She met his gaze steadily, and he wondered what was going through her mind. He hoped she wasn't going to allow a misplaced sense of propriety to rear its head now. Not after all they'd been through. Tied together… pressed against each other. An image of her flattened against him in the warehouse flashed through his mind and he firmly pushed it aside.
Finally she nodded. "All right."
Without further delay, he slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other across her back. "Wrap your arms about my neck," he instructed, and to his relief she did as he bid. He gently eased her from the hack, then walked swiftly up the stone steps leading to the modest residence. She felt small and soft and fragile in his arms. His heart skipped with a combination of fear and something else he couldn't define when a low groan pushed past her lips while her head lolled sideways, nestling against his neck. A hint of her flowery scent still clung to her underneath the overpowering smells of blood and dockside alleys.
"Hold on," he whispered against her forehead.
When they reached the oak door, Robert pounded upon it with his boot, praying Michael was home. Less than a minute later a palm-sized panel at eye level in the door slid open. "What the bloody hell?" growled a deep, familiar voice, laced with a hint of Irish brogue. "State your name and business, and it'd better be-"
"Michael, it's Robert Jamison. Please open the door."
The panel slid back into place and the door opened. "What the hell, Jamison-?"
Robert pushed his way into the small foyer. "She's hurt."
Michael's sharp eyes raked over the bloody hands, and the feet exposed under her gown. "How bad is it?"
"I'm not certain. She was abducted. Knocked out. Tied up. Her wrists and hands were cut by the ropes and possibly by my knife. Her feet were injured during our escape."
Michael's dark brows shot upward. "Our?"
"I'll explain later. Where can I put her?"
Jerking his head to the left, Michael indicated a short corridor. "Bring her into my study. First door on the right. A fire's already burning and you'll find plenty of brandy. Give her some. There's also a bowl and pitcher of water. I'll get bandages and supplies and join you in a moment."
Robert didn't hesitate. Entering the room, he made directly for the long leather sofa in front of the fireplace and gently laid her down. Then he leaned back, looked at her, and stilled.
He'd half-expected her eyes to be closed, but they were open, looking at him with a steady expression that somehow echoed both fear and strength. Dark hair surrounded her pale face in a matted tangle, with one curl stuck to her cheek by the streak of now dried blood. He reached out a hand that wasn't quite steady and brushed the tangled strand away. Her lower lip trembled, and he brushed his fingertips over her smooth cheek. Something flashed in her eyes. Pain? Fear? He wasn't certain, but he vowed to erase both.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he quickly shrugged out of his jacket, rolled it into a ball, then tucked it behind her head as a pillow. "How do you feel?"
"A bit undone, I'm afraid." She raised her injured hands. "Although I suspect these look worse than they really are. Even the smallest cut can sometimes bleed dreadfully." She stared at her hands for several more seconds, then lowered them once again to her lap. A rueful expression washed over her features. "I'm afraid I do not very much care for the sight of blood."
"Indeed? Doesn't bother me a bit." He cast a quick glance upward to see if he were about to be smote dead with a lightning bolt. "You're in good hands, I assure you. Now, I'm going to give you some brandy. It will help ease the pain. Then we'll get your feet and hands bandaged up." He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "You'll be running about and will once again be an H.P.P. in no time."
"H.P.P.?"
"Horrid Pianoforte Player."
She raised one eloquent brow. "I believe that is rather like the ocean calling the sea salty."
A grin pulled at his lips and his fingers slid from her face. Her skin felt like velvet, another thought he shoved firmly aside. Clearing his throat, he rose and crossed the room to the decanters resting on a piecrust mahogany table near the window. He poured two fingerfuls into a crystal snifter and tossed it back in a single gulp. Welcome, bracing heat burned down his insides to his belly. He blew out a long breath, poured another portion, then returned to her side.
Holding the snifter to her lips, he helped her drink. After the first sip, her face puckered into a grimace.
"Yeck," she said, turning her face away from the snifter. "What vile stuff."
"On the contrary, I found it to be extraordinary. Knowing Michael, it probably came from Napoleon's private stock."
She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed with clear suspicion. "How would that be possible?"
"Michael is acquainted with people from, shall we say, all walks of life."
"Including scoundrels like you, Jamison," came Michael's deep voice from the doorway.
Turning, Robert watched Michael cross the room, his arms laden with supplies and a bucket of water. He moved like the athlete he was, with a predator-like grace that Robert knew was one of the secrets of his success.
Michael joined them, setting the supplies on the floor. "How do you feel, Miss…?"
"Mrs. Brown," she replied softly. " Alberta Brown."
Michael offered her a solemn nod. "Michael Evers. Glad to make your acquaintance. Now why don't you relax, and Robert and I will take a look at these injuries."
At Mrs. Brown's nod, Michael passed Robert a handful of snowy linen strips with a meaningful look. "I'll take her hands," he said. "You take her feet."
Robert instantly agreed, realizing Michael was assigning him the more intimate task. And hopefully the less bloody one. Rising, he brought the pitcher of water from Michael's desk over to the sofa, then filled two bowls.
Without another word, each man went to work. Robert knelt on the polished wood floor and gently pushed up her skirts until her feet and ankles were exposed. His stomach tightened at the sight. She was a mess, and he prayed that once the filth was cleaned away, he'd discover that that was all she was-merely dirty-and not seriously injured.
He closed his mind to everything but the task at hand. He dipped strip after strip of linen into the water, gently cleansing away the dirt. A sense of amazement rippled through him at what she'd done. Running all that way, over those rough stones and wood, without a word of complaint. She had to have been suffering, and frightened to death as well. Yet even now, when he knew by the tight set of her lips and the pain shadowing her eyes that she was hurting, she didn't utter a word of protest.
He heard the soft rustle of material as Michael folded back her sleeve. "How serious is it, Michael?"
"Wrists are rubbed pretty raw. A fairly deep slash across the base of her right palm. Doesn't need stitching, but it will sting like a bast… er, the devil, for a few days. Everything else is small. Little nicks. They'll sting as well, but heal quickly." He glanced at Robert. "How are her feet?"
Robert looked down at the now clean, delicate foot cupped in his palm. He gently manipulated it around in gentle circles, watching her face for signs of pain. "Some bruising around the ankles from the ropes. A few shallow cuts on the bottom." He checked the other foot and frowned. "There's a good-sized splinter in her heel here."
Allie reclined on the sofa, silent and still, watching as they cleansed and examined her, pretending that she wasn't mortified to have a complete stranger and another man she barely knew tending to her. Once they'd determined that she wasn't seriously injured, Lord Robert tersely related to Mr. Evers how she'd come to be a guest at the Bradford town house, and how he'd returned there for his walking stick only to discover a thief departing the garden, and then realized he'd stumbled upon a kidnapping.
Gratitude and amazement washed through her as she listened. Although Lord Robert had told her as much earlier, now that the danger to them was over and she could think clearly, the full import of his words sunk in. Dear God, what would have happened to her if
he hadn't followed? A shudder shook her shoulders and she purposefully pushed the question away. She didn't even want to consider the possibilities. But there was no escaping one certainty: Lord Robert had saved her life, risking his own in the process. And now, within minutes he was going to start asking her questions, wanting answers and explanations he might well deserve but that she wasn't prepared to give.
Opening her eyes, she looked toward the end of the sofa and was met with the most disturbing sight of Lord Robert, head bent low, gently removing the splinter from her heel. He looked big and strong and capable, and a wave of heat shot through her, settling in her midsection. A lock of ebony hair fell forward, hiding his upper face from her view, but she could clearly see his mouth. His firm lips were pressed together with obvious concentration. His touch was tender and gentle and sent pleasurable tingles racing up her legs. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his once pristine shirt, exposing muscular forearms. Her gaze drifted lower, and she drew in a sharp breath. Reddened, angry skin banded his wrists.
His head jerked up and their eyes met, his filled with concern. "I'm sorry… but at least the splinter is out. Did I hurt you?"
"No. I… I just noticed your wrists. You're hurt."
He shook his head. "Scratched. Nothing more." One corner of his mouth pulled up. "Michael will doctor me when we're finished with you."
An inelegant snort sounded from Michael. "What makes you think so?"
"Because I'm one of your best customers. Wouldn't want to lose me."
"Customers?" Allie echoed.
"Michael owns what is arguably the finest boxing emporium in London. And he is, inarguably, the best pugilist in the country."
Allie turned her attention to Michael Evers, who was bandaging her wrist with a gentle deftness that bespoke experience in such matters. His features were bold and possessed a roughness to them, as if they'd been hewn from granite. It was obvious by the crooked shape of his nose that he'd broken it at one time-not surprising given his profession. Nor was the small scar bisecting his left eyebrow. His hair was thick and dark and badly in need of a trim. He was a large man, yet his movements held an almost catlike grace. And in spite of his size, his touch was gentle. With his rough features, husky brogue-flavored voice, and predilection toward swearing, he looked and sounded nothing like a gentleman, yet clearly he and Lord Robert were friends.
At that instant Michael Evers turned toward her, and her face heated at being caught staring at him. Onyx-colored eyes assessed her thoughtfully.
"You're fortunate that Robert returned for his walking stick, Mrs. Brown," he said.
"Indeed I am, Mr. Evers."
"Which brings me to my first of many questions," Lord Robert said. "How did that man get hold of you? Was he in the house?"
Clearly her reprieve from the inevitable questions was over. She drew a deep breath, then said, "No. I was in the garden-"
"The garden?" Lord Robert broke in, his brows lifting.
"Yes. I couldn't sleep. I felt the need for some fresh air."
Their eyes met and she could almost feel something pass between them. Something heated and knowing and intimate. Warmth crept up her neck and she averted her gaze, not wanting to risk that he might read in her eyes that he was the reason for her restlessness.
"I don't know how things work in America, Mrs. Brown," Mr. Evers said, "but you should know that it is unsafe for a woman to be out alone. Especially at night."
"An error I won't make again, I assure you."
"So you were walking in the garden," Lord Robert said, "and he grabbed you?"
"Yes. From behind. I never saw his face. I tried to scream, but before I could get out a good yell he stuffed a rag in my mouth. I remember a pain in my head, then nothing else until I awoke, tied to Lord Robert."
"Did your abductor give you any clue as to what he wanted?"
"No."
Lord Robert turned to his friend. "Your ear is always to the ground, Michael. What do you think? I know London is rife with crime, but still, the audacity to abduct a lady? In May-fair? From a duke's residence? Have you heard of any similar crimes?"
"No. Which makes me wonder if this was a random act or if perhaps someone from the duke's residence was specifically targeted."
A grim expression came over Lord Robert's face. " Austin needs to be informed. I'll write him-" He broke off, then shook his head. "No, I'd best wait and tell him in person. Elizabeth is safe, as I'm certain he's never farther than three paces away from her. And with the baby's imminent arrival, he's already worried. I don't want to unduly alarm him further."
"A smart strategy," said Mr. Evers, "especially considering that it's also possible Mrs. Brown was the intended victim."
Both men looked at her. Allie strove to keep her face expressionless, but was not certain she succeeded. "I cannot see how that could be possible," she said, proud that her voice didn't waver. "No one knows me here. I only just arrived today. I'm certain it was simply an unfortunate accident. One caused by my own stupidity in wandering about alone at night. And one that could have ended tragically if not for Lord Robert's brave intervention." Her eyes met his. "I thank you." She turned to Michael Evers. "And you as well, Mr. Evers, for your assistance."
"You're welcome," Mr. Evers murmured. He watched her for several long seconds, and Allie forced herself to meet his sharp gaze. Finally he resumed bandaging her hands while Lord Robert bandaged her feet. To Allie, the silence felt thick and heavy with tension and she longed to break it. Yet, as she had no wish to initiate a conversation that might lead to more questions, she said nothing.
Several minutes later, Mr. Evers rose. "Finished," he said. "You'll be sore for a few days, but fine." He turned to Robert. "Make sure those bandages are changed once a day. And now let's have a look at you."
Despite Lord Robert's grumbling, Mr. Evers quickly cleaned and bandaged his wrists. "You'll live," he stated. Then, jerking his head toward the corridor, he said, "Let's give Mrs. Brown a moment alone to collect herself. We'll see to transportation to get you home."
Lord Robert and Mr. Evers quit the room, shutting the door softly behind them. Allie closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. Her wrists hurt, as did her foot where she'd been stabbed by the splinter. And her head still ached, but not nearly as much as it had earlier. All in all, she felt quite well, considering the fact that she could just as well be seriously injured. Or dead.
There was no doubt in her mind that whoever had abducted her hadn't chosen her at random. Between the accidents she'd suffered on the ship and tonight's events, there was clearly someone who wished her harm. But who? The only logical explanation was that the person had to somehow be tied to David's unsavory past. But what did they want from her? She possessed nothing of value. Or did they simply want her dead? A cold chill rippled through her. They'd nearly succeeded tonight. Would they try again?
And tonight, Lord Robert's life had been threatened as well. Her circumstances could be placing him in danger. She should warn him… tell him…
But tell him what? That some unknown person from her husband's shady past might be after her for a reason she could not possibly guess at? Her insides cramped at the mere thought. She hadn't admitted David's criminal past to anyone. Not to her family, or to Elizabeth through their correspondence. The shame and humiliation, not to mention the scandal that would attach itself to her and her family… no, she couldn't tell Lord Robert. She barely knew him. Her life and mistakes with David were none of his or anyone else's business. Besides, she had no desire to become any more involved with Lord Robert than she already was. Sharing her most intimate secrets with him was not something she would even consider.
Intimate…
A shiver ran through her as she instantly, vividly recalled the feel of him surrounding her, his heat and strength as he held her against him, protecting her. At the time, her fright had prevented her from focusing on his disturbing nearness, but now…
A long sigh escaped her. The sort of breathy,
feminine sigh she hadn't indulged in for years. Warmth swept through her, kindling a spark she'd ruthlessly extinguished when David died.
A sudden chill replaced the unbidden, unwanted heat, and her eyes popped open. God help her, she was losing her mind. How could she possibly, even for an instant, entertain such… unacceptable thoughts about Lord Robert? He possessed so many traits and characteristics she'd painfully learned to detest and distrust in a man… a friendly, teasing manner that could foster undeserved trust. A handsome face to mask inner dishonor. Warm eyes that hid secrets. Winning smiles to conceal lies. Intense looks and touches that inflamed the senses.
Yet tonight, with his heroic rescue of her, his concern for her injuries even though he himself was hurt, he'd shown a side of himself she hadn't anticipated. And it was a side she did not want to see. She did not want to think of him as possessing any admirable qualities. He was already too physically attractive by far. If she were to like him-
She cut off the thought. Like him? Impossible. So he'd done something admirable. Even the worst sort of person normally had one good aspect to their character. Surely he did not possess any others. Why, look at how he'd known his way around those disreputable sections of London. Surely no decent gentleman would be familiar with such surroundings.
And the company he kept! This Michael Evers was a suspicious character if she'd ever seen one. A fighter by trade, one who obviously mingled with persons of low society. No telling what manner of nefarious business Lord Robert conducted with such a man. Yes, their friendship merely confirmed her belief that there was darkness lurking behind Lord Robert's casual, fun-loving demeanor. Indeed, Lady Gaddlestone's words on board the ship, concerning the transgression in Lord Robert's past, verified as much-a fact she'd momentarily forgotten. But just like walking about in the garden at night, it was a mistake she would not make again.
******
Robert stood in the oak-paneled foyer watching Michael lean his head out the front door and emit a trio of piercing whistles. Closing the door, he said, "A trusted man will be here within five minutes to take you home."
Whirlwind Affair Page 7
