Rescued by a Daring Rogue (Preview)

Chapter One

London – 1816

The weather was perfect for reading. It was a good thing, then, that Miss Isabella Owen carried a bag filled with new books. Her lady’s maid, Miss Eliza Harper, had her own bag of books, too. They slowed their pace as they entered the park. 

It was one of Isabella’s favorite parks. It seemed like something out of a painting. The houses around the park were large and neat, with their own sprawling gardens that matched the stately park in shapes and colors. 

The sky was gray, and the birds called out before the coming rains. Eliza let out a soft shiver. 

Despite their closeness, Eliza was quite the opposite to Isabella. Isabella’s black hair and piercing blue eyes were her most recognizable features. Whereas Eliza wore her ash blonde hair in her usual braid and her brown eyes seemed to disappear into the recesses of her mind. 

Eliza was a short woman who always took quick hurried steps. Isabella was of average build and while she walked at a pace, she did so elegantly, as if the world would always wait for her. 

“It will be good to see that fireplace at home,” she said as she pulled her arms closer to her body for warmth. 

A soft breeze picked up, and Isabella let it wash over her as she enjoyed the fresh air. The prospect of new stories to read excited her. She could already picture the spot on her father’s bookshelf where she would keep the books. 

“I don’t know how you read all those stories, miss,” Eliza said. “All that action makes me too tense.” 

“I love it,” Isabella confessed. “The characters in my books live such different existences to me. The kind of lives that I can only imagine in my dreams.” 

“Oh, no thank you,” Eliza said. “I don’t want those kinds of dreams. You gave me that book to read last year about the woman who went off into the jungle in search of a lost land. There were sword fights and kidnappings. I was having the worst nightmares.” 

“I really liked that one,” Isabella said. “Imagine the fun she had. Her life had so much meaning. She had an important task in the world. She made a difference to someone.” 

Eliza chuckled. “You don’t need to get into sword fights to make a difference in someone’s life.” 

“No,” Isabella agreed. “But you have to do something drastic if you have any intention of changing the world.” 

“I don’t think I’d like to change the world,” Eliza confessed. “Life is pretty and calm when it is small. My uncle worked on the ships. While he was my father’s youngest brother, he looked at least a decade or two his senior.” 

Isabella had often imagined herself as various characters of her books. Particularly on nights when she had trouble falling asleep. She would picture herself as a strong woman, sailing for months to follow in her father’s legacy of searching for land. 

Or some nights she imagined she was a sleuth, leaving the home at night in search of answers pertaining to a recent murder. She would interrogate suspects in her mind and chase murderers down alleyways, taking them down in the nick of time. 

“I’ll have an adventure of my own one day,” Isabella said. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

“Oh no, please don’t,” Eliza quickly responded. “I’ll be far too worried about you.” 

At twenty-seven, Isabella was considered a spinster. She had not married and had little interest in suitors. She preferred to spend her time tucked into the pages of books, or learning new skills. Some days, she would pick out books on law and anatomy. 

She had a wealth of knowledge that most other women didn’t care about. Isabella found it difficult to socialize with other women. She found little interest in the subjects that intrigued them. Once her father had tried to do something nice for her and invited a few women on their street for tea. They spoke about the color of curtains for an hour straight. 

It had bored Isabella so much that she had considered an at-home lobotomy to get herself out of it. Later that day she had made her father promise never to do something like that again. 

He’d thought it was funny. He was like that. 

“What kind of books do you read then?” Isabella asked. 

“Romance, like most women,” Eliza said with a laugh. 

“There’s romance in my books,” Isabella argued. 

Eliza shook her head. “No, those romances are not normal,” she answered. “Nobody should find true love in the middle of a remote jungle. It should be found on a dance floor, or at first sight in a crowded room.” 

“Are those the kinds of books you keep yourself entertained with?” Isabella asked. “That’s the same story recycled!” 

“You’ll understand one day when you’ve experienced it yourself,” Eliza said. It sounded almost like a warning. “You will fall in love one day. And it won’t be in the middle of some remote jungle.” 

Isabella wasn’t so sure that was true. While she was certain that she’d never see the middle of a remote jungle, she was also sure that she would never find true love. Her time for that was running out, and soon, her family would choose a suitor for her just so that she didn’t grow old alone. 

While Isabella could pretend, she couldn’t be the kind of woman that men of her generation wanted to marry. She would always want more from life. It felt like a curse some days. 

What excited most women simply didn’t interest her, and most men found that challenging. Isabella was difficult to please. She needed life to be interesting. Mundane tasks made her feel like running away. 

It didn’t bother Isabella that she wasn’t married yet. Societal pressure was easy to escape when she had her father’s library to hide away in. That was where she spent a large part of her day most days. She had a chair that she’d sat a dent in over the years. 

It was precisely that chair that she longed for as they crossed the park. 

“Is that the Duke of Trent?” Eliza asked, looking out ahead of them. 

It was the duke. He had a recognizable manner in which he walked. His long legs stalked beneath him with his hands clasped behind his back. It wasn’t often that the duke was seen walking on his own. 

He was a popular man who had never done anybody wrong. And so, he hardly appeared in public without a friendly and recognizable face to join him. 

The Duke of Trent would be celebrating his fortieth birthday that year. It would be his first birthday since his wife had passed. Isabella found him to be an interesting man, and his round, friendly features made him enjoyable to be around. 

His political career was unmatched, too, since nobody could ever find anything bad to say about him. Public favor had never been swayed for as long as he’d been in his position. 

A shadow appeared from behind a nearby bush and caught Isabella’s eye. She was about to point it out to Eliza, but before she could say anything she saw the light reflect off a metallic object extended from the figure’s arm. 

***

Mr. Mason Alton stretched his arms as his horse carried him slowly through the park. He had hoped for a sunny day. Sunny days reminded him that he was still alive—an achievement to be proud of. 

It was a quiet day, with only the sound of some laughter in the distance, the birds in the trees, and the distant sound of London’s hustle and bustle in the background. 

Mason often walked through the park when he needed to clear his head. However, that day he would not have the relaxing escape he had hoped for. The sound of the horse’s hooves had reminded him of some of the things he’d seen as a man of the infantry, and threatened his peace. 

It was hard not to think of the thousands of men who had died in the battle of Waterloo just the year before. Mason had seen so much of the world. Most of it had been exciting and beautiful. But there were a few rare moments of devastation that often drowned out the good. 

Sometimes, when he thought he could quiet his mind and ease his worries, the memories of gunfire and chaos snuck back in and put him on edge. He couldn’t stop his sweat-dampened back from straightening. 

The park was quieter than he expected. There were two women who walked and giggled after what appeared to be a successful shopping trip, the man on a horse who had passed him earlier, and ahead was the unmistakable gait of the Duke of Trent. Then, there were some who sat and watched the weather roll in, hoping to catch the last of the birds before they retreated to their treetops.

He searched for something to soothe his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair to fix his tousled brown curls. Mason was weathered from his various adventurous pastimes. He wasn’t often just meandering through the park on his horse. 

Most of the time, if he was not stationed somewhere, he was mountaineering or chartering ships. Whatever he fancied as something fun to do. Something to distract him from the horrors of war. But occasionally, he had to return and was forced to face a normal, mundane day. 

However, when a horseman came from behind a bush, he knew something was wrong. The trajectory the man had chosen, the hood that obscured his face from view, and the fact that he seemed to come out of nowhere bothered Mason. 

The man was headed straight toward the duke. 

Automatically, Mason instructed his horse to pick up the pace so that he could reach the duke as quickly as possible. 

When the figure reached into his coat, and Mason saw the reflection of light against something metallic, he pushed his horse into a full gallop. He had to get the duke before things went horribly wrong. 

His mind cleared as he raced toward the duke, but the hooded rider seemed to be gaining on him faster. Everything felt like second nature to Mason then. 

As he reached the duke, Mason reached out and grabbed him by the collar. By the time he got there, the gun in the hooded rider’s hand was pointed directly at the duke. There was no time to think. 

“Get down!” he shouted, leaving the duke little choice. 

Mason threw his leg over the back of his horse and threw himself on top of the duke right as he heard the crack of a gunshot through the air. 

The duke slammed into the ground, and Mason fell on top of him. The sound of the shot was still echoing through the air as the sound of the hooded rider’s horse faded away from them. 

The bullet had missed them by a hair. Mason had felt the brush of air past his head as the projectile traveled past it. The duke was alive. He had heard the grunt he let out as he hit the ground. 

Mason rolled off of him and looked in the direction that the rider was going in. There were no features that he could get his eyes on. The gunman was on his horse, and Mason had abandoned his. 

There was no chance for him to catch up to the gunman. 

“Stop that man!” he called out hopelessly.

Mason could not leave the duke there to give chase anyway. There was no certainty that there weren’t other gunmen lurking nearby. The duke had struggled to his feet and was standing beside him, entirely bewildered. 

It was good news to know that the duke was unharmed, but Mason’s heart was racing. His mundane day had turned out to be quite the opposite of that. 

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was not on the battlefield. He was in a park in London. He was safe. 

Chapter Two

The sound cracked through the air. It felt as if it shattered against Isabella’s skin and echoed through her chest. She had never heard something so loud. It had all happened so fast. 

Eliza had grasped at Isabella’s sleeve when they spotted the pistol pointed at the duke. For a moment, Isabella was convinced that she was about to witness a murder. Her stomach had seized, and her breath caught in her chest. 

Eliza had yelped a little when the gunshot had gone off. Isabella couldn’t take her eyes off the scene. Just as she expected to witness something horrible, a man came racing past them. 

She’d never seen someone act so decisively and yet so spontaneously as well. A tall man with untidy brown hair had descended upon the duke. 

At first, Isabella thought he’d been another attacker on his way to the duke. But when the man threw himself from his horse and placed himself in harm’s way just in time to get the duke to safety, she knew that he was no gunman. 

He was a hero just like the men in her books. 

While it had taken only a few seconds, it seemed as if it dragged on for minutes. Everything felt as if it had slowed down. 

The shot had missed, and the hero was on his feet and looking in the direction of the gunman, who was now headed directly in Isabella’s direction. The duke was on his feet, too. Thankfully, unharmed. 

“Stop that man!” the hero shouted as he towered over the duke. 

Isabella wanted to do anything the man asked. He had done the most remarkable thing she had ever seen. 

She reached into Eliza’s bag and pulled out the anthology she’d bought just an hour before. It was a large book with a hard spine. 

As the gunman raced past them, she threw the book through the air, aiming for his head. She wanted to see him thrown from his horse. She wanted to hold him down and let the handsome hero come and take him away. 

The book traveled fast; she had thrown it harder than she thought. But it missed. The book hit the gunman on the shoulder and landed on the grass, the new pages down on the damp blades of grass on the lawn. It knocked the gun from his hand, sending it into a nearby bush. 

“I missed,” Isabella said as she cursed in her mind. “I wanted to hit his head.” 

“My book!” Eliza cried. 

Isabella barely heard her. She was focused on the gunman as he took off through the gardens. The tall, heroic man had asked her to stop him, and she had failed. 

“Stop him!” Isabella cried out as loudly as she could. “You there! Stop that man on the horse!” 

She had hoped her calls would be heard with the same urgency as she felt when she shouted them out. But everybody seemed too shocked to know what to do. The sight of a tall, hard hat and a deep blue jacket made her hopeful. 

“Constable! Stop that man!” she cried. “He’s tried to kill the duke!” 

Already, some pedestrians had made chase, and so the officers who had merely been out for a stroll followed suit. The gunman was small on the horizon already, and she knew he would not be captured. 

Certain they were safe, Eliza rushed to rescue her book from the damp grass. 

“You have books of your own, you know,” she said, trying to bite back her annoyance. 

“Yours was heavier,” Isabella explained. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll replace it.” 

“No need.” Eliza waved her off. “It’s still perfectly readable.” 

Isabella didn’t really care. There was only really one subject that kept her attention then. 

“Who is that man?” she asked, turning to look back at the man who had saved the duke’s life. 

He was talking to the duke and a constable who had come to question them about what had happened. The hero was tall and had a tan to his skin that told her he’d recently spent time in the sun. That meant he had been outside of London recently. 

He was fit, that was clear from the way he had galloped to the rescue and thrown himself through the air. Most of all, he was braver than any man she knew. He had leaped in front of a bullet without a second thought. 

Something about it made her flush. She was suddenly warmer beneath her dress. Isabella wondered if it was noticeable to those who looked at her. 

“I don’t know,” Eliza said, out of breath from the stress. “Thank goodness he was here. I don’t know what I would have done if things had gone differently.” 

“Did you see how he threw himself over the duke?” Isabella asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. 

“I hope to never see anything like this again,” Eliza added. “This is too much to deal with. I’m going to need a very strong cup of tea.” 

Eliza was shaking slightly. Isabella felt badly for her, but she could not relate. She did not feel afraid. Rather, she felt exhilarated. A feeling that she wanted to feel again and as soon as possible. It was a sensation she knew she would chase for the rest of her life. 

“We should go over there and thank him,” Isabella suggested. 

The thought of it seemed to horrify Eliza. “We should get as far away from here as possible.” 

“The constables might need our help,” Isabella argued. “I saw where the pistol landed. It’s over there in that bush.” 

“Right there?” Eliza snapped, her eyes widening. “Let’s get away from here then!” 

To Isabella’s relief, she headed in the direction of the handsome hero of the day. Isabella quickly checked her hair for any loose strands. Her black hair was pulled back in her usual neat bun. Practical, but nothing special. 

She straightened her back and balanced her head on her neck so that she seemed like the perfect lady. As the space closed between her and him, she felt as her heart leaped up into her throat. She swallowed it back down and readied herself for a friendly greeting. 

“Miss Owen,” the duke said, out of breath from shock. “I am so sorry about all of this.” 

“Do not mention it again, my lord,” she said with a bright smile. “All that concerns me is your well-being. You remember Miss Harper, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” the duke answered with a nod in Eliza’s direction. “It is good to see you both again.” 

“Are you all right?” Isabella asked, knowing he was perfectly fine but feeling obliged to ask anyway. 

The duke’s usual friendly smile wasn’t there. He was sweating from the stress and patted at his head with his handkerchief every few minutes. Meanwhile, the hero had finished speaking with the constable and rejoined the duke. 

“Miss Owen, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Alton,” the duke said. 

Mr. Alton smiled at her. He had pale blue eyes that reminded her of the morning sky before the snowy season. When he looked at her, it seemed as if he looked straight into her core. She flushed and swallowed hard. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alton,” she said politely. “This is my lady’s maid, Miss Harper.” 

Mr. Alton nodded in both their directions. “Miss Owen,” he greeted her, followed by, “Miss Harper. It is wonderful to meet you both. Are you both all right?” 

“A little startled,” Isabella said, glancing at Eliza. “But we came through it without a scratch.” 

“That was quick thinking to throw that book,” the duke commented. “I can’t believe this has happened.” 

Isabella gave the duke a comforting smile. “It looks as if you’ll live to see another day,” she said kindly. “It’s a good thing Mr. Alton was here today. His bravery is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” 

“I could say the same thing about you,” Mr. Alton said with a charming smile. 

“Are you Mr. Alton, as in the son of Mary and Daniel Alton?” Isabella asked. 

“The very same,” he answered with a proud smile. “How did you know?” 

“They are friends of my parents,” she explained. “They speak of you often. You’re a member of the infantry. That is why we have never met. You’re not often in London.” 

That explained why he had been so confident in what to do. It explained his athleticism and the sun-kissed skin that gave him that healthy glow. 

“That’s correct,” Mr. Alton answered. “I’m afraid you know more about me than I do about you.” 

Isabella had always liked the Altons. They were a wealthy family. Wealthier than most of the families she knew, but they had never flaunted it. They were down-to-earth people with a good sense of humor. 

That only made her interest in the hero of the day double. 

The duke was dabbing at his head and taking deep breaths. His round eyes were large as he glanced constantly at the bushes and the shadows around them. 

“I think the threat is over,” Mr. Alton assured him with a kind hand on his shoulder. “The constables are searching for him everywhere. His weapon has been apprehended.” 

“Did you get a good look at him?” the duke asked. “I didn’t get to see his face.” 

Isabella felt poorly for the duke. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to experience something like that. A shift of mere seconds could have yielded a vastly different outcome for him. 

“I was focused on you, my lord,” Mr. Alton explained. “Perhaps Miss Owen or Miss Harper caught a glimpse.” 

She shook her head. “His hood was in the way, I’m sorry,” she said. “He dropped his weapon, though. One less pistol on the streets makes me sleep better at night.” 

“Oh dear,” the duke whispered. “I don’t know what to do or think about any of this.” 

“Be grateful you’re alive, my lord,” Isabella said with a kind smile. “Let that be a sign that you’re still needed here with the living.” 

 “You’ve always been good with words, Miss Owen,” the duke responded. “I’m afraid I’m rather shaken. Forgive me if I’m not pleasant company.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Isabella said. 

“I can’t imagine that any of us are feeling calm,” Eliza chimed in. “The noise and the chaos! I worry I might not sleep tonight.” 

“Forgive me,” the duke said. “My presence here today has put you all in danger. I was merely out for a quiet walk. I don’t take many of those.” 

The conversation was flowing in and out of Isabella’s concentration. She was aware of her every movement and how it might look to Mr. Alton. She made sure to look at him every few seconds and found that often, when she did, he was already looking at her. 

His gaze burned against her, making it difficult for her to remember how to behave. He made her feel different than she’d ever felt before. As if everything she did and said suddenly mattered, held more meaning. 

“You are two very brave ladies,” Mr. Alton said. 

He had addressed them both, but he was looking only at her. Isabella held his gaze for a moment, feeling as if the ground might fall away beneath her feet. 

“We did what we could,” she answered. 

The corners of Mr. Alton’s mouth turned upward into a bright and charming smile. He beamed at her, and she shrank into a hidden version of herself. Isabella had never felt bashful before, but then she could think of no other way to describe it. 

All she knew was that she wanted to hold on to that moment for as long as she possibly could.