Chapter 2

Boyd stared at the woman on the carriage seat across from him, the clop of the horses and the sound of the carriage wheels over the stone filling the silence between them.

She'd once again wrapped herself up in her shawl, but he could see her shivering, the cool night air surely traveling right through the thin fabric.

He told himself he wasn't concerned about her welfare because she was so damned pretty. He was a man with two sisters, and he'd be concerned with any woman sitting across from him shivering. But he'd caught her in the candlelight of the club when she'd finally lifted her face.

Wide eyes, delicate features, and full lips were framed by the heart of her jawline.

Now she pulled the shawl about herself, her hands tight against her body.

With a muttered oath, he shrugged off his coat, not bothering to ask as he leaned forward and dropped the heavy wool fabric over her lap.

Her lips parted on a gasp even as she pulled the jacket up her body curling her legs up under herself.

He muttered a curse, realizing he should have given her the jacket sooner. "How did you get to the brothel?"

She delicately cleared her throat. "I walked."

"In those?" He pointed down to the overlarge shoes she'd slipped off, leaving on the floor of the carriage.

"Goodness, no." She shook her head. "I went in my bare feet."

"This time of year?" The season was turning to spring, but the nights were still bitter cold.

She looked up at him and he noticed the bruise on her jaw. Highlighted by the swinging light of the carriage lantern, he'd mistaken the large mark for a shadow earlier.

He reached across to touch it, but Annie flinched away with a small cry. He didn't back away, only stilled. He'd worked with skittish horses on the farm and what they always needed was a calm and patient hand. "Easy," he murmured. "I just wanted to look. Who gave that to you?"

"My uncle," she whispered tucking deeper under his jacket as if making herself smaller would protect her. His gut clenched with discomfort to see her fear.

He didn't try to touch her face again, instead, he very gently tucked the jacket tighter about her body to help keep her warm. "Why'd he go and do a thing like that?"

"He's not a nice man," she answered softly.

He didn't question her again. Instead, he just slid onto the seat next to her so that his body heat would help warm her too. "I had an uncle who wasn't all that nice either. Tried to wallop me more than once. But my pa never let him, though."

"My mother didn't let me anywhere near my uncle either, until she died." She dipped her head lower, and his chest tightened. She'd been having a rough go at life. He could see that. "Then there was no one else to take care of me."

He grunted. "I'm sorry about yer family. How'd yer ma pass?"

"Illness," she said. "She got a cough that only grew worse until she died. What about your family? Are your parents alive?"

"Aye." He relaxed at the mention of his parents, picturing their faces. He missed them. "Alive and displeased with my chosen profession."

She gave a faint smile back, making her even lovelier to behold. "What happened to your uncle? Is he still alive?"

"Nay. And much as I hated the old goat, he left me his farm. Can ye believe it?"

She shook her head. "I can assure you that my uncle will leave me nothing but bruises."

His gut clenched as another wave of sympathy rolled over him. He shouldn't worry after this woman because she was going to bring him nothing but trouble. Then again, he'd been craving a bit of that anyway. "My pa's been caring for my land while I'm here in London."

"Will you go back?"

He hadn't thought so. Thought he was too big for being a farmer in Scotland. "Maybe someday."

She sighed. "After the last year, a farm sounds wonderful. Quiet. Comfortable."

"Sunny," he added with a chuckle. "At least in the summer. Between the winter and the working nights, I could use a bit of sun."

She looked over at him then, a smile tugging at her lips. "Sun does sound nice." And then she leaned into his arm, her head coming to his shoulder. "Thank you for saying yes."

How did a man answer that? A beautiful woman thanking him for taking on her care. He'd been rather obvious that he didn't want the job as well. "Ye're welcome."

The carriage slowed, turning into his drive.

When he'd first taken over his cousin's townhouse, Boyd hadn't the funds for staff. Now, he'd saved a good portion of the money he'd earned, but he'd only taken on a housekeeper and driver. He was lucky. The house belonged to his cousin, he only needed to pay to keep it running. It had allowed him to save a great deal of what he'd earned.

He'd not decided what he saved for. A business of his own? Retirement?

His parents were by no means rich. To own land as they did, his father was a laird. Technically, he supposed he was as well now that he'd inherited his uncle's parcel. And he'd have his father's land too someday.

He let out a slow breath of air, thinking for the second time, being on the farm might not be so bad.

He wouldn't be fighting criminals or pirates. No, he'd only battle the rain and the moles…maybe a fox or two.

But he'd work his body, count his crops instead of someone else's coin. He shook his head, dispelling these thoughts. An hour ago, he'd been dreaming of working as a sailor. What had gotten into him?

The carriage pulled to a stop, and Boyd lifted from his seat and snapped the door open, where he paused again, peering into the night. "Leave the boots," he murmured before he jumped to the ground and turned.

Annie stood, holding the jacket out to him with one hand. He took it but immediately placed it around her shoulders. "I'm going to carry you," he grunted before he lifted her in his arms.

She'd hardly had time to respond as her body settled against his. Her soft curves fit against him, except for where her chest met his. Hard, square edges dug into his ribs. Was she carrying books under her shawl? He didn't ask as he brought her inside through the kitchen, then set her down in a chair.

He locked the door, and then went about adding more wood to the stove, placing water on the top to heat.

"I'm not sure I can warm an entire bath tonight, but we can wash yer feet before bed."

She winced, looking down. "I'm sure they're filthy after walking the streets of London."

"And cold," he added, testing the water. When it was hot enough, he poured half of it into a shallow pan, sliding it over to her chair.

She still wore his jacket, still had her hands tucked in the shawl around what he now knew were a few books. Grabbing the cake of soap, he knelt in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

He looked up at her with a grunt. "Washing yer feet. Ye can't do it and hold your books."

* * *

Annie jolted with surprise. He'd felt the ledgers?

Without much thought, she let him lift first one foot into the warm water and then the other, a soft groan of pleasure falling from her lips. Her feet weren't used to such work and the warm water not only heated her, but it also soothed her sore skin.

"I should have put on shoes," she offered. "I just saw the door was unlocked and I ran."

"The door isn't usually unlocked?"

She shook her head. "We lived in one of the largest brothels my uncle owns. The only unlocked door is the front door, which was heavily guarded."

"That the one on Kent Street?"

Was he bathing her feet to loosen her tongue?

It was working. Kneeling before her, the pose only highlighted the width of his shoulders, the strength of his body. He'd worked on a farm?

She believed it. There was so much power in his body. It was in such contrast to the way he knelt before her. Her body tightened in response. What was it about a large man caring for her that made her ache deep inside?

"Fourth Street was where we lived," she answered. "But he has houses on Bond Street and Able Street as well."

He looked up at her, his brows cocked. "No wonder Armstrong wants to protect ye."

She knew so much more than the location of a few houses. Through the books she had client rosters, profit margins, vendors her uncle regularly cheated, and more.

He looked up at her then, those dark brown eyes making her breath catch. "I'm more interested in what he did to give ye that bruise."

He slid his hands over her skin, gentle and kind.

"I talked back." She didn't want to tell him the whole truth. That her uncle had decided she could earn even more of his financial support by not only keeping the books, but by taking on the occasional customer.

She shivered again, but this time not from cold. Between the fire, his coat, and the hot water on her feet, she was perfectly warm.

His gaze held hers, his hands remaining slow and steady. "What did he say that ye disagreed with?"

She shook her head. They hardly knew each other. And what her uncle had proposed made her feel dirty.

It wasn't that she disrespected the other women who sold themselves. They were desperate. But what sort of man offered up his own kin to the trade? Makem was her mother's brother. Her mother, Maria Makem Wren had a hard childhood, her father not much better than her brother. Annie's father had been better, her mother's chance to escape, but he was a cold man. At least he'd been neither a criminal nor an abuser. Annie could thank her mother's side of the family for that.

But still, what would it be like to have a man who actually loved her? She looked down at Lockton as he wiped dirt away from the cuts on her feet and her heart roared in her ears. He was the last man she wished to share her uncle's awful plans for her future. She didn't want Lockton to think less of her.

"I'm very tired," she answered honestly, though she was avoiding his question. They both knew it.

He lifted one of her feet from the bath, reaching for a cloth and drying her off. Then he did the same for the other. "I understand," he rumbled. "Ye're not ready to tell me."

With both her feet clean and dry, he stood, lifting her easily into his arms again. "All the same, I'd like to put ye in the room that connects to mine. Leave the door open." He started for the stairs. "If I'm to keep ye safe, I need to be able to hear trouble."

That made sense, and what was more, she found she agreed with his plan. Sleep was never a good time for her, and perhaps she'd sleep better knowing this man was nearby. There was something oddly genuine about him, even though he was a stranger in many ways.

Laying her head on his shoulder once again, she closed her eyes as he carried her up two flights of stairs.

They entered a bed chamber, though she could hardly make out a detail about the room in the darkness, as he tucked her into the bed.

The mattress was soft and the blankets warm as he brought in a coal from another room to light a fire.

Soon, crackling warmth filled the hearth and her eyes grew heavy.

She hadn't slept much over the last year, but here, she felt her body relax. She knew Lockton was still in the room, she could hear him moving about, but her eyes grew heavy.

"Lockton?"

"Call me Boyd."

"Boyd?"

"Yes?"

"Would you stay for a little bit if it's not too much trouble?" She snuggled down deeper her eyes drifting closed again.

She'd not been this relaxed for a very long time.

She'd chosen correctly. She was nearly certain now. Letting out a sigh, she drifted off to sleep.

A hand touched her jaw, then gentle fingers brushed over her skin. She knew it was Boyd and the touch only relaxed her the more.

"I promise ye this, Annie. He hits ye again, he'll answer to me."

Her mother would like Boyd. That last thought made her smile, even half asleep as she was. And Annie, she might like him too…