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while you tie your horse to the back of the phaeton.”
    Luc hesitated and Silas said, “Luc, I know my animals. These horses have been mine since birth. They’re good, steady boys. They won’t run away with me—they’ll stand here steady as rocks until they’re asked to do something else.”
    Trusting Silas’s word, Luc jumped down from the phaeton. A few minutes later, Luc had the old man settled in the phaeton and his own horse tied to the back of the vehicle. Climbing into the vehicle, he took the reins from Silas’s hand.
    Noting the lines of pain around Silas’s mouth and the paleness of his complexion, Luc asked again, “How bad is it?”
    Silas dredged up a smile. “Not as bad as the time I was silly enough to fight a duel and get myself shot in the shoulder for my efforts. Now, if you please, get me to High Tower before I shame myself by fainting.”
    Luc grinned and gently set the chestnuts into motion. He’d met Silas in April and, astonishing both of them and everyone who knew them, a friendship had grown between the two vastly different men.
    Luc had liked the elfin old gentleman the moment he’d been introduced to him by his cousin, Simon Joslyn. They’d met in one of the fashionable gaming hells in London and within a matter of days, this past Season, it hadn’t been unusual to find Ordway leaning on Luc’s arm as the older man showed him around the city and introduced him to various members of the ton.
    They made a strange pair, the tall young man with questionable antecedents and the wizened old gentleman. There were a few raised eyebrows, but by the time the Season ended in June and the ton dispersed to their country estates, the friendship between the two men was taken for granted.
    Silas’s country estate, High Tower, was situated not far from Windmere, where Luc was staying, and over the summer the friendship between the two men had continued to prosper and grow. The old man was reclusive, but Luc was often at High Tower, dining and playing cards with Silas until the morning hours, when he would return to Windmere.
    The phaeton was well sprung, and the ride to High Tower passed without incident. A lone torch flickered near the door of the house, and slowly halting the horses underneath the small portico that had been added in the last century to the half-timbered Tudor manor house, Luc said, “If you’ll hold the horses, sir, I’ll rouse the house.”
    Silas grunted. “If someone isn’t at the front door within the next five minutes, I pay them too much.”
    The words had hardly left his mouth before the stout oak door was opened and Silas’s butler, Meacham, poked his head out. Seeing Luc at the reins and spying the swathe of material wrapped around his employer, his eyes widened.
    Rushing outside, Meacham cried, “Master! What has happened?”
    “Nothing that a visit from the bone-setter won’t take care of,” Silas said. “Now don’t just stand there gawking at me like I’m a freak at a fair. Help me down.”
    Since Meacham was of Silas’s generation and not much larger than his employer, Luc interceded and said, “Allow me, sir.”
    Not giving Silas a chance to reply, in one easy motion, Luc lifted the old man down from the vehicle and gently deposited him on his feet.
    “Much obliged to you, lad,” Silas said. “Don’t like to think how long I would have lain there if you hadn’t happened along. Indebted to you. Won’t forget it.”
    “Think nothing of it, sir,” Luc replied. Offering his arm, he said, “Let’s get you inside and out of this chill weather.”
    After a sleepy footman was sent to bring the physician posthaste and a pair of stable boys had led the chestnuts away, with Silas leaning heavily on his arm and Meacham following anxiously on their heels, Luc escorted the old gentleman upstairs to his rooms.
    Aided by Meacham and Silas’s valet, Brownell, Luc’s cravat was carefully removed. There was no hope of saving Silas’s upper garments, and the