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Cracking an eyelid open, Lenora looked straight into Captain Steele’s probing hazel-eyed gaze. His thick-lashed, navy-blue rimmed irises were the color of the sky before a storm, she decided somewhat nonsensically, considering her present circumstances. No man should have eyes that beautiful. They mesmerized and held one captive, helpless to look away.

She’d never before had cause to ponder a gentleman’s eye color, and that she did this stranger’s struck her as incongruous. Raised by a strictly religious mother, Lenora had little opportunity to romanticize anything. Mama discouraged such fanciful ponderings as vain imaginations.

Regardless, Lenora found her focus trained on Captain Steele’s handsome face. Those same beguiling eyes crinkled at the corners as he offered a reassuring tilt of his firm mouth. His face was unusually sun-kissed, a silent testament to long hours spent outdoors.

London’s fops and dandiprats were insipid lilies compared to Captain Steele.

“Feeling better?” he asked in a deliciously deep rumbling timbre, his arms folded across his broad chest.

“Yes,” Lenora admitted truthfully.

She was. For certain, her head was sore where she’d hit the pavement, but other than that and a queasy stomach brought on by the carriage’s lurching motion, she was fine.

Captain Steele possessed an odd accent she hadn’t heard before. She suspected he might be an American. She’d always heard they were monstrous, bearded, uncouth men. However, the striking, wide-shouldered, sable-haired gentleman relaxing across from her might’ve been an English nobleman.

Except…

There was a glint in Captain Jason Steele’s eyes, turning them from hazel to a steely gray. She liked how his eyes changed color. There was a confident, devil-may-care aura about him. A cock-a-snook at strictures and protocol mien as if he didn’t honestly give two farthings what anyone thought of him.

In truth, Lenora would be bound he didn’t.

Of its own accord, her dratted focus drifted to his bare throat, where a very masculine Adam’s apple was on full display in a corded neck thanks to his sacrificing his neckcloth for an improvised bandage.

Lord, she must look a fright, Lenora thought again as heat swept up her cheeks. Most annoying since she rarely colored or blushed. Good thing too. With her startling red hair, she resembled a pomegranate when she colored.

“Might I sit up?” Lenora asked, placing a palm upon her middle. “The coach’s jostling is wreaking havoc upon my stomach.”

Vehicle rides had always made her ill unless she sat facing forward. In this prone position, she rather felt like a helpless cork bobbing upon the high seas.

“Of course.” At once, Mama crouched in the middle of the coach and helped Lenora to a sitting position.

Surprisingly, her head didn’t swim, and she wasn’t the least dizzy. That boded very well indeed. Likely, no concussion then. Only an abrasion at the back of her head, which stung like the dickens.

After Mama had settled beside her, Lady Darlington-Pope scooted to the other side of her bench. “There you are, Jason. You can spread out now. I know you’ve been cramped.”

At once, he unfolded from his hunched position and took up three-quarters of the seat.

A ping of guilt jabbed Lenora. While she’d enjoyed an entire bench, the others had been jammed upon the opposite seat like sardines in a tin.

Mama tucked Lenora’s hand into her own. She gave Lenora’s fingers a little squeeze. “You frightened a decade off of me, darling.”

Her voice turned raspy, and she cleared her throat while blinking rapidly.

Lenora didn’t miss the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Lenora sent Lady Darlington-Pope a sideways glance and a weak half-smile. “I simply couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

“Grateful I am too, Miss Audsley. You dealt those bounders a hefty blow or two.” Lady Darlington-Pope beamed back at her. Though she had to be past her seventieth year, except for fine lines framing her eyes and mouth and two wrinkles etched upon her forehead, her ladyship’s face remained remarkably smooth.

There was a resemblance around her eyes and aristocratic cheekbones that portrayed Captain Steele as her grandson.

Lenora could have stood by, of course, and declined to intervene. Just as everyone else had. The truth was, she had surprised even herself. Nonetheless, she didn’t regret her actions.

She was convinced Lady Darlington-Pope would’ve been injured had she not intervened. The woman was mulishly stubborn, and nothing short of bodily harm would’ve forced her to give over her money.

What was it she’d said?

“I’ve been bullied by men all of my life.” Or something of that nature.