by Eva Shepherd
‘There you go, Doctor. And thank you for coming so quickly.’
He counted out the coins in his hand. Nellie knew exactly what he would do now. He would head straight from her rooms to the nearest gin palace and drink away whatever it was he was trying to forget, and he wouldn’t be much use to anyone else for the next few days.
She followed him out, taking with her a wooden pail so she could fetch some water from the nearby pump. When she returned, she lit the stove and put some water on to boil, then went through to her bedroom while she waited for the water to get warm enough to tend to his wounds.
Once again guilt coursed through her. This was all her fault. She had wanted to teach him a lesson and she had certainly done that, but he had done nothing wrong. He was wanting to offer her work, for goodness sake, and now he was beaten and bloody.
‘I’m so sorry about this,’ she murmured.
He shook his head, then grimaced. ‘No need,’ he muttered through his swollen lips, his eyes still closed. ‘Not your fault.’
Nellie also grimaced, but not from physical pain. He was wrong. It was all her fault. Everything that had happened tonight was her fault and she had to make amends as best she could.
She returned to the kitchen, filled a large china bowl with warm water, carried it through to the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. Sitting as carefully as she could on the edge of the bed and using a piece of soft flannel, she wiped his face.
‘I’ll try to be as gentle as I can,’ she said, wincing every time he flinched. ‘If the pain is too much to bear, I’ll get some laudanum as soon as the pharmacy opens tomorrow.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not too bad and I’d rather not take that drug, I’ve seen the damage it can do.’
Nellie nodded her agreement. Laudanum certainly put an immediate end to all pain, both physical and emotional, but it created a dream-like state that became intoxicating. She’d seen many a person come to enjoy that state too much, until they were no longer interested in reality and preferred to live in their own befuddled world.
As slowly and gently as possible she cleared away the dried blood, turning the water a deeper shade of red with each rinsing. She leant down to remove the stubborn blood beside his lips and felt his warm breath on her cheek. A shiver ran through her body. She paused in her work. Her gaze moved upwards to look into his eyes. Despite the pain he was in, or because of it, he was staring at her with a disturbing intensity. Nellie couldn’t look away. Her face was so close to his they could be about to kiss. She looked back down at his lips and realised the ridiculousness of her thought. His bottom lip was split. His face was swollen and he was in pain. The last thing he would be thinking about was kissing anyone and she shouldn’t be thinking that way either.
She sat up straight, tightly wrung out the flannel, then gently ran it one more time over his face. It looked slightly better now that the blood had been removed and she was pleased to see that the doctor was right, none of the gashes was deep enough to require stitches. Her home remedy kit contained a suitable needle and thread, and she’d had to suture wounds before, but she was loath to do it, particularly on his lovely face.
‘Right, you look as good as you’re going to get tonight.’ She stood up and brushed down her skirt.
‘Thank you, you are very kind.’
Kind—that was the last thing Nellie was. He shouldn’t be thanking her. He was completely within his rights to give her the reprimand she had been expecting and, now, after all that she had put him through, she would accept it. She thoroughly deserved his chastisement.
Wincing, he tried to pull himself to a seated position. ‘Now, if you could send someone to summon my valet, he’ll arrange for a carriage to take me home. I don’t want to put you to any more trouble than I already have.’
Nellie shook her head. The doctor had said he shouldn’t move. It seemed he wasn’t going to listen to the doctor’s instructions and he cared little for the pain that moving was so obviously causing him. For his own sake, Nellie needed to take a different approach.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that. There’s no one else here that I can send and I’m reluctant to go out at this hour all by myself.’ She did her best impression of a helpless woman. Nellie had walked home by herself on many a night. She knew how to avoid trouble and keep herself safe. After all, she’d been doing that since she was thirteen. It was just a shame she had been unable to keep Mr Lockhart safe tonight.
‘In that case...’ he made to climb off her bed, causing Nellie’s patchwork quilt to fall towards the floor and once again exposing his naked chest to her gaze ‘...I’ll find my own way home.’
Nellie put a restraining hand on his shoulder and fought not to react to the touch of his naked skin or his rippling muscles under her fingers. ‘You’re in no fit state to make your own way home. You can stay here tonight and then, if you still insist on leaving, I’ll fetch your valet tomorrow.’
‘I can’t spend the night here.’ He winced with pain, closed his eyes and gripped the side of his chest. He took in a deep breath, opened his one good eye and looked at her, his brows drawn together, his swollen lips frowning. ‘Your reputation. People will know you’ve had a man in your room all night.’
Nellie couldn’t help but laugh. Oh, this man really was so gallant, even if it was misdirected. ‘I don’t think anyone in this neighbourhood would notice and, if they did, they’d not care. I’m not Lady Cecily. My value on the marriage market isn’t going to go down because my reputation has got a bit sullied.’ She pointed towards his bandaged chest. ‘Anyway, with the condition you’re in at the moment, I think my virtue is pretty safe.’
He exhaled and looked around the room. ‘I can’t stay here. I can’t take your bed. Where will you sleep?’ He attempted to rise from the bed and once again Nellie put a restraining hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back towards the pillows.
‘I’ll be fine. I can sleep anywhere.’
He made to rise again. ‘You can’t. I can’t take your bed. It would be unforgivable.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake. You’re injured and the doctor says you can’t be moved in case you’ve broken a rib. Now do as you’re told and lie down.’
‘But I won’t ruin a woman’s reputation.’
‘You don’t have to concern yourself on my account,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘I can take care of myself. Now do as you’re told and lie down.’
He looked at her for a few moments then dropped back down on to the pillows. ‘You are very kind to put yourself out like this.’
‘And stop saying I’m kind. If I hadn’t told you to come to The Hanged Man you wouldn’t be in this state. I’m not kind at all and certainly not to you. I’ve insulted you, played tricks on you and now I’ve caused you to get beaten up. I’m most definitely not kind and the least I can do is let you stay here the night while you recover.’
‘All right, I’ll stay the one night. Thank you for that, you’re very kind...’ He smiled, then winced as the split on his lip opened further. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said and closed his eyes.
Nellie watched as he drifted off to sleep. Beautiful. He had called her beautiful. The man was clearly in a great deal of pain and becoming delusional.
Chapter Seven
Mr Lockhart slipped into sleep and Nellie lowered herself into her one armchair. Her back still ached from the exertion of heaving him up the stairs. She still had a painful crick in her neck and her shoulders were knotted with tension.
A long soak in a hot scented bath would do wonders for her aching body, but that would not be happening tonight. She certainly didn’t have the energy to drag out the tin bath and heat up enough water to fill it. And even if she did, she wasn’t about to strip off in front of Mr Lockhart. Nellie smiled to herself and looked at the man sleeping in her bed. Well, stripping off in front of Mr Lockhart wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thou
ght, although it was obviously not something she would do, or should even be thinking about.
She continued to stare at his sleeping face. He was so gallant, jumping to her defence, then worrying about her reputation. Sweet, really. But what she had said to him was true. She was capable of looking after herself, had been doing so successfully for the last ten years. And as she wasn’t from the same class as Lady Cecily he did not need to concern himself with her reputation. Lady Cecily belonged to a class where a woman’s value on the marriage market could be irredeemably tarnished if there was any suggestion that she had lost her virginity before her wedding night. For Lady Cecily this meant she had to be chaperoned at all times so no one could call her chaste condition into question.
While Lady Cecily would never have been alone in the company of a man, such conditions would be impossible for a woman of Nellie’s class. How would a maid perform her duties if she always had to be watched to ensure she was never in the company of a man? How would the shop girls get to work if they all required a chaperon to accompany them when they walked the streets?
Nellie had had to look after herself, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Unlike Lady Cecily, she was free to flirt, laugh and have fun with anyone she wanted to. Her gaze moved slowly over Mr Lockhart’s sleeping face, down to his broad shoulders exposed above the sheets. She drew in a shaky breath and placed her hand on her chest to still her suddenly thumping heart. She could even take a man to her bed if she wanted to.
She quickly looked away. Not that she would be taking a man to her bed any time soon. She would not risk getting pregnant and suffering the dreadful fate of an unwed mother, and she certainly had no plans to marry. If she did, her business would automatically become her husband’s property and she had worked too hard to build up her business to surrender it just to get a ring on her finger.
She looked back at the man sleeping in her bed. She would never risk what she had for any man, but some men were certainly more tempting than others. He rolled over, exposing more of his shoulders to her gaze. It was strange to think she had seen more of Mr Lockhart’s body than his fiancée probably had. She closed her eyes and remembered his muscular, naked chest, the feeling of his arm heavy around her shoulder, that heady scent of him, all sandalwood and musk. Mmm, lovely.
As pleasant as that memory was, she should not really be thinking about such things. Particularly as he was a respectable man, an engaged man, one who she had caused to get beaten up, all because he was trying to protect her from the unwanted attentions of Patrick Kelly. She needed to remember that, nothing else, and stop thinking about his chest, his arms, or any other part of his body.
She picked up her copy of Arthur Conan Doyle’s latest book from her bedside table and flicked it open. Reading Sherlock Holmes until sleep came was a much more sensible idea than dwelling on Mr Lockhart’s muscles, his scent or any other part of him.
* * *
Several pages later, it became obvious that sleep was not going to come easily to her tonight. Her body was too tense, her mind too active. Even the excitement of Holmes and Dr Watson pursuing villains around London wasn’t enough to distract her mind from her aching body, or the whirling thoughts of everything that had happened since she first saw Mr Lockhart dancing around the ballroom at Hardgrave Estate. She wriggled down in the chair to try to get comfortable and moved the cushion to behind her tired shoulders.
It made no difference. How was she ever going to put in a full day’s work tomorrow if she didn’t get a good night’s sleep? She looked over at the sleeping man. She didn’t begrudge him her bed. How could she, considering it was her fault that he was having to sleep the night in her rooms rather than his own comfortable bed, but it would be nice to stretch out and get some sleep.
She looked at the empty space beside Mr Lockhart. It wouldn’t disturb him if she quietly climbed into the bed and slept on the other side, would it? He was sleeping so deeply he would never know. And after many years in service she was still in the habit of waking very early. She would be awake well before him, up and dressed before he even stirred. He’d be none the wiser that he had slept the night alongside her.
No harm would be done and she’d get a good night’s sleep. She continued to stare at the empty side of the bed. It was a sensible idea after all.
The thought of a comfortable night’s sleep was already having a beneficial effect and the tension had started to leave her shoulders. And if she was really going to be comfortable, she needed to get out of her dress and her corset.
As quietly as possible, she returned her book to the bedside table and began undressing. Keeping a watchful eye on Mr Lockhart, she undid her ankle boots and placed them in the cupboard. She unrolled her stockings and removed her skirt, jacket and petticoat. Trying not to make any noise she unlaced her corset and pulled off the restricting garment. Then, moving as quickly as she could, in case he opened his eyes, she removed her chemise, pulled on her nightdress and wriggled out of her drawers.
On tippy toes she crept across the room, slowly pulled back the quilt and carefully climbed into the bed and under the covers.
Mr Lockhart emitted a gentle snore. Good, he was still sound asleep. He was getting some much-needed rest and was oblivious to the fact that a woman had just stripped off before him and that he was now sharing the bed with her.
Nellie smiled to herself and snuggled down under the covers. With his warm body beside her it was easy to imagine what it would be like if she really was sharing her bed, her life, with a man like Mr Lockhart. He was so strong, so brave, so gallant, a woman would feel safe and protected with a man like him in her life. It would almost be worth the legal sacrifices a woman had to make when she married and became effectively a man’s possession. Almost, but not quite.
She gently rolled over and gazed at his sleeping face. Despite the swelling and his bruises, he really did have the loveliest of faces. In repose that worried furrow that often creased between his dark eyebrows had disappeared, that stern countenance had softened. Yes, it certainly was a beautiful face. And those lips, so soft, so inviting. If they weren’t swollen and if they didn’t bear a cut where some man’s fist had connected with his face, his lips would be oh, so kissable.
In some ways his injuries were a good thing. Otherwise she might be tempted to lean over and do a little test, just to see if the touch of his lips on hers would be as wonderful as she imagined.
But such a liberty would be so wrong, particularly under the circumstances, and would be too bold, even for her. It was quite a cheek to even think of such a thing.
She gently hoisted herself up on to one elbow and gazed down at the handsome sleeping face, better to just observe those tempting lips.
She leant down slightly. No, she couldn’t do it. Could she?
She looked around the room as if there was an invisible audience disapproving of what she was thinking. The room was empty. Obviously. No one would know. Not even Mr Lockhart. After all, he was sound asleep.
But even so, it really would be so wrong. She looked back down at him. Slowly she leant forward, until her face was so close she could feel his soft breath on her cheek. She moved a fraction closer. Her lips lightly touched his. She was right. Soft, sensual, delicious. And oh, that lovely masculine scent of his. Nellie drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She moved her tongue gently along his bottom lip.
He stirred slightly in his sleep.
Her eyes flew open. She sat up straight, her body rigid, her heart pounding. She looked around the room as if the invisible audience had suddenly appeared and were tut-tutting at what she had just done.
No one was objecting, not even Mr Lockhart. He had stopped moving and had remained fast asleep. Nellie exhaled her held breath. She should never have kissed him. It was a shocking thing to do. She should be utterly ashamed of herself.
She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. Yes, utterly ashamed. But
she wasn’t. Smiling, she extinguished the oil lamp and snuggled back down in the bed, luxuriating in the warmth of the man beside her. It had been a terrible thing to do, but she had no regrets, and any shame she might have felt was buried deep beneath the pleasure of having discovered what it felt like to have his delicious lips on hers.
Chapter Eight
Dominic woke and looked around the unfamiliar room. Where was he? What had happened? He tried to sit up and a searing pain ripped through his chest. Memories of last night came flooding back as he registered the pain in every part of his body: the noisy public house, that ruffian manhandling Nellie Regan, the brawl in the street, then being helped through the streets by Miss Regan, back to her rooms.
Another image entered his mind, of kissing Miss Regan, of holding her while she slept, of feeling her warm, soft body up against his. He lay back down and closed his eyes. That had to be a dream and one he most certainly should not have had. She had kindly given up her bed to him, despite his protestations, but he could not expect her to sleep in that uncomfortable armchair another night. He would have to make arrangements to return to his town house today.
The sound of soft footsteps made him open his eyes and he saw Nellie Regan enter the room, still in her nightdress, carrying a jug and bowl. She turned in his direction and he quickly closed his eyes, guilt searing through him at the mere thought that he had dreamt of kissing her.
A door squeaked open. He opened his eyes a fraction and saw her remove some clothing from the cupboard. With her back to him, she stood at the washstand and began her morning toilette. Dominic knew he should close his eyes, look away from this intimate scene, or warn her that he was awake. But despite what his mind was commanding, he couldn’t do it. He was transfixed. She looked too beautiful for him to deny himself the pleasure of watching her. She was like a woman in one of the pre-Raphaelite paintings he had recently seen at an art exhibition. Her long red hair was flowing down her back in gentle curls and, with the morning light coming through the thin curtains at the window, he could see the outline of her curvaceous body under the muslin of her nightgown.