not like me to escort you?”
She laughed a little at that. “You think we might be set upon by footpads twice in one night? I will have both my groom and footman prepare the pistols to be safe, but I assure you, there is no further need to worry. I do thank you, though, for your kindness, and for your help.”
“You seemed to have the matter well in hand,” he replied ruefully.
“I could not have done it without you. Your timing in distracting them was impeccable.”
“I am pleased to have been a distraction,” he said with some irony in his tone, and she laughed.
“I assure you, sir, your distractions were truly heroic.”
“Well, then, My Lady--” he began, but she raised her eyebrows behind her mask.
“My Lady?” she repeated in some surprise.
He gestured to her outfit, still beautiful but now muddy and slightly torn. “As a ladybug, surely it is most appropriate to call you My Lady. Unless you would give me your name?”
She bit her lip, searching his face. “You will forgive me, I had best not. Though I trust your discretion, my mother would worry if there was even a hint of a scandal attached to my name.”
He nodded. The young lady was not only beautiful and a quick thinker, but also wise. “I understand.”
“Thank you.” She was squinting at him, and now that he thought about it, the rim of his top hat most likely concealed his features from the feeble light of the moon.
Adrien saw that the groom and footman had collected themselves and had done as she had suggested. The three unconscious miscreants were bound and laid out side by side, out of harm’s way - it was possible, of course, that they might recover consciousness before the authorities could ride out, but there was no purpose in leaving someone to guard them. Her servants were checking the horses and readying the carriage for departure. The groom caught his eye and nodded with deep respect, climbing into the driver’s seat once more. The footman took his place by the door.
Adrien gestured to the carriage. “Allow me?” he asked, offering his hand.
She smiled at him, placing her gloved hand in his.
He longed to remove it, to touch those delicate, capable fingers. Before he released her completely, he bowed once more over her hand, touching his lips to her fingers.
“My Lady,” he said once more.
She paused on the step to stare at him, lips parting, cheeks flushed behind her mask. She moved her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out, and after a humming minute, she found her seat in the carriage.
Adrien stood back, allowing the footman to fold the step up and close the door before leaping up behind, and then they whirled away.
It took Adrien a few minutes to find his own horse, who had gone searching for a nibble in the long grass, and though he rode hard the rest of the way to London to try to see where her carriage took her, by the time he entered the city, he had seen no trace of it.