Miranda's Dilemma
Page 23
All right, yes, mostly she cried from sympathy.
She did not want this. This couldn’t be happening. She quickly gave the driver directions.
She’d have to take him to her garret for now. The other women frequently entertained men in their rooms. Mrs. Pillmore required her percentage, of course. But it wouldn’t seem amiss to anyone. Oh, just imagine how Mr. High-And-Mighty was going to respond to being taken to her garret. But what else was she to do with him? Good heavens, he wasn’t a stray dog.
The driver rushed to aid her into the carriage but the gentleman pushed him away, then poked his head inside.
He began peeling off his greatcoat.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It is appalling in there. You shall have to sit on my coat.”
She stuck her head inside and caught the odor of mildew and a touch of stale urine. Well, clearly not the best but she’d come across worse. On a rainy day, this close to east London, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Please put your coat back on.
“You cannot sit on those seats.”
“You are becoming soaked through. Please, put your coat on.”
His frown deepened. “Thérèse, why are you suddenly so disagreeable?”
“The longer we stand here, the more thoroughly soaked we get from the sleet.”
Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? “Your new bluntness is a refreshing.”
He reached out, as though he were about to help her into the carriage. Then he swayed and listed backwards. His eyes rolled until only the whites showed. He pitched forward.
A startled cry pierced the silence. Hers. She leapt forward, hands poised to catch him. He fell upon her and his weight overwhelmed her to the point her knees buckled.
Then his weight eased. The driver was lifting him. “Let’s put him inside, milady.”
Milady.
She could have laughed at any other time. But the reality of her situation came crashing upon her. She was now responsible for an unconscious, mentally unstable gentleman. Together, they got him inside. She settled beside him and took a deep breath.
The driver closed the door with a slam. The finality of the sound resonated deep in her chest.
What a fine situation she’d willingly trapped herself in.
Her nostrils began to burn. The connivance didn’t smell any nicer with the door shut. She wrinkled her nose. Thank God she didn’t live too far away.
It began to move. To put it more bluntly, it began to rock hard enough to rattle her teeth. His unconscious form shifted and fell against her shoulder.
“Thérèse—” His deep voice sounded sleepy. “The channel is so choppy this time of year. You mustn’t be afraid. Think about Paris. We shall have a grand time in Paris.”
He locked an arm around her waist and drew her near. Sheltering her from the jarring motion with his body.
His very solid body.
The hackney rattled along and another strong jolt hit. She found her face pressed ruthlessly against his chest. The scent of his shaving soap was certainly better than the odors in the carriage.
He pressed the curve of her waist then slid down to the swell of her hip. “You have gained some weight.”
Heat suffused her face. Of course, his Thérèse must be a slip of a thing. No one could ever accuse Jeanne of being slender.
“You never ran from me before.”
“No?”
“No.” He found her hand. “Can you forgive me? Will you come home and stay?” He didn’t plead. But there was a sincere, earnest, urgency underneath his calm tone that made her believe his sincerity. His remorse. It held her spellbound, unable to resist as he lifted her hand to his cheek. The stubble there was a faint rasp against her fingers.
His skin burnt her like live coals. She gasped then jerked her hand out of his hold.
She tore her glove off and put a hand to his forehead. Moist, blistering heat.
Thurmp, Thurmp. Thurmp.
Her heart pounded her ears with sudden, jarring violence. Her mouth went dry. God above. She’d been so focused on her dread of insanity, it had clouded her perception. Clearly, the man was dreadfully ill and delirious with fever.
Totally her responsibility.
She swallowed hard and in the semidarkness they rode in silence for long moments. Silence but for the subtle wheezing issuing from his open mouth as he slipped back into unconsciousness.