“No. I don’t have time to explain and I don’t know who is going to bust through that opening.”
“Kilmore would double cross you? He looked like he was your friend.”
“He is, but he’s still a smuggler. Who do you think moves barrels in and out of this room? It sure isn’t Kilmore—he stopped doing menial work long ago. Too many heads know of this room.”
“But why are we running? You just left your men.”
“I’m getting you to somewhere safe.”
“But they need you.”
“Yes, and I bloody well need you safe, so I’m getting you out of here. We need to run, Tor. And run fast.”
She moved to the window and he grabbed her arm to stop her. “Let me test it. You come down after me so I can hold you to the ladder from behind.”
“I’m lighter and I know how to climb a ladder—I should go first to test it.”
“Not going to argue it with you, Tor.”
Her sigh filled the dark air between them and Roe threw his leg out the window, easing his weight onto the top wooden rung. The wood creaked, but held. Kilmore needed to replace the bloody thing—this same ladder had been there for the past ten years.
He set his full weight on the rung and swung his other leg out the window. Down two steps, he stopped. “Crawl out in front of me.”
Torrie stuck one leg out, got footing on the top rung, then pulled her whole body out of the window.
Near to full darkness and she trusted him enough to follow him out a window without a peep. Pride mixed with an odd twist of anger at her for trusting him so much cut across his chest.
He had to get her out of here. To safety, no matter what.
Roe waited until she had settled fully in front of him, the back of her body long against his torso, and her grip on the ladder secure, before he started downward.
One, two, three, four rungs they went down.
He paused on the fifth rung as Torrie had slowed, searching with her toe for her next step down.
The second the arch of her foot took her weight, he heard it.
Crack.
Her body fell to the side, breaking through his hold on the ladder.
She was falling away from him.
Without thought, he let loose of the ladder, both of his hands stretching out, reaching her, yanking her toward him, pulling her into his chest.
Falling. The night swallowing them whole.
{ Chapter 13 }
She heard the splintering wood below her, but it didn’t even occur to her what the sound meant. Not until she was flailing in the air. The open air that offered her nothing—no chance—only falling.
Before the scream in her throat could escape, a mass surrounded her, shrouding her from the open air.
A grunt expelled from her chest as she crashed.
She hit the ground hard, but something broke her fall. Something softer than the hard dirt.
Stunned, her brain rattling around in her head, it took her a moment to crack her eyes open and push herself upright.
An arm under her left palm. A chest under her right fingers.
Roe.
Hell. He was the one that broke her fall.
He’d managed to wrap her into his body on the way down and take the brunt of the blow from the ground.
Her neck could have broken. Her head smashed in. And he’d saved her from all of that.
She rolled off him, staring at the outline of his face in the dark shadows.
His instinct had been to grab her. Shield her. Save her.
He could have easily held his place on the ladder and let her drop. But he didn’t.
He abandoned all sanity to wrap her and break her fall.
All rationality.
It struck her—lightning out of a dark sky—that she somehow meant far more to him than she’d let herself believe.
His hand scrambled about her body in the dark until he found her arm and a spot to grab her. “Air—I just have to catch—air—it knocked it—”
Her hand went through the blackness around them to find his mouth and her fingers pressed against his lips, her whisper furious. “I understand. Can you stand? I hear them in the street—both Des and Weston. You said we need to move, so let’s move.”
He rolled onto his side and she grabbed his arm, steadying his balance as he got to his feet.
She had to help him forward against his staggering steps, yet he still threw an arm across her back, shielding her from the front of the Lion’s Tap as they ran down the alley, then to the next street and through another alleyway.
She didn’t know where they were going, and she guessed Roe didn’t either, other than they were making their way as fast and as far as they could away from the docks.
Minutes passed, street after street. Her breath gone. Her legs screaming with every step. Roe finally slowed as they crossed over a busy street, moving toward the white stone facade of a brightly lit building.
Of course he knew where he was headed. Always a back-up plan.
“What is it?” she asked.
Roe didn’t look down at her, his eyes shifting all around them, still wary of someone following them. “It’s a gentlemen’s club.”
“A—a gentlemen’s club?” Her voice squeaked out, betraying the bravado she had tried to paste onto her face.
“Yes. The most discreet place in town. We’ll enter in the rear and be safe here at least for the night.” His arm around her tightened, his balance and strength back in place. He pulled her deeper into the cover of him as they walked along the front of the club, then turned in at the end of the row of buildings to reach the mews.
Though they had to duck under the light of the lanterns above the rear door, once inside, deep shadows prevailed. Only enough light from a sconce at the far end of the entryway to see the room at the rear entrance was encased in deep, dark marble—almost as though they had stumbled into the middle of a black obsidian stone.
Roe spun her into his chest as they stepped into the room, keeping his arm high around the back of her head and draping down alongside her face. It was nearly impossible to see anything.
“One room.”
“Of course, Mr. Lipinstein. Your preferred room is filled for the evening. Will the reflection room be appropriate?”
Torrie jumped. She hadn’t even seen the man standing stoic next to the door. He only stepped forward once Roe started to talk to him.
Roe nodded. “It will be. And I need brandy and a dinner brought up.”
“Of course, sir.” The man stepped in front of them, leading them to a black curtain that hid a staircase.
Roe nudged her in front of him as they moved up the stairway, but when the man paused at a door on the third level of the building, Roe was quick to step in front of her, blocking the man’s sight of her.
Still shielding her, and this time, shielding her from certain scandal. Not that anyone knew her in Plymouth. But Roe wasn’t taking a chance.
She stepped into the room, the door closing behind them, and her jaw dropped.
The only furniture in the room was a bed and a red silk rococo chaise lounge at the foot of it, with one side open and the other side scrolling upward in the Greek style.
Those two pieces were not the focus point of the room.
It was the mirrors.
Mirrors with ornate gold gilded frames encased the room—the walls, the ceiling—only the floor didn’t reflect back at her. Not a scratch of plaster to be seen. She spun in a circle, only to make sure she was seeing it all correctly, her reflection staring back at her a hundred times over.
She glanced at Roe as he sat down with a heavy grunt on the open end of the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed, the tufted ruby red silk crinkling under his weight. Maybe he was still in pain from the fall.
“I’ve never been in a gentlemen’s club.”
“I should hope not.” His left arm lifted and he started to shrug his dark coat off.
“Are they all set u
p for…this?” A crooked smile came to her face as her hand flitted about her.
“Set up for what?”
“I assume this is for…coupling.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “It is, and no, not all of the rooms are like this. Very few, actually.” He tugged off the right sleeve of his coat. “This room is an exception, but as I showed up through the back door clutching onto a female, the butler assumed what would be best for the situation. I wasn’t about to argue with him for more elegant accommodations and have him take a closer look at you.”
Her cheeks warmed. “He thinks I’m a whore?”
“Aye. He does.”
She looked to her right, only to be met with her own reflection. Rumpled hair. Her face was darker in color than it usually was—too many days in the sun on the ship. Her traveling habit a shambled mess of wool and muslin. Her lips redder than usual with the blood pumping hard through her veins from the running.
She very well could be easily mistaken for a whore.
She truly wasn’t that far removed. For she didn’t mind imagining what could possibly be done in front of these mirrors. The certain ways that Roe had stretched her body during the past days had her wondering just what their reflections would look like, tangled and out of breath.
Roe shifted awkwardly behind her. A movement meant to be hidden from her, but she could see it quite clearly past her shoulder in the mirror.
She turned to him. “What is wrong?”
He shook his head, his body stilling. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Ballocks.” She stepped over to him, looking down at him. “Were you injured in the fall? I didn’t so much as get a scratch from that fall, you had me wrapped so tight. But you…” Her fingers went out to his neck, moving his head back and forth, her look running up and down along his body, searching.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle.
“Roe, this does us no good. What happened?”
His eyes lifted to her, the darkness in his grey irises annoyed. “My shoulder is out of its socket.”
“Oh.” She looked down to his right shoulder. He had kept the arm unusually immobile since they fled the docks, only holding her with his left arm. “Well, we must call a surgeon to get it back into place. It happened to my cousin once. Lachlan screamed and hollered so much we thought a pig was being slaughtered. He was nine, of course, so I’m sure he thought he’d never have use of his arm again.”
Roe shook his head. “We can’t call a surgeon. No one knows I’m here. And no one knows you’re here with me—I made sure the butler couldn’t identify you. I’ll not ruin that by having anyone entering the room.”
“But you need to have it fixed.”
His look pierced her. “I’ll not chance it, Tor.”
Her mouth clamped shut. She could argue it, or she could try and help.
She took a slight step back from him, her hands on her hips. “So then, tell me what I can do.”
His left eyebrow lifted.
She exhaled an exasperated breath. “Yes, tell me. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
“Fine.” He stood up, looking down at her for one long second, then moved past her and lay down flat on his back on the floor. “I need you on my right side, sitting.”
She stepped over his long legs and sat by his side.
“Move my right arm out, just slightly, and then wedge your foot against my ribcage—you’re going to grab onto my wrist and pull my arm toward you.”
Torrie nodded, quickly loosening her boots and removing them, and then she slid backward, extending her foot out in front of her. She shifted his right arm outward from his body and he flinched.
“Sorry.”
He managed a smile for her. “It needs to happen—ignore my face. I don’t hide pain as well as you. Get your foot in place.”
She wiggled the arch of her foot against his ribcage.
“Now I have to relax and you have to pull my arm out toward you—but gently, no yanking. You should feel it pop back into place.”
With a nod, she tried to still the quiver in her fingers as she wrapped her hands around his wrist, ignoring the flip her gut had just performed. Now was not the time for squeamishness. If he could sew her skin closed, she could damn well pull his arm.
“Nod when you’re ready.”
He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths.
He nodded.
Her face scrunched and she started to pull. His arm tensed, his muscles fighting her for every modicum of space she managed to pull. Farther. Farther.
His mouth twisted slightly, battling for calm.
Farther, farther.
Pop.
The distinctive snap of his joint falling back into place vibrated through his arm to her hands.
“Was that it?”
“Yes.” He groaned out the word, instant relief on his face. “Gently let it go.”
She eased her hands forward, letting his arm pull naturally to his body. Releasing his wrist, she scooted backward and leaned against one of the large framed mirrors that extended to the floor.
For all the relief on his face, she was grateful, but she never wanted to have to do that again. She had no idea that would twist her gut so tight she would end up a breath away from retching.
Roe sat up, his left hand on his shoulder as he moved it about. “Right back into place. It pops out easily, ever since that first time a week after I arrived at Newgate. That was when I first met Doctor Lewis. But it’s easier now to get it back into place than it was. Or maybe that was just your magical touch.” He looked at her, winking.
That he was moving normally again, not wincing, did little to ease the churning in her gut. “Tell me that was the only thing that got damaged in the fall. I don’t think I can bite back much more bile.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t care for it?”
“Didn’t care for you in pain. No.”
A soft smile lined his lips, his steel grey eyes sinking deep into her soul. “I know the feeling.”
He flipped tall onto his knees, shuffling forward until he was right in front of her. His left hand flattened onto the mirror aside her head and he leaned down to her. “Let me get your mind off it, then.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
His lips met hers, hard, frantic—as wild as the madcap dash they’d just experienced from the docks.
Her mouth parted under his, letting him invade, bringing him closer. The moment she was about to lose herself in him, he pulled up slightly.
“Now tell me what the hell you meant at the tavern.”
{ Chapter 14 }
The words came at her softly and she cracked her eyelashes to find his gaze pinning her. “At the tavern?”
He pulled back more, his head shaking slightly. “You said you didn’t think that I’d touch you again.”
She’d forgotten that. Forgotten it so fully in the scramble to get away from the docks it now sounded silly to her ears. Pathetic, even.
“I…it was nothing.”
“Why would you say it?”
“I didn’t know what I was saying.” She shrugged, her shoulders squeaking along the mirror behind her. “It’s just that I know I was convenient on the ship. A curiosity.”
“Tor…” His head dropped forward, shaking. With a deep breath, he lifted his gaze to her. “Why would you think that? Convenient? A curiosity?”
His voice cut into her, taking on a dangerous edge, balancing on the precipice of anger.
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know what? What we were doing on the ship? How I was touching you? What don’t you know?”
“It’s just that…” Every explanation she tried to force to her lips fell off her tongue before sound was made.
“Just what, Tor? Why would you say such a thing—utter such words?” The cut in his voice tilted closer to fury.
“Roe, I can’t explain—”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
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“It’s not that easy.”
“Tell me.” His voice steel, he was breaking her down. Breaking her resistance. “Tell me now.”
She shook her head.
“Say it.” He leaned far in, his furious breath warm on her skin, prodding her. “Say it out loud, Tor. Say it.”
Her lips parted, her eyes closing against him as her voice cracked. “My legs.”
His head snapped back, his eyebrows collapsing inward. “Your legs? You said it because of your legs?” His head turned slightly to the side, yet his look stayed on her, slicing through her. “You think I touched you on the ship because you were convenient—a curiosity—and off the ship I wouldn’t want you? I wouldn’t want you because of your scars?”
She exhaled a long breath, defeated to her core. She’d tried so hard in every part of her life to not let her legs affect her. To not think less of herself because of them.
But this.
This was at the core of her. The most vulnerable, hidden belief.
She was sensible about it, knowing she was damaged goods—a match for only the elderly and desperate.
But she remembered what it was before the fire to have men look at her, talk and laugh with her, merely because she was interesting and pretty.
When she was worth something.
And that was the cruelest part of all. She remembered how it was to be whole. And she’d never quite accepted that she wasn’t the same person.
His left hand ran through his dark hair. “I thought you were dismissing me, done with me.” His eyes met hers, his mouth pulling back in a tight line. “But you…you were worried on your legs.”
He shook his head, swallowing hard, a lump in his throat she watched move down his neck. His left hand went to the side of her face, the tips of his fingers curling to the hair above her ear. “I love your legs, Tor.”
Her lips pursed as her look dipped between them. “Don’t pander to me.”
“Pander to you? Never.” His fingers along her face dropped, moving to wrap along her neck, his thumb pushing up on her chin. “Do you know I think of them as the sea?”
Her gaze lifted to him, wary. “You hate the sea.”
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