by Golden Angel
As he carried her along, Delilah finally began to pay attention to her surroundings and especially to the man carrying her.
Her rescuer was not a gentleman. Although he was more finely dressed than anyone else they passed, and the quality of his tailoring was exceptional, the dark colors and style were wildly out of fashion. The scruff on his face, although well maintained, was also completely out of fashion, at least for men his age. Delilah did not think she had ever seen a man with such a beard unless it was grey or white. This man was older than her, but certainly by no more than ten years or so. Everything about him exuded authority and arrogance; he could give a lord a lesson in confidence.
His demeanor did not seem to be unearned. As he strode through the streets, everyone they passed—everyone—acknowledged him in some manner, whether or not he returned their greeting. Some of them looked at him with fear, others with awe, but they all looked. When their eyes fell to her, they were clearly curious, but not one of them stopped him to ask who she was or where he was going. That, in and of itself, seemed very odd.
“Who are you?” she whispered, then tensed when she realized what she had done. Doubts assailed her, worry she had ruined the moment, and her illusion of safety was about to end.
“Henry Trampine, at your service, little pigeon,” he said, although he did not meet her gaze. His eyes were steadily focused ahead of him, even though everyone scuttled out of his way, leaving him no need to maneuver through the crowds. They all moved for him.
“He’s the Tramp,” the man walking beside him said, his voice so low, she could barely hear him. Even though he was almost inaudible, there was an odd palpable reverence in his voice as though he had just called her rescuer a king instead of a vagabond.
Delilah pressed her lips together to keep from asking any more questions. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the man’s shoulders. Whatever the future was going to bring her, she did not want to see it coming. She curled in and closed herself off to a world turned cruel, soaking in the present for all it was worth.
The Tramp
Butch caught up when they reached the back entrance of Henry’s main establishment, a gambling hell called the Tramp’s Den, only panting slightly and gave Henry a nod. There would be no one coming after the lady. Henry wanted a full report, but that could wait.
“My office.” He jerked his head to Butch and Frank before carrying the lady up the stairs to his rooms. It would be easy enough to lock her in until he understood more of what was happening. From the way she’d gone limp in his arms, he doubted she was in any state to explain. Besides, he wanted to see what Butch had sussed out before he spoke with her, just in case she lied.
Was she asleep? That was his first thought when he laid her out on his bed. Her eyes were closed, and she curled into a tight little ball, almost as though she were trying to comfort herself.
“Stay here,” Henry said in a whisper, breathing the words over her still form in case she was awake and listening. “Do not leave this room.”
There was no response. Slightly disturbed, he left her there, a pink and cream blotch among the green and brown furnishings. His fingers still itched to tear that dress from her body... but first things first. He had not gotten to where he was in life by being hasty. Her current listless state made finding out what had happened to her even more important. If she was going to bring trouble to his door, out she would go, no matter how much he wanted her in his bed.
Butch and Frank were waiting in his office, more sumptuously decorated than his quarters. This was where he met with nobles and gentlemen when it was necessary, which meant it needed to be impressive by design. The furnishings were large and comfortable, the red fabrics lush and richly colored, and the paintings on the walls were fit to grace the walls of a museum. Personally, Henry thought the whole room was grotesque, but it always made an impression on the men escorted there.
Standing in front of his desk, his two men looked completely out of place with their rougher clothing and scruffy faces. That was by design as well, to remind any nobles, while the man they were meeting was just as rich as they, he was far more dangerous.
Without saying a word, Henry gestured to Butch while he took his seat behind the desk.
“Her name is Lady Delilah Darling, daughter of a baron, and she was the ward of the Earl of Greenwich til a fortnight ago when he quit the capital, and she was passed off to the Dowager Countess Felton,” Butch said, not mincing his words. “The footman said Felton is a mean old tabby on a good day, and she’s been right awful to the lady. She’s got two hellions for granddaughters, about the same age as the lady, and they’ve got it out for her. He said all three of ‘em have been mistreatin’ the lady, and she fled rather than be thrashed. He was followin’ to make sure she didna come to no harm, but then she went into the Warrens, and he panicked. He thought she must be headed somewhere, a friend or sommach, but now, he thinks she had nowhere to go.”
An unfamiliar emotion swelled inside of Henry, surprising him. It had been a long time since he felt pity for anyone. Such soft emotions had been driven out of him, living in the Warrens, but pretty little pieces like the one upstairs weren’t meant for this life. Still, beyond the pity, there was another emotion growing, much faster and stronger than his brief spurt of weakness. This emotion he was much more familiar with—avarice. He wanted—needed—to claim her as his own. Why, he did not know. He had never felt this way about a woman before.
There was something about her that had called to him from the very beginning, even from a distance. That need had not been assuaged, no matter how many ladybirds he tupped. And now here she was—fallen into his streets, into his lap, and without a protector. The wolves would have eaten her alive if he hadn’t stepped in, and they still would if he threw her aside. It sounded as though she had nowhere to turn to, no one to look after her. Henry’s body ached; he already wanted to run upstairs and lay claim to her in the most primal way possible.
She’d be a virgin—not just untried, but completely innocent.
Completely his.
Any other woman and he would not have been interested, but it was her. The phantom, who had haunted his dreams and thoughts for days, was within his grasp.
“Thank you.” Opening a drawer, he pulled out some pound notes for both men. Today’s service deserved an extra reward. Grinning, they took them and left, already knowing they were dismissed.
Leaning back in his chair, Henry steepled his fingers and stared blankly into the air, his mind churning with possibilities.
Lady Delilah Darling
She did not know when she fell asleep, only that she did. When her rescuer—she was still unsure what to call him—laid her down on the bed, she was too frightened to move, even after he left. Pretending she was asleep was the only defense she had, and he seemed to accept it. After he was gone, she no longer wanted to move.
Every inch of her body still ached from her run, especially her legs and feet. She was unused to such exertion, and her shoes were not meant for running through the streets of London. She felt hollow on the inside, the uncertainty of her future yawning before her, waiting to swallow her up. She could not possibly return to Lady Felton’s house. The mere thought made her want to weep and scream. There was no telling what the woman would do to her. A thrashing would likely only be the beginning, and even after that, she did not think the twins would cease their efforts to torment her.
But what other option did she have?
Lord Greene was her appointed guardian, but she had no money and no resources to make her way to his estates. Perhaps she could write him a letter, but would he even want to hear from her? Even if she did write him, likely he would have already heard from Lady Felton, and Delilah could only imagine what she would have said. Surely, he would believe her over Delilah, too, as she was his aunt. Delilah was just a ward who had been thrust upon him, and he had already fulfilled his duty to her as best he could.
She had no friends among the to
n who might offer her refuge. She had never met any family members if there were even any about. She was completely alone, and she had nowhere to go.
And she was so numb, so adrift, she could not even shed a tear.
3
Lady Delilah Darling
The door opened, and Delilah could not help but look before quickly shutting her eyes. She was on the bed, exactly where he’d left her, quaking with fear, she’d be punished for something. Anything. She heard him approaching... then a hard grip wrapped around her ankle, yanking her toward him across the bed. With a shriek, her eyes flew open, the taste of fear drying her mouth. She stared up at him, confused when she realized his expression was almost gentle.
“Hello, pet.” Keeping his fingers wrapped around her ankle, he stroked the soft skin there, his deep voice soothing, coaxing. The kind of voice she might use on a frightened animal. The comparison rankled, yet she could not deny how fitting it was.
For a long moment, they stared at each other before she gathered what little was left of her courage. Or perhaps it was desperation pushing her.
“What do you want with me?”
Dark eyes met hers with a piercing gaze as if he could see past her physical form and dig out her deepest secrets with just a glance. Delilah lowered her lashes and bit her lip, wishing she had not spoken. Was she so desperate to meet her fate?
“I think, pet, the real question is, what do you want from me?” The mild question shocked her, and her gaze skittered back up to his. The expression on his face was implacable, although his eyes were as intense as before, lit with a fire from within.
“What do you mean?”
Amusement flashed. “What do you want, little pigeon? You are running, yes? So, tell me what you need. Protection? Room and board? A place to belong?”
Her breath caught in her throat. All of those things. But how could he possibly provide? While Lady Felton would likely not pursue Delilah on her own accord, she could scarcely go and tell her nephew she had lost his ward. Even blaming Delilah’s flight on her own actions, there would be questions. Uncomfortable ones. Lord Greene took his duty very seriously, even if his focus was currently on his pregnant wife. He would not take kindly to Lady Felton losing Delilah in the streets of London.
“You cannot protect me. Not from... a countess.” She said the words with bitter despair before a wild hope welled up inside of her. “Perhaps... perhaps you could help send me away? Send me somewhere out of the reach of London?” That was her only hope. It would have to be somewhere she was unknown. After a few weeks in Lady Felton’s care, living a simple life in the country, even if she never married, sounded greatly appealing.
Her hopes plummeted again when he slowly shook his head.
“No, pet, I don’t think that will do. I cannot protect you if you are off elsewhere.”
“I just told you, you cannot protect me anyway! I’m the ward of an Earl. The... the woman I am running from, she will not let me go.” She looked up at him, pleadingly, even more confused as his fingers continued to stroke her ankle, sliding up several inches to just below her calf as he chuckled.
“They have no power here in the Warrens.” The confidence with which he said it nearly made her believe him. “I am the only real power here.”
“But... an earl. A countess.”
He laughed outright. “I am the Tramp. Dukes dance to my tune when I demand it, pet. An earl is nothing.”
The statement made no sense, yet she could tell he was sincere. Her entire world felt as if it was upending in an entirely different way than before. A title not mattering? The ton would scream blasphemy, but the idea appealed to Delilah in a manner she would have never thought possible. If titles did not matter to him, if he really could order around a duke, maybe he really could protect her. He seemed so certain.
“You can protect me?” she whispered, still not quite able to believe it.
“I can.” His eyes glinted, and he pulled her ankle again, much slower than he had the first time, slowly drawing her across the mattress to him. Her heart began to pound, but in a different manner than when the terrible twins and Lady Felton had made her pulse race. The very air thickened, time slowed, and her skin tingled with unprecedented sensitivity as if her body had just woken up. “Now that I know what you want from me, we can discuss what I want from you.”
“What do you want?” Her heart began to pound, mouth going dry. A bargain with the devil was what this felt like.
He loomed over her, her skirts around her knees, yet she could do nothing but stare up at him. The dark brown pools of his eyes consumed her, blazing with something she didn’t understand.
“I want you.”
The declaration made no sense. His lips pressed against hers and Delilah gasped with shock. This was not her first kiss, but it might as well have been. This man was no young man, sneaking a kiss, with uncertain lips and hands before anyone could see them. No, he caught her lips, and he took. Conquered. Claimed. His tongue slid into her mouth, his hands gripping her hips and holding her against the bed while his weight came down atop her, and Delilah mewled beneath him.
Uncertain how or where to touch him, her hands pressed against his chest, and she could feel his muscles flexing beneath her fingers. The ache in her legs was replaced by a hot throbbing between them, she had never felt before. It was as if her body had caught fire, and she did not know how to put it out. The longer he kissed her, the dizzier she became. The sound of fabric ripping shocked her, and she shrieked against his lips, squirming beneath him. Lifting his upper body, he looked down at her beautiful pink dress, torn from the neck to the waist, and smiled.
Tears sparked in her eyes. She loved this dress. More than that, it had felt like a connection to Lady Greene.
“My dress...” She whispered the words.
“You will not need it.” Leaning down, he kissed the tears that had slid onto her cheeks, his beard bristly against her skin, and she felt his tongue lick the salty drops away. Half horrified, half fascinated, her body still simmering with the fire he’d kindled, Delilah laid there, too overwhelmed to react. His arms flexed again, and the waist tore open, several inches of skirt rending as well.
She was almost naked.
Bringing her hands over her chest, she tried to cover the corset and chemise over her bosom, but Henry snarled, grabbing her wrists and pushing them down on either side of her head. His dark eyes stared down into hers, somehow, hot and cold at the same time, and she quivered from the insidious fear sliding back through her. While he might have saved her, she knew very little of the man atop her. She knew he was called the Tramp, which somehow suited him even better than ‘Henry,’ he had rescued her, the people in the streets feared him, and he didn’t seem to fear anyone.
She’d let him kiss her, without protest, more thoroughly than any man had ever kissed her, and had returned his kiss. Her body was still aching under his touch, even as fear coursed through her as he pinned her down.
“Do not hide yourself from me.” The command came as a low growl, and her stomach fluttered. “You are mine to see. Mine to touch.”
One hand remained over her wrists as the other slid down her arm, caressing gently before his fingers slid into the top of her corset, while his unyielding gaze remained on her face. She gasped at the sensation of someone touching her breast, his calloused fingertips so different from her own. The fire in her roared to life again, and she whimpered at the shocking sensations.
“Oh, please...” The words fell from her lips before she realized she was going to say them, her voice breathy and soft, full of pleading, although she did not know what her plea was for.
“Good girl,” Henry told her. “Now, stay.”
Removing his hands from her person, he settled back onto his knees, her legs draped over his thighs in an utterly indecent position and began to undo the laces of her corset. Delilah did not protest. She did not know if she wanted to. She was not even sure if everything that was happening to her was r
eal or if it was some mad dream, she’d conjured out of desperation to escape Lady Felton’s tyranny.
The Tramp
While he’d considered slicing through her laces with his knife, Henry had decided that might be too much for his frightened but highly aroused little pet. She was clearly struggling with her new circumstances, and while he enjoyed witnessing her inner turmoil as her body yearned for things she did not understand, he did not want her to become distraught. That would ruin his fun too soon.
Besides, undoing the front laces of her corset reminded him of unwrapping a present. He could not remember the last time someone had actually gifted him something he wanted, but he’d been wanting the lady very badly for days now.
From me to me. Thank you so much, Henry, she’s exactly what I hoped for.
Glancing up to see her expression, he almost chuckled when he saw her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and her hands clenched into little fists. She was keeping perfectly still, but her lips were still swollen from his kisses, and her breath was coming in soft pants. The corset halves opened, and she let out a little whimper, her body tensing, then relaxing when nothing happened. Since her eyes were shut, anyway, Henry reached over to grab his knife from his bedstand and quickly sliced down the center of her chemise and through the layers of her skirts.
Which was when she opened her eyes, staring in dismay at her naked body, the remains of her dress, stays, petticoat, and chemise on either side of her like a frame. Only the sleeves of her dress remained on her, and Henry was inclined to leave them. He rather liked seeing the garment still barely clinging to her, leaving her not quite nude, but certainly not covering anything important.
