A Dream of Redemption

by Bronwen Evans

  She flashed him a quick glare. “Then he best not catch me.”

  He was so busy watching her walk that when she came to a halt, he went careening into her; his hands found those enticing hips as he tried to steady himself.

  He heard her gasp as his chest crashed into her back.

  He watched in horror as Glover peered their way. He quickly turned her in his arms, pushed her up against the nearest wall, and kissed her, hoping Glover couldn’t see the fine quality of her clothing and thought her only a common strumpet selling her wares on the street.

  As expected Glover lost interest and walked on. Clary broke the kiss and made to follow. It took him a moment to realize Helen was standing stock-still staring at him.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Helen. My name is Helen,” she said, snapping out of her daze. She brushed past him and continued to track Glover, staying a little farther back.

  They tracked Glover in silence. It was easier to do so as more and more people began appearing on the street, trying to reach home before dawn. Helen must be exhausted because he was.

  Finally Glover turned into the yard of a large warehouse and hope surged in his blood. This must be where Glover kept his “merchandise.” Clary stopped Helen moving closer by pulling her into his embrace. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow but he shook his head. “No, we do not enter. All I needed was to find where he is basing his trade.”

  “But how do we know the children are there? And what if he moves them?”

  “Glover’s unlikely to move them in daylight. I think the children, if they are there, are safe until the morning when I can bring reinforcements.”

  She looked doubtful. “Why don’t I wait here while you go and bring the men?”

  “No. Let’s go. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back here.” He gave her no choice. Pulling her roughly by the arm, he all but dragged her along behind him as he headed back to the orphanage.

  “There is no need to manhandle me, I’m not going to run back and confront Glover.”

  He hadn’t even realized he was still gripping her arm and released it immediately. “You should not have come at all. Her Grace would blame me if anything happened to you.”

  “She would have done the same.”

  “She would not. She has faith in me and knows how dangerous these streets can be.”

  “I have faith in you too. I thought you needed to know the men were looking for you. This is their territory and—”

  Warmth and pleasure hit hard and fast. She was concerned for him. “I grew up on these streets. I don’t need your protection or your concern.” Best stamp on any “friendliness” immediately. He didn’t want her to be thinking about him or worrying about him. Familiarity was not allowed. Not between the daughter of a marquis and a likely bastard of the streets who’d worked as a…

  His terse words had the desired effect. She said no more but he hated the hurt he read in her eyes.

  They had almost made it back to the orphanage—he’d taken the long way around, hoping the men Glover sent after him would not think to go this way—when they turned a corner and ran headfirst into three men. He did not think they were Glover’s men because they were more interested in Lady Helen than him.

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here,” and the man reached out to pull the hood of Helen’s cloak off.

  “Don’t touch her.” Clary’s words were deep and almost a growl. His hand grabbed the man’s arm before he could touch her.

  “My, my, whatever is under this cloak must be pretty special to invoke such a response. Makes me want to see it even more.”

  This was not good. His heart sank as he noted Helen had not slunk behind him. She stood tall and imperious as if these men would bow and scrape to her once they knew who she was. They’d more likely kidnap her—or worse.

  He shoved her behind him and made to cross to the other side of the road but one of the men stepped in his path.

  “I said show me the woman.” He tried to peer round him. “What are you hiding?”

  Clary fingered the dagger in his pocket and knew surprise was his only hope of getting Helen out of this in one piece. In one swift movement he smashed his fist into the man’s nose and slashed out with his dagger in the other hand, catching the second man just under his ribs. The third man lunged at him with a knife but he ducked sideways.

  “Run,” he yelled. “Bloody run.”

  Thank God Helen didn’t need any further motivation. She took to her heels, and Clary took off after her. He must have created enough damage as no one followed.

  He was gasping for breath by the time he caught Helen up and they ran through the entrance of the orphanage together; the guards he’d placed on the doors went on alert to anyone following.

  As soon as they were safely inside he called for his men and began barking orders. He had no idea where Helen had gone; all he wanted was to get back to the warehouse before Glover moved anything he had stored in there—hopefully the children.

  It took him and his men half an hour to go over the plan of how they would broach the warehouse. No doubt Glover had it well guarded. He made to stand to freshen up before they left, and as he stood the room began to rock and roll as if he was on the deck of a boat.

  Just then the door opened and Helen entered. She took one look at him and screamed. That’s the last sound he heard before the room went dark.

  Chapter 6

  Helen raced to where Clary had collapsed on the floor. There was blood on his trousers and it was dripping down his legs. He must have been knifed in the scuffle with those men.

  “Fetch a doctor and, Richard, help me get him upstairs to his room. He’s had a run-in with a knife.”

  She couldn’t believe how calm she sounded when inside she was a scared young girl. Mary had come running in her nightwear at Helen’s scream. “Mary, hot water and brandy please,” she called as the men carried him up the stairs.

  Clary came to just as they laid him on the bed and she’d bent to remove his jacket. “What the hell are you doing?” he said.

  “You’ve been struck by a knife; you’re bleeding everywhere.”

  “I—we have to raid the warehouse.”

  She pushed him back down. “Richard and the men can go.” She looked at Richard as she said it.

  “Of course. We’ll go now, if you don’t mind, before Glover learns we’re onto him. Besides, there is not a lot we can do here.” He smiled at Clary. “You look as though you’re in fine hands, anyway.”

  When Clary didn’t argue, Helen really began to worry. She nodded at Richard. “Go and bring those children home.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Richard, Helen began stripping the jacket off Clary. She tried not to show her hands were shaking. She’d never taken a man’s clothes off before. Especially not the clothes of a man who not long ago had pulled her into his arms and kissed her in the street and then mentioned nothing about it.

  She remembered everything about it.

  She remembered how his hard body felt against hers. How his mouth tasted of brandy and everything that was forbidden. How her body responded to his nearness. How her lips felt bruised by his, and most of all how much she longed for him to kiss her again.

  As she threw his jacket onto the chair near his bed a loud clunk could be heard as something hit the floor.

  “My key. Don’t lose my key.”

  She looked at Clary in astonishment. He was worried about a stupid key rather than the fact someone had sliced him open. He tried to sit up so she quickly moved and picked up the key.

  She fingered it. “What does the key open?”

  “It’s the key to the accommodations your sister arranged for Simon and which I bought last year.”

  She smiled but couldn’t help adding, “I thought it was the key to untold treasure the way you were worried about it.”

  He licked his lips. “It’s the first key I’ve
ever owned. This key was the first time I could claim a room as my own so no one could enter if I didn’t want them to.”

  His soft words tore at her heart. “I have never had my own key either. I have always lived in my father’s house, which is now my brother’s house. I know it’s probably not the same as your situation, but I do understand, and I’ll make sure the key is kept safe for you,” and she slipped it back into the pocket of his jacket. “Now this may hurt but I have to get this shirt off you and slow the blood.”

  She knew she should wait for Mary, or one of the other women—she was unmarried and this was scandalous—but time was of the essence and the others were exhausted after cleaning and looking after the children. Besides, she wanted to see the body he’d pressed against her.

  Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest it was beating so fast as she pulled the bottom of his shirt out of his trousers. Focus on his injury not his body. Slowly she dragged the material back and gasped at the sight of a long slice wound up the full length of his side. The cut was not deep but long. He would need quite a few stitches. It would hurt like hell to stitch too. This would require a very good surgeon. Her brother’s surgeon.

  Just then, Mrs. Thorn swept in with towels and hot water. “Mary said you might need some help.” She took one look at the wound and her face grew ashen.

  “Can you press some towels to the wound? I’m going to send Boon for my brother’s surgeon, and I need to write a note. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t let anyone touch his wound without me being present.” She had visions of an incompetent surgeon making a mess of his stitches, which would leave a terrible scar and nothing so perfect should be marred. She knew from a few wounds Sebastian had received over the years that a good surgeon could be the difference between life or death—it appeared that cleanliness was very important to prevent infection too. However, she didn’t know how long it would take for Mr. Burton to arrive.

  “There is no need. Richard will have sent for Blake.” Clary seemed adamant.

  Both women turned toward the bed. “Who’s Blake?” she asked.

  “A surgeon I have used before. He’s good. Not enough time for anyone else. He’s closer.”

  Helen’s stomach knotted further at the thought of the pain Clary must be in. She didn’t know what to do. She wished Sebastian were here. He’d take care of everything. That thought made her straighten and take stock. She didn’t need her brother. She could do this.

  “If you think he’s good we’ll use him.” She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his head to let him drink the brandy. “Try to drink as much of this as possible. I wish we had some laudanum for the pain.”

  “I have the purest opium available, and I’ll try to make Clary as comfortable as possible.”

  Clary closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

  She looked at the man who’d entered, trying to gauge how good he might be at his profession. He looked to be the same age as her brother. His dress indicated he must be good at his trade for the tweed of his jacket looked expensive. His hands were clean and nails tidy.

  He gave her an amused smile. “Do I pass muster?”

  “You can leave us, Lady Helen. Blake will stitch me fine.”

  “I can help.”

  Clary looked past her to Mrs. Thorn who immediately spoke up. “I’ll assist but I think it would be best if you went and made a strong cup of tea in the kitchen. It’s not a place for a young lady,” she ended sternly.

  Helen wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them she wasn’t some delicate flower but the idea of seeing Clary in pain made her feel faint. Besides, she could tell Clary didn’t want her there.

  “If you could go tear up some clean sheets into long strips and boil them in water for at least ten minutes that would be a help,” Blake said to her. “I’ll need them for bandages.”

  Dismissed. Mrs. Thorn pushed her gently toward the door. She gave Clary one last look and prayed he’d be all right. He wasn’t looking at her. He was lying with his eyes closed and his fists gripping the bed. She closed the door after her and began to walk downstairs heading for the kitchen. The large house was quiet, with the children sleeping.

  She wondered if this was her fault for having gone out on the streets. Did he blame her? She blamed herself. Boon could have warned Clary of the trap but she’d wanted to be there when the children were rescued. She hadn’t understood that it wasn’t a rescue mission. Foolish. She couldn’t bear to think what Marisa would say about all this, or the fact that it was her fault Clary lay wounded upstairs. What if he had died?

  She’d almost finished boiling the torn sheets when the first cries rang out through the house—cursing the likes she’d never heard. She could hear them three floors down in the kitchen. She stopped stirring the sheets over the open fire, and made to go for the stairs but Mrs. Riley, one of the new matrons, stopped her. “Let the surgeon work. He’ll stop his cries soon. He’ll either faint or the doctor will give him more opium.” At Helen’s shocked look she added, “I helped after the battle at Waterloo. I lost my husband there.”

  The horror of Mrs. Riley’s words sunk in and suddenly the long day and night was too much. Helen had had no sleep in over thirty hours and she dropped her head to her chest and began to cry.

  Mrs. Riley shoved a cup at her. “You need to get some sleep. I can help Mrs. Thorn and the surgeon. There is nothing you can do for Mr. Homeward in this condition. Here drink this.”

  Helen took the cup of hot tea without any protest. She was exhausted and Mrs. Riley was right, she needed to be functioning at full steam to help with Clary’s recovery and whatever they found at Glover’s warehouse. She took the mug of tea with her upstairs and had a quick wash before falling into her bed. It took only moments for her to fall asleep.

  When she awoke it was daylight. Helen had forgotten to close the shutters. She had no idea how long she’d slept but she did feel more clearheaded.

  Quickly washing and dressing she opened the door to her room ready to look in on Clary, when she almost tripped over Anne. She was sitting on the floor outside her door. Anne jumped to her feet and threw herself into Helen’s arms.

  “They rescued Claire. Thank you. Oh, thank you. You didn’t break your promise. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up to tell you, and Claire wants to meet you.”

  Pure joy surged through Helen’s veins and for one moment her fear over Clary’s injury was forgotten. One good thing had come from the misery of the past twenty-four hours. “That’s wonderful news, Anne, but I have to check on Mr. Homeward first. Then I shall come and find you and Claire.”

  Anne nodded, and together they walked to the stairs. Anne went up to the dorm and Helen carried along to Clary’s room. She pressed her ear to the closed door and could not hear anything. She leaned her head against the door, fear stopping her from entering. Would he still be alive? As if she was standing at the bottom of a cliff with boulders falling on her she realized she desperately wanted Clary to survive. The idea of him dying, of him not being in the world, made her go quite light-headed.

  She gave herself a stern talking to and quietly entered the room. Blake was asleep in a chair near the window, a blanket over him. There was no sign of Mrs. Thorn. She was in the kitchen. Helen could feel the fear rise to choke her as she approached the bed.

  Clary lay as still as a corpse, his face white. He had bandages wrapped around his torso, but she could see his chest still rising and falling and her churning stomach calmed a little.

  “He’s still alive.”

  She turned to face Blake. “Thank you.”

  “It was a long cut but thankfully only sliced the muscle to the rib bones. He’ll be up in a few days with infection his biggest and worst enemy. I cleaned the wound as much as I could. But you’ll have to insist he keeps it clean and the bandages are changed twice daily.”

  She nodded. “I can sit and watch him for a while if you want to go and freshen up and get more sleep.”

  He rose and fo
lded the blanket. “Thank you, I could do with some food. If he wakes up please make him drink more of this. It will help the pain and keep him half asleep so he doesn’t move and pull out the hundred stitches I put in.”

  She nodded. Once Blake had left she pulled up a chair near the bed and watched Clary. She wanted to reach out and trail her finger over his face. The chiseled cheekbones and aquiline nose made his face noble looking but the long, soot colored eyelashes and brows, coupled with his sensual full lips made him look godlike. He was incredibly handsome but never seemed to notice how women looked at him in awe.

  Perhaps he was used to the admiration and flirtation that came his way. But unlike many of the rakes she knew—her brother in his younger bachelor days was an example—Clary never used his looks to get what he wanted. In fact, it was as if he hated being so handsome.

  She knew he was waking up because she saw the lines of pain form around his mouth. His eyes flickered open, and all she could see mirrored there was pain. She quickly lifted the glass of liquid containing what she knew to be opium to his lips but he moved his head away.

  “Not yet. Something to drink first,” he croaked.

  She hesitated but put down the vial and poured him a glass of apple cider. She let him drink a small amount before he dropped his head on the pillow, exhausted.

  “Was Richard successful?”

  She smiled. “I don’t have all the details yet, but I believe so. Anne told me Claire is back. Do you want me to go and find out more?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll hear more later. Perhaps I could have some opium now, my side feels like it’s on fire,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She rushed to comply, ensuring he only took the amount Blake had prescribed. Soon his eyes drifted closed and she could see he was sleeping.

  Just then Mrs. Barton, another of the new matrons Mr. Brown had sent them, entered. “Mrs. Thorn said to relieve you. You haven’t had anything to eat today. I’ll sit with him.”