Chapter 47：SINCERE GRATITUDE

"You owe me nothing, Miss Darlington." His eyes lifted to Ian, who was approaching from behind her. "Major Sinclair was the one who fought them. I simply arrived in time to send the rats scurrying back to their holes."

"You are too modest, Mr. Travener," Ian said. "Your arrival was most fortuitous. You have my gratitude."

"Hardly fortuitous," Travener said, smiling for the first time, and the boyish grin was almost sheepish. "I confess I came today hoping for an encounter." His eyes returned briefly to Annie's face, before they rose to meet Ian's. "Not an encounter like this one, of course."

"Hoping for an encounter?" Ian repeated. "You knew we were here?"

"I had invited Miss Darlington to go for a drive. This morning she sent me a note explaining that she would be unable to keep our appointment. She had another, far more pressing engagement with her dressmaker." Doyle turned his head to smile at Annie. "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Darlington when I set out. Actually, to be honest, I had already driven up and down this street half a dozen times," he admitted with a laugh. "And then, on this particular trip..."

His eyes returned to Ian's face, the fair brows above them arched.

"Lucky for us you are so faithful a suitor," Ian said. "I thank you on my ward's behalf. And on my own, of course. Your intervention was both timely and courageous."

He turned to lower the step of the carriage and held Annie's hand as she climbed in. From inside the shadowed interior of the coach, she mentally cringed as he offered that same supporting hand to her guardian. Ian ignored the gesture, using his cane and his hand on the frame of the doorway to pull himself up.

His eyes met hers for an instant as he entered the coach, and then he lowered himself carefully into the opposite seat as Travener replaced the stair and closed the door behind him.

"Good day, Mr Travener," Ian said through the open window. "Again, please know that you have my sincere gratitude."

"May I impose upon it then call upon Miss Darlington tomorrow, sir? Just to see how she gets on?"

Ian glanced at her for permission. Only when she nodded did he reply.

"We should be delighted to receive your call, Mr. Travener."

And then he tapped on the top of the carriage with his cane, signalling the coachman to man to move on.

*~*~*~*

They rode a few minutes in silence. None of the conventional openings for conversation seemed appropriate in this situation. Actually, Annie wasn't entirely sure exactly what the situation between them was.

And she wanted desperately to ask Ian how badly he was hurt. It was obvious to her in the some indefinable way that he was. Obvious, too, that he was in pain. About neither of those, however, would Ian welcome questions.

And she certainly couldn't ask him if he, too, had experienced what she had felt as he'd pressed his body protectively over hers. If she ever did find the courage to mention that, he would undoubtedly deny that he had done anything more than put himself between her and a vicious mob. In actuality, that was all he had done.

"We are very lucky," she said, echoing the tenor of his comments in the street.

His eyes came up, focusing on her face. "Are you truly unhurt?"

"Not even a bruise," she said reassuringly. "The only lingering effect seems to be a slight residue of sulphur from what I believe was a rotted egg."

Again there was a subtle relaxation of his mouth. "Not so slight a residue, I'm afraid, on this side of the coach."

He looked down at the mess on his dark coat.

"I wonder what happened to the boy?" she said.

She knew that if she asked Ian to direct the coachman to turn back so that she could look for the child, she would find no sign of him. The boy had wisely fled the scene while his master had been occupied in dealing with her guardian. He was probably far away by now or well-hidden in some dark alleyway.

"How old would you say he was?" Ian asked, lifting gloves fingers to touch against the cut on his forehead. He winced as they made contact with it.

"How old was the boy?" Annie repeated, wondering why it mattered.

The child had been small, his frame slight, but there had been something about his eyes that had made him seem older than either of those might indicate. And despite her years of experience in dealing with children, she really couldn't be sure. Her charges had all been well-fed and well-cared for. They were not abused street urchins, deliberately kept thin and underground to allow them to crawl through the narrowest chimney.