In Temptation and Damnation with the Earl: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel
Page 23
Could Charles possibly be right? Edward’s mother always donated to charity, raised funds through the balls of the year every year at the start of the debutante season. But had he ever met someone who had needed the money and the clothes they gave away?
The answer was no.
Edward looked out of his carriage window. It was a little after ten and the cobbled streets were empty. It had rained a while ago and had probably driven people back into their homes.
Something needs to change.
“Halt,” Edward called out to the driver. The footman came scurrying around to the door and threw it open.
“Yes, my Lord. Do you want anything?” the footman asked expectantly
“I wish to talk a walk along these streets.”
“That is not advisable, my Lord,” the footman said. Fear flickered on his face. “The streets are filled with scoundrels and thieves at night with naught to stop their wicked deeds.”
Edward raised a brow. “What about the policemen?”
“Even they are afraid to enter some of these parts,” the footman replied, looking around himself.
“What lies beyond this street?” he asked, making a sweeping motion with his hand. He didn’t recognize this one in the darkness of the night.
The footman hesitated. “There’s a slum called Clerkenwell. It lies beyond the main streets, in the fringe. All sorts of crooks abound the dark by-lanes and alleyways.”
Edward tapped his walking stick on the ground as he exited his coach. His footman’s words had just made him more determined to find out what lay beyond the streets. And while the thought daunted him, he was haunted by Charles’ words too. He needed to find out if he was indeed right.
“If I don’t come back in fifteen minutes, come look for me.”
“But my Lord—” the footman protested.
Edward held up a hand to stop him. He would see his cousin tomorrow and for that, he needed to have to keep his arguments ready. He would show him that he wasn’t just some spoiled brat hiding behind his title. He was ready to fight for people, and if that meant getting down to the dirt, so be it.
He left his carriage behind him as he walked ahead, careful not to ruin his expensive breeches in the water that sloshed the streets. When he noticed a small alley leading away from the main street, he followed the trail of the flickering lights from the streetlamps above him.
The neighborhood began to change the further he walked in. There was a stink in the air, smoke coming out of several chimneys atop the rickety houses that lined the alley which seemed to get narrower and narrower by the second. Rats scurried in and out of sight and there was a nasty stench of rotting garbage in the air. It was so overwhelming that Edward had to take his handkerchief out and press his mouth into it for some relief. The road was worse here, missing entirely in several places.
Edward cursed under his breath as his gait began to slip. Some women called out to him, even daring enough to sidle up. They wore cheap perfumes and their lips were blood red. Edward knew what they were—night women.
He swallowed his disgust but paid them no heed and carried on. He had seen enough. Now there had to be a way out of there without stepping back through the same path he had come through. As he tried looking for someone for directions, Edward spotted three men some distance away. They clung to the wall, sharing a smoke and their laughter carried over to him.
Before Edward could walk up to them, however, two men closed in on him. “What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” one of them asked. He had a Cockney accent.
“Gentlemen.” Edward greeted them. His breeding dictated him to be polite to people, circumstances withstanding. The two men were eyeing him up and down with some interest.
“Lost yo’ way now, ‘ave you?”
The back of his neck pricked. “If you’ll kindly allow me to pass—”
“Kindly?” one of the men asked. They looked at each and started laughing. They eyed his clothes with interest, an almost maniacal glint in their eyes.
“I don’t mean any trouble here,” Edward said quietly.
“Ya don’, but we do.” The Irish man turned around and called out to the three men behind him. “Oi, look who we ‘ave here.”
Immediately they stamped out the cigarette and approached. By then, all of Edward’s instincts were on high alert. Even though he had an experience of wrestling in Eton, it had been ages since he had folded up his sleeves and got down to fight. Besides, there were too many of them.
“Gentlemen, we can settle this like civilized people.” No sooner had he said it, that one of them took out a knife and brandished it at him.
Edward took a single step back and raised his arm.
The man continued to brandish his knife. “How much ackers do yer have?”
“I have my wallet in my pocket,” Edward said calmly. The money didn’t matter to him at the moment, his life did.
“His kit ‘ave a look expensive,” one of them said. “I cop cold in me own jacket. What do yer say, fellas? Should I take this one?”
The other egged him on as he drew close, a knife held out to him.
Edward pulled himself to his height and said, “I’m a member of Parliament. You should think twice before trying to hurt me.”
“Do yer think we care who yer are ‘ere?” He spat at Edward’s feet. “This isn’t your world to dictate as you please, dukey. The streets are ours.”
“I can help you. You don’t have to be a criminal,” Edward said. “I can show you a better path.” Edward was convinced that they would listen to his voice of reason, and not the retaliation of senseless violence.
“Yer think yer better than me?” The man charged, his hands outstretched as if to throttle him. Edward dodged him easily and landed a strong punch to his ribs. The man landed a few feet away. But Edward wasn’t fast enough for his next attacker.
The blows and punches came fast and steady. The knife drove into his side and he keeled over at the pain, clutching at the wound which spurted fresh blood.
“Did we kill ‘im?” one of the men asked.
“The coat is soaked with blood.”
“Just take the chuffin’ brass and let’s cop the hell out of ‘ere.”
Edward had the faint feeling of being turned on his side which made his pain worse. The last thing he remembered seeing was the men running away into the night before his eyes grew heavy. He tried to hold on but dark thoughts began to crowd his mind. He would die here on the streets tonight, cold and forgotten.
Chapter Three
Chapter Three
The freezing wind climbed up her skirts, making Ariadne shiver as she walked down the empty street. It had rained an hour ago, filling the narrow alleys with filthy water and mud.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what Mrs. Tula had said. She wouldn’t actually make them leave, would she? The thought was grim but she knew the truth. Mrs. Tula would do anything to get her coins and her rent. She couldn’t care less where they went after.
Adriane had managed to earn a few coins after selling flowers at the square. She had tried to look for an apprenticeship at a workshop, but unfortunately, nobody wanted to take a woman in. They scoffed at the sight of her, mocking her before they showed her out the door. Ariadne rubbed the angry tears from her eyes. Why was this world so unjust? She was as good as any man.
She looked down at the few coins in her hand which she clutched tighter to herself. The meager amount would buy bread and a few vegetables. But what came next? And how would she ever pay the dreaded rent on time? It was only two days away.
The only way out of her predicament and an actual permanent solution was to finish up the design of the lamp and attempt to get the patent for it. But she already knew that it would be a long and hard road ahead. She had seen her father wither away, trying to chase recognition for his myriad of devices. He had died before the world could see what he was capable of. Ariadne vowed to herself that she would keep fighting, for her sister and her father both.
She was about to walk past him when something snagged her by the ankle. Ariadne almost lost her footing at that, her heart hammering up to her chest as she attempted to dislodge herself from the grip.
“Please,” the voice groaned near her feet.
“Let me go,” she cried out and after struggling for a few moments, the man stopped moving, and his grip on her loosened. Ariadne ran away as fast she could. When she looked back, the man still appeared to be passed out.
Was he all right? He didn’t seem to be. He laid flat on the cold, wet ground naturally. And why was she bothering about him anyway? His friends would come to take him away later. And yet something about this didn’t feel right.
There was nobody else on the street. Ariadne found herself walking back to the man, despite herself. It was almost as if something was pulling her to him. She knelt beside him and touched his hand. His skin was gradually turning cold and he didn’t respond.
It was then, to her horror, that she noticed the blood pooling around him. Christ! She hadn’t noticed his wound at first under the dim light of the streets. She tried to turn him on his side but he was too heavy for her. His coat was missing but his breeches and undershirt along with his cravat made it evident to her that this was no unruly street urchin. This was a rich man—maybe even a Lord, and he had probably been robbed and left here.
Ariadne swallowed. She knew the danger of taking him to her house. He appeared to have been gravely injured. Would she be able to save him? And what if he died in her home? Ariadne considered the grim possibilities and she also knew that she couldn’t leave him her alone. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Can you hear me, Sir?” she called out. No answer.
With all her might, she was able to turn him on his side. He was caked with mud and his clothes were soaked to the bone with water. She could barely even make out his features. The movement caused a fresh spurt of blood.
“No, no, no, no,” Adriana whispered to herself. The man groaned this time. She slapped him on his cheeks repeatedly, trying to bring him back to consciousness.
“Wake up,” she said. “Wake up.” To her astonishment, he listened to her. His eyes flew open and his amber eyes seemed to be transfixed on her for a few seconds before his eyes closed again. Ariadne froze under his gaze but quickly recovered herself. “You have to keep yourself awake. Please, I beg you.”
Ariadne bit her lip. Her father had taught her how to stitch up an injury but she was no expert. And she had only mended his tiny bruises and cuts, nothing like this. But if she was able to take him back to the house, she could find a way to help him.
She tried to help him sit but failed in the first few instances, lapping up mud on her skirts and hands instead. She dragged him away from the worst of mud and water, careful not to put pressure on his injury.
She kept talking to herself as she managed to finally pull him up, his hand around her shoulder and her hand around his waist. His hips settled beside her for support and her breasts crushed against his ribs as she supported him.
Ariadne had never been this close to a man before. She blushed at the thought. When they were upright, she almost buckled under his weight. Lord, he must have been at least a few stones heavier than her.
She panted as they pushed forward. Her flat was only a few minutes away but it seemed almost like an eternity as she dragged him through the streets. In the distance, thunder clapped across the sky, threatening a fresh spell of rain.
Ariadne gritted her teeth and carried on. The man’s head lolled sideways and ultimately rested upon her bosom. Ariadne swallowed her embarrassment and nudged his head back up to the crook of her shoulder. He wasn’t in his senses.
“You’re too heavy, Sir! If only you were in your senses, it won’t be a pretty sight at all.” Ariadne muttered to herself. “But I’ll let it go, just this once.”
It was becoming more difficult for her by the minute to carry him forward but just as weariness began to seep into her bones, she caught sight of her small building which was squeezed between a butcher’s shop and a leather factory.
Thanking gods above, Ariadne managed to push him under the shingles of the building just as the sky opened up again. Climbing the stairs to the flat proved to be of some more difficulty, but she managed by propping him in front of her as they climbed each agonizing step. By the time they reached the flat, she knew how many rickety steps there were to it.
Ariadne knocked on the door with some urgency, hoping Emma and Leda weren’t already asleep. The door flew open and an alarmed Leda rushed out. “Ariadne, where were you? We were worried sick.” And then her eyes fell to the figure cradled by Ariadne and she shrieked. “Who is he?”
“Shh. We don’t want Mrs. Tula to hear us.” The landlady would have her skin if she found out about the stranger. “I don’t know who he is. I found him on the streets.”
“And you brought him here?” she said. “Look at him. He’s a rich man. Everything about him says so. Even now people must be looking for him out there.”
“I had no choice. I couldn’t very well leave him out there,” Ariadne said. “Now help me carry him inside.” To her great relief, Leda did as she asked. As her sister caught his other hand, balancing his weight between them, Ariadne felt her load lighten.
“Let’s carry him to Papa’s room,” Leda suggested.
Emma came out in her nightgown to check on the commotion. She looked positively alarmed when she saw them. “What in the world is happening here?”
“Close the door behind me. I’ll explain everything, I promise,” Ariadne said. The two sisters carried the mystery man to their father’s room. It was a small one and all it had was a bed and a desk. It was mostly empty as George Davy wasn’t a man who believed in material possessions.
They laid him carefully down on the bed. The man groaned at the action.
“Lords above, he’s bleeding,” Leda gasped.
“I wanted to stop it but couldn’t find a way. I couldn’t leave him out there to bleed out and die. So I brought him here.”
“What if he dies here?” Emma said. “Look at his clothes. He’s obviously a peer! They will come for us if something happens to him.”
“Maybe,” Ariadne said.
“Do something. Lord, he’s bleeding. I can’t stand the sight.” Leda turned away as if repulsed by the wound. Ariadne sat down beside him and examined the blood under the candle. It did look bad.
“Bring me a washcloth and my needle and thread. We need to cauterize and sew the wound.”
“What does that mean?” Leda asked.
Ariadne’s stomach turned at the thought. It was going to be an unpleasant experience for him but it was necessary. “I’m going to apply high heat to the wound so that it can heal and doesn’t infect itself. And then I’m going to sew it shut.”
Leda grimaced. “That sounds painful.”
It was painful. Worse, Ariadne had never actually worked without the supervision of her father. She could end up making things worse—
The man had now begun to toss from side to side.
Emma touched his head. “A fever has started to set in. Ariadne, help me take off his clothes.”
Ariadne squirmed. Despite the situation, he was still a man and it would be highly inappropriate to take his clothes off. That, too, when he remained unconscious and was in no state to give his consent.
“It’s not the time to blush,” Emma said. That statement jolted Ariadne to action. She would treat him not as a man, but as her patient. Besides she was no prissy maiden.
Ariadne nodded. P
utting her apprehensions aside, she set to the task. She first took off his shoes and socks, both of which were soaked. And then she sat down next to him on the bed and started to take his cravat off. The action was so intimate that despite herself, her body began to burn and she turned scarlet almost immediately.
The man’s face was scrunched up in a moan. But there was no denying that he was beautiful. Ariadne memorized his sharp features, the straight line of his aquiline jaw, and his thick brows. He was mesmerizing.
“Ariadne, the shirt now. Quick,” Emma said, snapping her back to reality. She nodded as her fingers dropped to his shirt now. Her breath hitched as his bare skin came into view. Ariadne had never seen a man naked before. She didn’t know what to expect but it was definitely not the smooth planes of his chest. He was bare except for a small tuft of hair on his chest.
He wasn’t as well built as one of those men that she had seen work at the factories. The stranger was tall and lithe and his skin unmarred and untouched by poverty and hard work. But the sinewy lines that wove through his shoulder and down his abdomen made it clear that this man was strong too. Only it was the quiet kind.
The thought made her angry. What must it be like to have your whole life handed to you?
She turned back to Emma. “Please leave me be. I need to work alone.” Emma nodded and left with Leda, closing the door behind her.
Ariadne turned back to the stranger and began to work. With the help of a heated blade, she cauterized the wound so that pus wouldn’t grow around the wound, making things worse. Then she cleaned the wound with soft strokes. The man hissed as she continued to work but didn’t wake up.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “It will pain you just for a moment.”
Thankfully her father was always prepared for emergencies and had kept water and gauges tucked under a box beside his desk. Ariadne rummaged through it and brought out everything she needed. And then with careful precision, she stitched the wound together and pressed the gauge on it.