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Her lips parted while he spoke, and remained so. As charming as a picture that she made--he did worry she was not the same witty woman who had captivated him on the paper. Then she spoke (and finally began to sound like she could string more words together) and explained her confusion. Fair enough, he was beating the dead horse by asking her the same question in repeat. Time would tell if she was really the women who had written the letter. He'd know her writing the first time she wrote anything.

"Miss Camden, I am the publisher of one of the best news papers in London." There was pride in his tone, but it was spoken more as one would state a fact. Mud was brown. Grass is green. The king is mad. His paper was the best. "In order to keep it that way, I am always on the look out for talent to add to my pages, and this letter is going to be published in the paper this week. If popular, it will be become a weekly column." If she was indeed the woman.

He also did not ask. He was not going to ask and bribe and talk her into joining his paper. He was going to tell her she was hired, and see if she could write more to please the masses. He had more to say, but he wanted to gage her reaction toward his 'offer' by giving her a moment to process.

For a moment he assumed she's cry. Why he thought she would do something normal he did not know, but her first sound held the vulnerability that he thought was about to come out. He was used to theatrics from his actress mother, and he how to handle a woman in tears---yet she did no cry. She bit her lip (which he noticed a little too much in this situation) and told him she was walking.

Walking.

Like she had tried to walk away from him when he found her, as if this was her plan all along! Knightly lifted his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and while taking a deep breath so not to use the same hand to reach out and shake her out of the bottled rage, concern, and now frustration. While he was growing used to her antics, this was not the time for her to try to be cute!

Lifting his face back to look at her he spoke very slowly, attempting to control the competing emotions in his chest so that he did not take his anger for Cooper out on her, when he was trying to show her concern for her well being--ONE OF THEM might as well act concerned for her well being! "Miss Camden." he said, his fingers unintentionally gripping her shoulder a little tighter; though still making sure not to hurt her. "As much as I appreciate pridfulness,--" lie "--I have been frantically looking for you for over an hour or more. You are not taking a stroll . . . you were missing."

Reaching over he put his other hand, on her other shoulder, so that he now held both of her shoulders and could keep her facing him. "So I ask again. What happened? Are you harmed in any way? Do you need a doctor?" It was all he could do to keep his voice was yelling again, as it came out tight, clipped, and deep. Because he needed to ear her say she was unharmed. He needed her to say it, and mean it, because if she was harmed then he wasn't sure what he would do. He wasn't sure what he was capable of doing. For her. To her. To Cooper.

There were some pleasures that Knightly enjoyed just for himself. While his paper took most of his time and energy, he had learned there were things that helped clear a stuffy mind so that one could think better. One such minor thing was going for a brisk ride. He did not often take advantage of this, however on a warm day it seemed everyone was taking advantage of the sun. Something he prided himself on suggesting in his paper--that with the warm weather more people should be out.

Knightly liked the power it gave him. Suggesting warm rides in his paper and going out to see everyone doing just that. Slowing his horse down, he looked over the hills and grass as some people rode about, and some paused to talk. The park would be filled to the brim too, but for times when he wanted to be alone and enjoy the silence, the county side was best.

Pausing as one young bucking fool road quickly past Knightly glared at him. Damned idiots did not know how to drive! He took note of the name and driver before trotting on. He's let Whistledown take care of him, but if need be then he would tell his own gossip columest know to drop the name. Coming abreast of some people he knew, Knightly exchanges some pleasantries, and they even commented on the man's driving. Knightly agreed, and said as much to them; which then prompted them to say something that changed his mood. 'I had thought Dear Miss Mirela was with him.' -- that was what people tended to call her as she grew in popularity. Calling her by her column's title rather then by her name of Miss Camden. He encouraged it as it made people feel connected to her and thus want to read her writing and even write to her (which in turn fueled her writing) . . . and in turn made people read his paper.

But it was not the nick name what made him hesitate and then jerk his head around toward where the driver had gone. She was with HIM? Or had been. "She was riding with that foul driver?" He asked in a demanding and annoyed tone. He knew she was attempting to woo some poor sap but Cooper?! Surly she could set her sights higher than that! Cooper was an idiot. Granted he knew almost nothing about the man but he could still be sure the man was an idiot!

Then another dreadful inkling came out him, and he jerked his head back to the couple. Fuck he was daft! "Was?" Where the bloody hell was she now?! That idiot was returning toward the city alone. Had she joined someone else?

Spuring his horse toward the direction Cooper had come from. Something in him just knew that she was out there and not some place safe and sencable! At one point during his search which seemed more chaotic than his normal organized methods of doing everything--he even yelled her name to see if she would answer. Yet nothing was called back.

Knightly had to ride for a bit looking over the landscape before he happened to see a lone figure walking in the distance. He knew. He just knew it was her. He had gone looking for her just to be fore she was safe, because something in him just HAD to make sure. Something had twisted in his gut as he looked for her, and now that he found her he wasn't sure what he felt. A boiling relief that she seemed to be standing, and a rage . . . a rage that she was walking.

Kicking his horse into a gallop, he rode toward her as fast as he could. Getting to her, he slung one leg over his horse before it had come to a complete stop, which make him ungracefully stumble slightly in his haste as he began sharp and quick steps toward her. She was filthy. Ragged and dirty and . . . . and Cooper was dead. Knightly was going to kill him.

Reaching his hand out he touched her arm, needing to feel she was alright too. Needing to hear it! "What the bloody hell happened?!" He demanded, knowing that yelling at her wouldn't get him anywhere! And he wasn't sure if he wanted to be here with her, or killing the man, or here with her . . .

Knightly walked into the closed Opera house and looked around for someone. He did not often seek out his own information when it came to events, but since he was int he area visiting his mother, it was not a too much of an effort to stop in himself. Besides, since he grew up in the mix of singers and actors he new quite a bit of them and it was good to see old faces.

In fact there was one now. Grinning he approached the singer, "Siena, love" he called in greeting, using the endearment as a casual calling rather then a sign intimacy. He knew from his father that in the upper class ranks that meant something more than it did down here. Calling a noble woman love might get him a duel, but here it was just a sign that he knew her.

Knightly wasn't worried about getting in a duel however, because he wanted nothing to do with the nobles. They were entitled (literately) and held too much power. It was why he loved his paper so much. It gave him power.