“Wait just a minute,” he said to the driver, then strode quickly to where Petra was about to step into the crossing. He caught her arm. “Don’t argue, Petra. If you’re not careful you’ll walk straight through that pile of horse dung in the middle of the road. Brook Street is two streets away and you really can’t walk it without shoes.” Still holding her arm he turned to the hackney that eased forward to draw up beside them. He opened the door. “Get in, please.”

It was the only rational, sensible thing to do, Petra knew. Her bare feet were not standing up well to the grit and grime of London pavements. But every ounce of her wanted to resist his assumption of control. It reminded her too vividly of the past when she had somehow accepted his direction because, foolish child that she’d been, she’d believed his dictates were evidence of his caring. He was older, wiser, more experienced than herself, still a schoolgirl, and his every word carried the weight of that superiority.

She’d grown out of that illusion quickly enough, Petra thought grimly, but she was no longer foolish. She stepped up into the hackney without acknowledging Guy’s assistance. He stepped inside behind her, pulling the door closed.

“It’s not necessary to see me to my door,” she protested. “I can take myself home.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, leaning back against the cracked leather squabs, watching her from beneath half-closed eyelids. “But I like to finish what I started, and I’m not lacking in chivalry.”

“Oh, really?” Petra demanded. “Since when did you acquire that quality?”

Guy sat upright, his eyes opening fully. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I think you heard me.” Petra was regretting her remark, but she couldn’t see how to back away from it. “Ten years ago, chivalry was not your forte, as I recall.”

His frown deepened as he cast a quick glance through the cab window. He banged on the roof of the cab with the knob of his cane and it drew to a halt outside the Rutherfords’ house on Brook Street. “We’ll talk about this in a minute,” he promised, swinging open the cab door and jumping to the ground. He paid the driver while Petra stepped gingerly down to the pavement, still clutching her shoes. A helping hand to alight would have been appreciated, she thought. Much more so than the other unwanted helping hands he’d offered in the last half hour.