Most Eagerly Yours Read Online Free

scattered, reducing the fashionable chignon Ivy had helped her arrange that morning to a tangle around her shoulders.
    His gaze lingered on her face for another moment, then dipped lower. Remembering the tearing she had heard, she glanced down at a rip between her skirt and bodice that indecently exposed her petticoat.
    Her new marigold muslin, ruined. She slid a hand to cover the offending garment. Good grief, why could she not have met this man earlier this morning, or yesterday, or tomorrow?
    “Is there anything more I may do for you, madam?” He sounded the perfect gentleman, which miraculously restored a measure of her dignity.
    “Thank you, sir, but no.” The words were feeble, breathless. “I am a bit shaken, to be sure, and . . . well . . . rather disheveled, I will admit. . . .”
    “If we continue on to Sloane, I should be able to flag you a hackney.”
    “That will not be necessary, for you have brought me nearly home. My uncle’s town house is just there.” She pointed down the street.
    At that moment trumpets blared. At the corner, visible above the heads of the onlookers, the plumed helmets of the queen’s rear guard disappeared from view as they passed beyond William Street.
    Laurel’s heart sank. She had missed her friend’s glorious moment, lost the chance to toss flowers, wish the new queen Godspeed, and perhaps be rewarded with a private glance of recognition.
    She and her sisters had not visited with Victoria in more than three years. At first they had traded frequent letters, but even those had grown rare as the old king’s health failed and it became apparent that Victoria would shortly assume the burdens of the Crown.
    The Sutherland sisters had so wanted Victoria to know they still thought of her, still wished the very best for her, still loved her.
    In the wake of the procession, police whistles sounded and a commotion broke out at the corner of Knightsbridge and William streets. Several high blue hats bobbed above the crowd.
    “The police appear to be fighting their way through,” Laurel observed.
    “Ah, yes. Odds are they’re coming for me.” The man before her grinned, a gesture she found utterly devastating in its capacity to trip the beat of her pulse. “They seemed rather disgruntled when I rode my horse onto the sidewalk.”
    “But you only did so to rescue me.”
    “Indeed, and well worth my pains. However, from their point of view I no doubt appeared a drunken lout attempting to plow my horse through the hapless crowd. I hope you understand that I have little desire to spend the next several hours down at the Chelsea Station clarifying who I am and why I acted as I did.”
    “Oh, I can fully appreciate your disinclination to do that, sir.”
    “Then if you will be so good as to excuse me.” He raised her hand to his lips, imparting a tingling sensation that began at her fingertips and swept like wildfire all through her.
    “Aidan? By God, that you, old b-boy?”
    Laurel’s rescuer—Aidan?—straightened and turned in the direction of the hail. His dark eyebrows converged.
    Mounted on a sleek chestnut, a man of sallow complexion and thinning russet hair approached from the quieter south end of William Street. Despite the expensive cut of his riding attire, his uneven slouch, slack mouth, and slightly unfocused gaze lent him a slovenly aspect.
    “I s-say,” the rider slurred, confirming Laurel’s suspicions that, despite the earliness of the hour, he was fairly into his cups, “what d-damned devilry are you up to now? Might have known you’d p-pluck yourself a tasty little treat from the crush.”
    Laurel gasped, once more steeped in shame over the state of her appearance. Beside her, Aidan’s skin darkened, but before he replied, a shout from the opposite corner heralded the approach of two constables.
    “You there!”
    “Time for me to take my leave.”
    Laurel was surprised to realize that her hand still rested in his. He broke into a grin that filled her