Chapter 12

Twelve

LUMLEY COURT, LONDON - JUNE 12, 1816

WILLIAM

The hour was later than I'd intended when I left Adriane to her stars. The sun had just dipped behind the horizon. I would need to hasten my pace to avoid unsavory elements. My sweetling hadn't been allowed a decent burial in a respectable cemetery, not after her time in the brothels of Paris.

Predictable as the rise and fall of the sun, I came across two men having a bit too much fun with a tempting armful. They hovered menacingly over the girl. She was little more than a heap of skirts on the pavement.

I sighed. This was precisely the sort of thing I'd hoped to avoid.

I snatched the nearest one by the shoulder, wrenching him back to me and meeting his face with my fist. He crumpled forward gracelessly.

"Evening, gents. What might you be up to?"

"William!"

Bleeding hell! Not her again . Sparing a glance at the heap of skirts confirmed what I knew the moment I heard my name. Lady Rycliffe, holding my own umbrella out to me.

"It's not raining, and I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment." The man I struck managed to right himself, and the other had rounded on me.

"You can hit them with it. I've done it." Now that she said it, the men were rather disheveled.

"Well, keep it then!" Each man took a swing simultaneously.

I blocked the one intended for my face instinctively, leaving my gut open for the other. Though painful, it lacked the force I would have expected of a man his size. Still, it knocked the air out of me.

"I have a knife," she cried.

Another fist rained down on me and I ducked. It continued on its trajectory into the other man's face, knocking him to the ground. At least they were somewhat inept assailants.

"Then why the hell are you hitting them with the bleeding umbrella?" On further inspection, it was obvious she had managed more than a few hits on at least one of them. He was bleeding from his stomach and the side of his head. He was the more unsteady for it, and I aimed a blow at the wound on his stomach. It earned me a devastated grunt.

"It was tucked under my skirts." I heard a thunk followed by a groan behind me. I spun in time to see that she had made it to her feet. The taller man collapsed at the waist. It seemed she'd hit the man's kidney with the umbrella.

The aforementioned knife was tucked uselessly in her hand.

"Keep the umbrella. Give me the damn knife!"

"Oh!" She had enough sense to give it over, handle first. Now that we were armed and standing together, the men eyed us wearily.

She had caused a fair amount of damage with her makeshift weapon. The man holding his bleeding side was unlikely to forget her if he survived.

The slightly less injured one struck with very little warning, but I caught the slight dip in his shoulder and met his fist with the knife. He yowled in pain and pulled away, damaging the hand further.

His compatriot joined him in his cries when she whacked him about the knee. He was on the ground writhing. She'd broken it then. Good.

This was our opportunity. We would likely win if the fight continued. They were badly injured, and she was a crack shot with an umbrella.

Or we could run. I didn't fancy waiting to see if they had friends. I grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the scene, urging her into a run.

We turned down the nicer side streets, doubling back every so often to be sure we weren't followed. Finally, we reached my office and the little apartment above them. Fortunately, I managed to retain my keys in the scuffle, and I ushered her inside and out of the night.

I finally released her hand when we reached my door at the top of the stairs. My hands shook as I fought to get the key in the lock. When I managed to open the door, I gestured her in front of me, then I pressed the door closed with my back.

She stood stark still in the center of my entry. Her arms were wrapped around her waist. The umbrella lined her side, supporting her, keeping her upright. The golden glow of her skin was gone and in its wake a sickly pale.

"Are you injured?"

"What?" she asked, her tone small and far away.

Shock then. I grabbed her by the shoulders and directed her into the chair by the hearth. I tugged the umbrella from her grasp and nestled it against her knee. She would want it within reach.

That she allowed me to take it without protest was proof enough of her distress. Her shuddering form was unnecessary evidence.

I pulled away to light the fire. When that task was completed, I retrieved a blanket from the bedroom and wrapped it around her still-trembling body.

I had seen men in shock on the battlefield. I don't think she would appreciate my usual method of reviving them.

No, a sharp crack on the cheek was not likely to please the marchioness. Quite frankly, I was somewhat afraid of her wrath if I displeased her.

My instinct was to make her tea, but I preferred coffee and my selection was pitiful. It would take time to heat the kettle as well.

I puttered about the kitchen, keeping an eye across the open room. My selection was truly pitiful. Kit and I typically dined together in the evenings. In the mornings, I often broke my fast at my desk.

I managed to procure a loaf of bread and some butter. I did not wish to overwhelm her, lest she be sick, so I ignored the cheese and dried meats.

I checked the last cupboard, desperately hoping for something edible to appear by magic. My prayers were answered in the form of drink rather than food. Whiskey.

I poured a finger into a teacup and brought it to her. I had to press it into her palm and curl her fingers around the cup before they responded.

"Whiskey. Kit left it, so it's likely terrible, but it's all I've got. Unless you'd like tea?"

She took a mindless sip with none of Kit's usual fanfare.

"I've got bread as well if you think you can eat something? It might help with the shaking."

She straightened a bit. "Do you have any cheese?" With the request, her tone returned to something of the usual warmth and vibrancy.

"I think I've got some North Wiltshire."

"Really? But it's so…"

"Expensive? That's why I live in this hovel. Must save money to afford cheese." That earned me a giggle and the sound warmed my chest in a far more pleasant manner than the whiskey could have.

"You don't mind sharing?"

I gave a disinterested shrug as I returned with a cheese plate as requested and perched on the arm of her chair. "I'll overcharge Rosehill this month. He'll never notice."

She took a healthy bite of bread and cheese, her eyelids fluttering closed with an appreciative groan. It sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with our fight.

We ate without words, and her trembling slowly subsided, and her coloring was restored. The brightness returned to her eyes as she peered into the fire. She was still a mess, her hair tangled and mostly undone, the ill-fitting dress wrinkled and caked with mud and Lord knew what else. But she was an unbearably beautiful mess.

"How are you feeling? Bit better now?" I asked.

She turned to face me and answered with a prim, "Yes, thank you."

"Good. So… you followed me to the cemetery?"

She ducked before mumbling an affirmation.

"Why?"

"I don't wish to say." Her answer was directed to her lap and the empty plate.

"Should have thought about that before you followed me and nearly got yourself killed."

"I was defending myself admirably!" Her tone was indignant and utterly charming.

"You were. I'll be asking about that next. But I've been more than patient with this nonsense. I think I've earned the truth."

At last, she looked up, her eyes catching mine. They were a mossy green in the flickering firelight and the steady gleam from the streetlamps outside. She was searching for something, an answer to a question I couldn't begin to guess.

She released a great breath, her chest dipping with the effort. "Did you kill Gabriel?"

"No!" I shot up from my seat to face her. Immediately following the instinctive, incredulous denial, the implications of the question filtered through slowly. Each more horrifying than the last. "You think I…"

"I do—I did . But I think perhaps I was wrong."

"You believe I murdered your husband, stabbed him in the back on your front steps, and you decided to follow me?"

She rose, prim, ladylike, and a touch wary. "Yes, I—yes."

My hand fisted in my hair. "You thought I was a murderer, and you followed me? Are you daft? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No!"

"Truly? Because it seems you deemed it sensible to follow a murderer around for the best part of a week. You brought nothing but a knife to defend yourself with. One you couldn't even reach, I might add. Do you realize how dangerous that was? You could have been killed! And that is not even considering tonight's scrape, which could have left you bleeding or dead in an alley. You thought you were chasing a murderer!"

"I am perfectly well."

"That is hardly the point! What if you had been hurt tonight? How do you think Rosehill would have felt? And me! Do you suppose I could live with myself if you were hurt recklessly chasing after me?"

"You can barely tolerate me. I think you would have managed just fine."

"Of course I can barely tolerate you! You're infuriating, breathtaking, and charming. You can do things with an umbrella that would make an intelligent man wince but are certainly not having that effect on me. And you have a bleeding death wish! Lord, this must be what Kit feels all the time. No wonder he refuses to do anything about it. Is that what ladies do? They just gallivant wherever they please with no regard for their personal safety and expect the people who care about them to clean up whatever mess they make?"

"You care about me?" She took a step toward me, one hand reaching out. She froze just before she reached my chest.

"No—yes—I don't bloody know! I can't stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you. You're everywhere. All the time. And you're out there convinced I'm a murderous monster. How am I supposed to feel?"

"I didn't know." The hand brushed my chest through the thin fabric of my shirt, immediately igniting the fire within. Her delicate fingers rose and fell with my ragged breath.

"Of course not. Regardless, it doesn't matter how I feel. You clearly find me repugnant."

"I don't…"

"Don't what?"

"Find you repugnant. I never did." The way she said it, softly with wide, earnest eyes… as though repugnant was the opposite of how she felt.

The sight had me clutching at the hand that sat like a brand over my heart. I pressed it tighter, preventing escape.

"How do you feel then?" I breathed.

"I… I don't know either. I was so sure. But you were so… And I couldn't believe that someone could be that… Would do that to him."

"That didn't make a lick of sense."

She took a deep breath, held it, and released. "I don't know how I feel. I think it's fair to say that I've thought of nothing but you since that night."

"So where does that leave this?"

"Two people, who feel something other than hatred."

"And what do two people who feel something other than hatred do?"

Her tongue darted out, brushing between parted lips, and I could not be held responsible for my answering groan.

"I think they kiss. They definitely kiss."

And so they did.