by Rebecca King
“Here, you boy,” the gentleman suddenly shouted, having witnessed the assault.
The rapid thump of footsteps as he raced toward them bolstered Poppy’s courage, and she began to prise the boy’s fingers off the handle of the bag at the same time she tried to kick him.
“I will see you behind bars for this, you scroat,” she snapped.
“Gotta catch me first,” the boy suddenly grinned as he let go of the bag and raced toward his friends. He ducked and dived around the stranger barrelling toward them, and burst out laughing when the gentleman nearly fell over when he grabbed nothing but thin air. The lad cockily took a moment to stop running to throw taunts at the gentleman before he re-joined his friends. Eventually, satisfied that he hadn’t lost face after all, the boy and his gang all disappeared down the path, their laughter echoing hollowly on the stunned silence they left behind.
“Are you all right?” Luke demanded as he strode toward her.
“Yes, thank you. I am just a little shaken, that’s all,” she replied as she pushed awkwardly to her feet and began to brush dirt off her soiled dress.
“Good. Stay there,” he ordered. He didn’t wait to see if she would do as she was told. With his quarry so close, Luke raced after the gang he was there to catch. In contrast to the way he looked; the numerous hours he spent in the saddle working for the Star Elite made him incredibly fit, and he had no difficulty catching up with the youngest of the gang whose much shorter legs and new bruising left him slower and weaker than his associates. Determined to capture at least one of them now that he had them in his sights, Luke barely gave the distressed young woman a second look as he hunted down his prey. Having selected the one he was going to capture, he studied the rest of the group and tried to memorise as much of their features as he could for a later time. He suspected that he had already seen enough to be able to recognise most of them again if he happened to come across them in the street and, as he gave chase, he promised himself that he would cross their paths again.
Hoping that Marcus or Joshua were near the main gates to be able to catch one of them on their way past, Luke lengthened his stride and settled in for a long run.
CHAPTER TWO
Left beside the river, Poppy stared after the rather handsome gentleman and watched the powerful way his long legs ate up the distance as he chased after the youngsters. His entire demeanour, from the cut of his clothing to the proud, almost aristocratic way he carried himself screamed of a power and social status that went far beyond hers.
Why then was he chasing after those pick-pockets with all the determination of a pit-bull? Why was he even bothering? Normal aristocracy wouldn’t be seen dead running anywhere in public, least of all after a gang of tearaways who outnumbered him six to one, yet this man was racing after them as though his very life depended on it.
“Good luck,” she whispered after him, surprised by his determination to keep up with children at least twenty years his junior.
She had never seen anyone like him before. London was full of aristocratic gentlemen but none of them were like this one purported to be. This man was different. She couldn’t tear her gaze away and watched him right up until the moment he disappeared from sight.
As soon as he had gone she wished he would come back, and not only because she disconcertingly found that she wanted to see him again. Just knowing there was another adult around, especially someone tall and strong like him, made her feel considerably safer.
“Oh dear,” she whispered. “Is he the one I am supposed to meet?”
Inwardly she hoped so, but then again hoped not because he would then be an acquaintance of Clarence’s, and a somewhat dubious one at that.
She looked down at the bag in her hand and contemplated what to do. The longer she waited, the more the small hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end. Unless her imagination was running away with her danger was afoot. She was almost certainly being watched. She could practically feel eyes boring into her back from somewhere nearby but where? Why? If it was the person she was here to meet why had he not asked for the bag? It was all deuced odd and reiterated the fact that the decision she had made to keep the money and leave was the right one.
“Wherever you are, if you cannot come to me then you can do without,” she muttered loud enough for anyone lurking in the trees to be able to hear. After waiting for a minute more, she turned around and was about to march back down the path when something in the middle of the river captured her attention.
“What on earth?” Her brows dipped low as she tried to figure out what it was. At first glance it appeared to be a bag of some kind, but it was too large and billowy; the material too fine. The soft clip of her footsteps faltered. Her heart rate increased the closer she got to the strange object being carried along by the gentle flow of the water. Pure gut instinct warned her she wasn’t going to like what she would discover if she ventured any further, but it was unconscionable to even think about simply turning around and walking away. There was something decidedly odd about that rather large object, and she suspected she knew what it was.
“Oh, my word,” she whispered as the distinctive shape of a head bobbed into view before it was enveloped by the sodden material. She swallowed harshly as her gaze ran over the large cloud of what she suspected was cotton, and the white sleeve from which a ghostly hand protruded, its fingers limp and lifeless as it was carried inch by inch closer to the spot where she stood. The slow, almost ethereal way it floated and bobbed toward her was just as unnerving as the silence that surrounded her. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to turn around and run. She wanted to scream; she wanted to cry; she wanted the handsome stranger to reappear. She wanted the man she was there to meet to turn up so she could give him the bag and just go back to the hovel, but she couldn’t. Nobody else was around.
At the moment she couldn’t get her mind to work well enough to think clearly about anything. Her life had just descended into a pseudo world where nothing really made sense any more. She threw a worried glance back down the path behind her and almost wished the pick-pockets would return. Maybe she should go and search for them? Right now she would prefer to be in their company than left with a dead man.
Should she run and fetch help? She couldn’t just ignore the fact that she had seen the corpse. The image alone would haunt her for the rest of her days. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to forget that this man was, or had been a person. He must have a family or loved ones nearby waiting for him. It was unconscionable to even think about leaving the scene and simply forgetting all about it. After all, he could just float off. Having never been to this park before she had no idea where the river went. Did it merge into the Thames, several miles away, meander into a lake, or go on for miles out into the countryside somewhere? She daren’t take her eyes off it in case it vanished, floated away, and was never found again so she couldn’t really leave it and fetch help.
“Why does this have to happen to me?” she groused with a sigh. She threw a dark, almost challenging glare toward the trees, hoping against hope that her contact would come out of the woods to meet her. Unsurprisingly though, there was no sign of him. Had he seen the body and decided to stay away?
“Coward,” she snapped. A tendril of a thought that her contact might be responsible for the fate of the dead man in the river was quickly quashed, but it didn’t help ease the fear and worry that remained.
Clenching her bag tighter, she reluctantly hurried toward the trees and eventually found what she was looking for. Armed with a large stick, she followed the deceased down the river until she was a little ahead of it. Because the stick was long enough to reach the middle of the river it was unwieldy and difficult to manoeuvre with one of her hands full of her bag, but there was no possibility of her putting it down because of the nature of the contents. As a result, she was forced to manoeuvre the stick awkwardly into the collar of the shirt and try to tug the floating corpse toward her. It was the last thing she wanted to d
o, mostly because she was squeamish and didn’t like the thought of what she might find should it flip over, but she did it anyway. She had no idea yet what she was going to do once she got him to the riverbank. He looked too big for her to manhandle by herself, but she couldn’t leave him where he was.
“What then?” she mumbled as she began to tug the body toward the riverbank. “If I get him onto the bank and get someone to fetch the magistrate, he is going to want to know what a single, unchaperoned female is doing here all by herself just before dawn on a cold, autumnal morning.”
“Now what?” she whispered. She stared at the man whose head bumped gently against the soft earth beneath her feet and tried to decide what to do now. The last thing she was ever going to do was touch him. She had never touched a dead body in her life before and had no intention of starting with this one. She couldn’t leave either.
“Where are you when I need you?” she whispered, glancing around hopefully for any sign of the handsome gentleman’s return. As she did so, a tendril of a thought began to unfurl in the back of her mind, and refused to relinquish its hold.
Was the body the reason the gentleman had been in the park so early? She knew why she was there, and it wasn’t just for a walk. It seemed incredibly early in the morning for any well-to-do gentleman to take a stroll, so what was he doing there? He must have seen the body floating in the river. The white of the man’s shirt against the murky brown of the water stood out to anyone with eyes in their head. Was he the one responsible for the man’s death? Was that why he had been running away from the area with such determination?
Unfortunately, with her options limited, partly by conscience and partly by the money she still held, Poppy had little choice but to summon the help she needed in the only way she could. Sucking in a huge breath, she opened her mouth and screamed for the second time that morning.
Luke bent over at the waist and shook his head in disgust as he stared at the retreating backs of the young children. He watched them launch themselves over the metal railings at the far end of the park and high-tail it down the road without a backward look. It was clear that they knew exactly where they were going. If only he could get there he would know where they were going too, but that woman was screaming again.
“Damned fool woman. Can’t she scream any louder? She shouldn’t be out here all by herself for God’s sake,” he snarled in disgust.
He contemplated just ignoring her. Whatever she had gotten into this time was her own fault. She should know better than to hang around in a park at dawn. However, that said, he had spent far too many years working within the Star Elite. It went against everything he was to ignore the cries of a damsel in distress. From the sound of it, whatever had happened to her had distressed the woman terribly. She was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Unfortunately, there didn’t appear to be anybody but him nearby to race to her rescue, so it was down to him to bail her out of trouble – again.
“Why am I cursed like this?” he demanded of the skies as, with one last filthy glare after the pick-pockets, he turned around and wiped a thin sheen of sweat off his brow as he headed back down the path to where he had left the woman moments earlier. It didn’t take long to find her. He just followed the sound of the hideous racket she was making.
“What is it now?” he growled as he stalked toward her. He didn’t bother to mask his anger and glared at her with all the bitter frustration he felt at having lost sight of the pick-pockets. “Do you not have a chaperone?” he demanded pointedly.
Poppy glanced around them and shook her head, now blessedly silent.
“Why are you out here all alone?” he demanded. The words ‘damned fool woman that you are’, hung between them but he didn’t give them a voice.
Poppy shook her head. Over the last couple of minutes, the body had started to float back out to the river. Her stomach roiled alarmingly in protest as the macabre reality of her discovery finally sank in. She just couldn’t bring herself to go after it.
“Oh God,” she whispered, staring in horror at the handsome man who was now glaring at her as though she had committed some heinous crime.
“What is it?” he demanded when she didn’t seem inclined to answer any of his questions. When she merely stared at him, opening and closing her mouth like a stunned codfish, he shook his head and swore loudly even though he was in the presence of a lady. It was then that he realised she was pointing to something at the end of a stick.
“What is it? It’s just a shirt.” Luke growled. He threw the white shirt someone had lost in the water a dismissive glance and tried not to stare at her now that he was close.
She was incredibly beautiful; young, with an unlined oval face that was nothing short of perfection. The thin slash of her brows were high and arched over eyes that were the warmest amber he had ever seen. Framed by a thick fan of lashes that were nothing short of sensual, and combined with a long main of haphazardly coiled hair, the tendrils of which curled teasingly against her alabaster cheeks, she looked like an exotic goddess. He felt an invisible pull of something undefinable as he studied the slightly rounded curves barely hidden beneath a well- worn shawl that had seen better days. When his body began to react to her nearness he forced his attention back to the reason he was there.
“Miss?” He eyed her ring finger and mentally heaved a sigh of relief when he found it empty. Until she corrected him, he would call her ‘miss’ and see what happened when she came out of the shock she appeared to be in.
He frowned at the surface of the water when it was evident she was transfixed by the floating shirt, and not for the first time that morning dug deep for his patience.
“It’s only a shirt,” he groused ruefully. His scowl deepened when she slowly shook her head.
“It isn’t,” she replied all too calmly in a voice that was melodic yet husky with emotion.
Luke fought the urge to roll his eyes, and kept his face bland as he edged closer and took a closer look, certain she was mistaken but willing to humour her for now.
“Shit,” he swore when he realised that she was right. It wasn’t just a shirt. A fleeting glimpse of the back of the dead man’s head, together with a pale flash of a cheek in the water, made him close his eyes in a desperate attempt to prevent a second, more virulent curse.
“You are seriously not having a very good day are you?” he murmured.
He wasn’t averse to seeing, and manhandling, the deceased. He had seen many a good soldier cut down on the battlefields during the war, but he really wished that he wasn’t the one to have to deal with this one. Not when he had work to do to try to locate the pick-pockets who had been right under his nose. Unfortunately, there was nobody else around who could help her deal with this, and he couldn’t leave her just in case she ran away. It was clear from her all too pale cheeks, the trembling in her fingers, and the horror in her eyes that she was terrified and would be next to useless in getting the body out of the river on her own, even if she did summon the courage to try. He suspected that if anything were to frighten her, she would vanish in an instant. If he was stupid enough to try to stop her, she would start to scream like a banshee again and become hysterical to the point that he was forced to do something rash; like kiss her to shut her up. He eyed the luscious curve of her lips and quickly turned away.
“Who is it?” she whispered when she could find her voice. She watched the man search the river for something and wondered what he was looking for because the body was right before them.
Luke shook his head and glared at her. “How should I know?” he snapped. “You seem to be the one who attracts the criminal element around here. You tell me.”
“I have never seen him before in my life. I was just standing here waiting,” she retorted, but then quickly shut up when she realised she couldn’t explain to him why she had been waiting, or who for. It irked her to realise that she didn’t even have a name for the man she was supposed to meet; assuming it was even a man. That thought made her fro
wn, and she quickly set it aside to think about later.
“For who?” Luke landed a glare on her that pinned her to the spot. He hoped that by startling her she would answer before she thought to caution her words. To his consternation, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before she replied far too carefully to be believed.
“For you to come back,” she lied. She mentally apologised for her untruth and struggled to keep guilt from her face as she stared at the handsome stranger as innocently as she could. “He floated down from there,” she added in a desperate attempt to turn the focus of his attention off herself. She mentally winced when she realised how dense she had just sounded. The river only flowed one way. Of course the body would float toward her. It couldn’t float upstream. The man must think her a total imbecile.
“I didn’t see him at first and was about to turn away when I saw the flash of his shirt in the water. He is dead, isn’t he?”
Of course he is. She mentally winced as she watched him roll his eyes. Her annoyance at herself, at him, at this entire situation grew when she witnessed his patronising demeanour. All right, so the man in the river was clearly dead but the handsome stranger didn’t need to be rude about it. Still, she tried hard not to antagonise him right now because she needed his help to decide on the best course of action to take.
