Will jumped at the sound of a booming male voice to the side of him. Straightening, he touched the brim of his hat. “Absolutely, sir. Just taking in the beauty of Bath at twilight.”
“Indeed. Indeed. The houses never fail to impress, do they not?” The man nodded toward the Crescent.
“They’re magnificent.”
The conversation lapsed as Will followed the man’s gaze across the park toward Royal Crescent. Will wondered if when the architect, John Wood the Younger, designed it he had any idea it would be considered one of Bath’s architectural masterpieces. Despite the semicircle of houses being finished over a hundred years before, people still held it in high regard and Emily living there spoke volumes as to the worth of her father’s tobacco company.
Will scowled. She deserved her half. A woman like that should be surrounded by beauty. The creamy-yellow stone of Royal Crescent glowed like butter beneath the setting sun. It was a sight to behold.
He cast a surreptitious glance to the man at his side.
He looked to be in his mid-forties and most likely of similar age to Emily’s father. He cleared his throat. “I understand Darson of Darson/Milne tobacco lives there. I was lucky enough to meet him and his daughter at the Assembly Rooms last week. I believe they have a house on the Crescent. Do you know the Darsons? Lovely people.”
He laughed. “Everyone knows Oliver Darson, sir. A great man. Such a shame illness has struck him so harshly.”
“Yes, he struggled somewhat at the ball. Is there nothing to be done?”
The man stared at the houses, moving back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Alas, I believe his lungs are the problem and they say it is only a matter of time. I often see the physician entering the property.”
Will followed his gaze as his heart beat faster. “Yes, yes, they live at number 22 I think Miss Darson told me.”
“No, no, number 24, sir.”
Will bit back a smile. “Ah.”
“Anyway, I must be off. I only came out to stretch my legs. My wife will be wondering where on earth I am. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Will took it in his. “You too, sir. You too.”
The gentleman walked away and Will’s grin broke free. Number 24. With his hands clasped behind his back, Will walked on with an air of nonchalance. He came to an opening in the trees that served as the perfect vantage point to view that particular house.
He stared as the smell of flowering lavender and freshly cut grass whispered through the air on a soft breeze. As soon as Milne understood Emily was Will’s for the taking, he would find something else with which to torment the bastard. Some way or other he would take her from him without Emily losing her inheritance. He frowned. There had to be a way. The sooner Milne understood Will intended to pursue him like a cat after a rat, the better.
His mother’s voice came into Will’s head, reminding him if he let Milne take over his life, his adversary had won. He heard her begging him to release the bitter resentment from his heart lest he die a cold and lonely man. She dreamed of him married, a successful entrepreneur with his children playing at his feet and his wife sitting at his side.
He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the tears at the back of his throat. His children. Her grandchildren. A wife. His mother had such romantic dreams.
When hunger struck and they neared the end of their rent money, Will rushed out and returned with pocketfuls of stolen booty. His mother tutted and clipped his ear, sending him to his side of their rented room to get on with practicing his letters. Despite her chastisements, she took the bread, fruit, and fresh milk he’d pilfered, eking it out to last them as many days as possible.
Will snapped his eyes open as a raggedly dressed street urchin bolted out of nowhere and shoved him backward. He sped past Will with no fear of recrimination or remorse.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Will cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get back here.”
He took a few long strides forward, intending to give chase when a nearby cacophony of panicked female screeching resounded.
“Help! Oh, please, someone help us!”
Will broke into a sprint and raced along the path. A few yards ahead of him. a woman lay on the ground, her skirts pulled above her knees revealing flesh-colored pantalets, her bonnet tilted atop her head. A younger woman was crouched down beside her, sporadically comforting her or shouting for help at the top of her lungs.
“Ladies? Are you all right?” Will dropped to his knees beside them.
The woman sitting on the floor clutched her ankle. “Annie, please. Calm yourself. I will be quite all right.”
Will concentrated on her ankle. It was swelling with each passing second. Without thinking, he gently eased his thumbs along the tender flesh, checking for any breaks.
“I say . . .” The woman objected.
“It’s all right, Miss. Nothing appears to be broken, but an ice pack will help with the swelling. Let’s get you up off this cold ground.” He met her eyes and his heart stopped. “My God, Miss Darson.”
She snapped her eyes from her ankle to him. “You!” Her face colored and she slapped his hands from her legs. “Don’t you dare touch me. Drop my ankle at once.”
Will’s heart kicked back into place as he grinned. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I apologize. I was just trying to help—”
She huffed out a breath. “Yes, by mauling me.”
“I was hardly mauling you.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “Yes, Mr. Samson, you were. Now, thank you for your interest but my maid and I are quite capable of returning home unaided.”
Will looked in the direction the boy had fled a few seconds before. “Did that young lad who passed me like a cannonball do this to you? If he did, I won’t rest until I track him down and hang him by his underpants on a lamppost outside the Theatre Royal.”
The young girl giggled. Will looked up and winked. Her face immediately flushed to the color of a ripe tomato. He returned his attention to the beautiful and dishevelled Miss Darson. She moved to get up.
“Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?” He held his hand to her leg once more. “You cannot possibly walk.”
She glared. “Of course I can. Do not mistake me for a silly woman who isn’t capable of looking after herself.” She looked at the girl. “Annie, if you take my hand—”
Will cupped her elbow. “Miss Darson, please. Let me help you.”
“I am perfectly all right. Annie?”
The maid grasped her other elbow. Miss Darson trembled and her voice shook whenever she spoke between grimaces. Will’s stomach tightened with an emotion he daren’t contemplate. Her hair hung down in tendrils from beneath her bonnet, and the side of her face was streaked with mud, yet all he saw was her wonderful dark eyes and voluptuous figure . . . and a determination that was highly attractive.
“Please, Miss. Let this man take your arm.” Annie stared, her eyes wide with panic. “What on earth will Mr. Darson say if I tell him a gentleman tried to assist you and we refused his help?”
“It is me who is refusing his help, not you. Father will only reprimand me so stop your fretting and help me forward.”
Annie straightened. “No. I will not do this.”
Emily glared. “Annie, you will do as I ask right this instant. What on earth is the matter with you?”
Will cleared his throat. “Miss Darson, clearly your maid—”
She snapped her head around. “Did I ask your opinion?”
“No, but—”
“Then let me deal with my maid as I see fit.” She looked to Annie. “Well?”
Will looked to the ground lest she see his smile. The woman was a firecracker he suddenly longed to whip into his arms, march across town, and toss into the famous healing waters. His smile widened when he thought of her sodden clothes clinging provocatively to her curves. . . .
Annie’s voice cut short his fantasy. “Pardon me, Miss, but you know that’s not true. Mr.
Darson will say I haven’t looked after you properly and then where will I be? He’ll send me to bed with docked wages and I need that money to help Mama—”
“All right. All right.” Miss Darson lifted a hand. “Enough.”
She met Will’s eyes over Annie’s head. Her reluctance to even look at him could not have been more clearly etched on her face. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. “Fine. Mr. Samson, would you be so kind as to assist me home?”
He bowed. “It would be my pleasure. It is barely more than a hundred yards to the Crescent, so I’ll carry you safely home in no time.”
Her eyes widened. “You will do no such thing, sir. I refuse to allow you to pick me up like a bag of meal—”
Will swept her into his arms and her words died on her sharpened tongue. Annie hurried to rearrange Miss Darson’s skirts over his arms to protect her decency. Will glanced at the maid. Judging by the amused glint in her eye, Annie was enjoying her mistress’s state of indisposed surrender as much as he was. Miss Darson, on the other hand, struggled against him, her eyes flashing venom and shock.
“Put me down right this minute. I swear my father will hunt you down and shoot you dead when he learns of you manhandling me this way.”
Will lifted an eyebrow. “And what of your fiancé? Surely he’ll wish to pummel me more? Or is Milne weaker than a dying man?”
“I do not mention Nicholas because woe betide you if he should hear of this.”
Will laughed. “Woe betide me? I am quaking in my boots, Miss Darson. Absolutely quaking, I tell you.”
Before she could say anything else, Will strode forward, carrying her across the grass toward the Crescent, hoping she’d soon exhaust herself of pummelling his chest and swinging her booted legs back and forth. For such a slender woman, she was anything but fragile. Twice he almost dropped her when she reached around and painfully pinched the flesh at his shoulder blades, and three times she called him names that no lady of her status should know, let alone utter.
His back smarted and his shoulders ached by the time they finally reached the pavement around the Crescent.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Annie hurried ahead of him. “Quickly, Mr. Samson. This way. This way.”
Will followed the maid up a short walkway to a painted black door bearing a brass knocker and letterbox shining beneath a polished lantern. Annie opened the door and rushed inside, holding it open for Will and the tussling tigress in his arms to enter.
Miss Darson’s thrashing abruptly stopped. “Are you smiling, Mr. Samson? Is there something about my assault and your subsequent caveman brutishness that amuses you? Because let me tell you this—”
Ignoring her, he turned to Annie. “Drawing room?”
The maid nodded, hiding what he was sure was a smile behind her fingers. He winked at her and followed the direction she pointed. “Miss Darson, I promise you there is nothing the least bit amusing about being attacked by the person you are actually trying to help.”
“Then why don’t you put me down before I take a handful of your crowning glory and yank it out by the roots?”
Will stopped and stared into her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware Annie was watching them and knew it likely the girl would scream her head off if he took advantage of her mistress, yet Miss Darson’s face hovered inches from his. . . .
“You wouldn’t dare.”
The warning didn’t come from Annie but Miss Darson. Her tone was so low it could have been deemed a growl. Will blinked. She’d read his damn mind! He swallowed and inwardly cursed the heat singeing his face. “Pardon me?”
Her eyes shone with triumph. “I know exactly what you were thinking and if you wish to use your lips on some poor unsuspecting female in the future, I suggest you learn to close your eyes. They’re a mirror to your despicable soul.”
Will opened his mouth to retort. To toss something clever and witty in her direction but snapped it closed. Fine. She surprised him. She won that round but there was always round two.
He dragged his gaze from her beautiful brown eyes toward the settee. “Shall I lay you on the settee?”
“No, you can lower my feet to the floor. I have been telling you since we left the park, I am perfectly capable—”
“The floor it is.” Will abruptly put her down.
She swayed unsteadily backward and he swept her back into his arms, silently cursing his pathetic attempt at exerting his male authority over her. Irritation simmered in his stomach as he marched across the vast expanse of the room and gently laid her on the cushioned settee.
Their gazes locked until Annie cleared her throat. “I’ll . . . um . . . fetch Mr. Darson. He should be told what happened.”
She hurried out and Will turned to survey the room. From the heavy drapes at the window to the not one but two crystal ashtrays and half a dozen porcelain figures lining the mantel, the Darsons had a pretty penny. Was this house and its contents the last of it though? Or was he wrong about Miss Darson? Was she just another money-hungry socialite willing to marry for money? Willing to marry a man to be kept in luxury? Even if the man in question made her grimace when he kissed her hand or touched her back.
God, how he wanted that thought to be entirely unwarranted.
Emily hated the way her breath hitched and her skin still burned where Mr. Samson had touched her. Even now she couldn’t drag her gaze from the breadth of his shoulders as he surveyed the room. The stark contrast of his dark hair against his white shirt collar drew her eyes again and again. She couldn’t believe a stranger, a man of Mr. Samson’s size and physical stature, was in her home when she was alone and unchaperoned.
It was incredibly unnerving and, if she were honest, more than a little exciting.
He abruptly turned and warmth rushed to her face. If he noticed her staring, he didn’t acknowledge it. He came toward her, his intense blue eyes on hers. Heat flared in places she’d only really become aware of since knowing him. Her mouth dried. The man moved her. In a way that would make her father throw him out in an instant had he known.
“Are you feeling better?” His gaze wandered over her face, his brow furrowed.
“Yes. Much. Thank you.”
“Good.” He smiled and lowered to his haunches.
Emily froze. His eyes were dangerously level with hers. Her gaze drifted to his lips and there was another urgent pull at her center. She snapped her gaze back to his.
“You can leave now.” Why am I whispering?
They continued to look into each other’s eyes and no matter how much she wanted to break the moment, she was caught in an invisible trap.
“You have a nasty bruise forming on your cheek.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her face but instead it fell to his leg. “Did the boy do that to you?”
She raised her fingers to her cheek and winced. “No, I must have knocked my face when I fell.”
“I see.” He pushed to his feet and the moment broke. “If he as much as laid a finger on you . . .”
Trepidation knotted Emily’s stomach, making her feel lightheaded. Who was he? Was she insane to allow him entrance into the house? Right then he looked capable of knocking the boy into next week, whereas a moment before . . . Emily shivered; he looked capable of pulling her into his strong arms and kissing her with skilled and gentle persuasion.
She cleared her throat. “He was a boy dressed in rags. No doubt running from trouble. It’s quite all right. I’m sure I’ll live.”
His study of her was intense and her heart beat a little harder. Will Samson could be a frightening man. Yet not frightening like Nicholas—frightening in a perfectly honorable way. God help her. She felt protected. Cared for.
His stare turned soft and apologetic and undeniable attraction to him roused its unwanted head again. He smiled. “I appreciate you have a good and, no doubt, generous heart, but the boy should be held accountable.”
She looked at her hands as she tightly clasped them in her lap. “What does it matter? W
e have little way of finding him. Bath is a big place with lots of corners. Considering my father’s current state of health, it might just be the death of him if he was to hear any suspicions of my being hurt or fearful. I hope you will support my wish to not further upset him.”
“How will you explain the bruise?”
“Leave that to me. I’d appreciate it if you do not contradict me when I retell tonight’s events to him.”
His jaw locked. Emily waited. It was imperative she win this battle. For all her problems and challenges ahead, her father remained paramount in her consideration—and would until the day he died.
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Agreed. I will respect your wishes with regard to your father.”
Relief slumped her shoulders and she smiled. “Thank you.”
“I still stand by my ethics. The boy should be thrashed for making you fall in the first place.”
She turned from his gaze as a girlish thrill ran through her. The look in his eyes was possessive, virile. Almost as though she was his. She moved and her breath caught as pain shot through her wrist and shoulder.
“Let me help you.” He came forward and then hesitated. “Do you mind?”
He gestured toward her back. Emily’s heart beat faster. What choice did she have but to let him touch her once again? She shook her head. He slid one arm behind her and offered his other arm for her to grip. Feeling weightless in the powerful circle of his arms, he lifted her into a more comfortable position. She lay back against the pillows, their faces barely inches apart.
“You looked flushed.” His hands were still upon her. “Shall I ask Annie to bring some water?”
His breath whispered across her lips and Emily flicked out her tongue to wet them. Her mouth was as dry as a desert. He followed the gesture with his eyes and tension crackled.
She flushed. “No. I’m quite all right. I’m sure she will soon return with Papa. Why don’t you take a seat while we wait?”
He moved to an armchair a few feet away from her and she released her held breath. “I try my hardest not to judge people’s actions without knowing their motivation. That boy could have tried to take my bag for money to feed himself or an elderly relative, maybe his expectant mother. There is poverty and disproportion all over this city and—”
Rachel Brimble Page 6