by Cheryl Holt
“I don’t believe I ought to send him away without apprising Lord Marston that he has a messenger. What if there is an emergency with his father or his brothers?”
Isabella gnawed on her cheek. She didn’t want any problem to lure Hunter away one second quicker than he was already planning to go. Then again, what if it was important?
“Bring him in, and I’ll let him speak his piece, but he better mind his manners. If he’s impertinent, I’ll have you toss him out bodily.”
The footman walked off, then was back shortly to announce, “It’s Jackson, Miss Darling.”
“Jackson…what?” she asked. “Is he an orphan? Has he no surname?”
The footman shrugged, then the boy entered. She studied him, thinking he looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. He was dirty, his face smudged black, his clothes too, and he smelled like smoke.
She wrinkled her nose. “What happened to you?”
His answer was impudent. “Is Viscount Marston here? I must confer with him immediately.”
“You are in a wretched condition, and this is a respectable residence. You have some nerve arriving in such a disheveled state. And no, the Viscount isn’t here. Tell me your message, then get out.”
“I’d rather not discuss it with you.”
She narrowed her gaze, her temper sparking. “I know you, don’t I? Didn’t we meet at that pathetic bookshop that’s owned by that horrid Miss Graves? You were incredibly rude to me there. I suggest you depart or I shall inform the Viscount of how you acted. You won’t be quite so arrogant after he takes a belt to you.”
Her stern words didn’t daunt the little cretin. He glowered at the footman and asked, “Is Viscount Marston on the premises or not? My mission is dire, and if he’s not, I have to search for him elsewhere. I don’t have time to debate with a trollop.”
“You infuriating brat!” she fumed. “You’d best leave or you won’t like what’s about to transpire. I guarantee it.”
She leapt to her feet, as if she’d throw him out herself. She was bigger than he was, so she suspected she could wrestle him away, but she wouldn’t embarrass herself. She was simply anxious for him to fear that she’d manhandle him.
The footman pursed his lips and told the boy, “I’ll fetch the Viscount for you. How about if you wait in the foyer?”
Isabella was deftly ignored, but then, the servants worked for Hunter. Not her. They would never side with her in any quarrel, would never engage in any action that would upset him. It was aggravating in the extreme.
Before the pair could exit though, footsteps sounded behind her, and Hunter strolled in. He was barely dressed, his shirt half-buttoned, his cravat not tied, the lace hanging loose on his chest. His delectable blond hair was down and curling around his shoulders.
He appeared dashing and wonderful, and she preened, pleased that he’d had a very enjoyable evening—and all because of her.
“What this?” he said to the footman. “Company so early?”
“It’s an urgent message for you, Lord Marston. Miss Darling didn’t want me to bother you, but I didn’t suppose I should listen to her about it.”
“I didn’t say that!” Isabella huffed, but they didn’t pay any attention to her.
Hunter peered over at the boy, and he blanched. “Jackson! Why are you here? My goodness! Look at you! What’s wrong?”
“I need you to come with me. I need you to come now. I didn’t know who to ask, and I need help.”
“Oh…well…yes, I guess I can come now.”
“Hunter,” she complained, “we haven’t eaten. He can tarry in the street until you’re in a better condition.”
Hunter flashed a glare that warned her to be silent, that she was being a pest, and his blue eyes were riveting and a tad terrifying. Just that moment, he might have uttered any frightening comment, and she couldn’t have stopped him, but he’d always been a gentleman. He wouldn’t bicker with her in front of the servants.
“Let’s go,” he said to Jackson, but he said nothing to her.
“When will you be back?” she inquired. “Should I delay my breakfast so we can dine together?”
His anger flared, but it was quickly masked. “You can proceed without me.” He turned to the urchin and said, “Shall I harness my carriage?”
“No, I hired a cab. The driver is parked outside. It’s faster.”
The boy started out, and Hunter marched after him without a final glance in her direction. As Isabella watched him slither out, it occurred to her that she might have been invisible.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“How did the fire start?”
“We don’t know.”
Hunter stared at Jackson, feeling disoriented, as if he was dreaming. When he’d strolled into Isabella’s dining parlor, and Jackson had been standing there, the boy had been so out of place that he hadn’t seemed real.
He hadn’t eaten breakfast and was disheveled in his appearance. As they rolled along, he’d finished buttoning his shirt and had tied his cravat into a quick, messy knot. For the moment, it would have to suffice.
Hannah’s shop had burned to the ground? She and Jackson had barely escaped the inferno?
Hunter shared such a potent attraction with her, and he was alarmed over what she’d endured. It was insane for her to be in London by herself. If she’d had a rational family, she’d never have been allowed to engage in such risky conduct.
“I heard glass breaking,” Jackson said, “but I ignored it. Then I smelled smoke. I shook Hannah awake, and we ran down the stairs and out into the alley.”
“Could you tell where it began?”
“It was in Hannah’s building. It’s what the volunteers in the fire brigade were claiming.”
“She had books on the shelves,” Hunter said, “and they don’t automatically ignite. What could have lit the spark?”
“There was an inspector snooping around. He believes a torch was thrown through her window.”
Hunter scowled. “Who would do that? Hannah is charming and harmless. Who would want to hurt her?”
“Maybe Winston Webster? He’s always been awful to her.”
“Yes, but their animosity has simmered for years. Why would he suddenly lash out? They quarreled when she was at Parkhurst, but don’t they always quarrel?”
Hunter suffered a twinge of worry. He’d manhandled Webster at Parkhurst, and Webster had an ego as big as a house. Might that have been the catalyst for the disaster?
As rapidly as the prospect arose, he shoved it away. Webster was petty and stupid, and he was very lazy too. Hunter simply couldn’t envision him mustering the energy to travel to London to wreck Hannah’s home and business.
Their driver pulled his horse to a halt, and Hunter glanced out, saying to Jackson, “We’re not on Hannah’s street.”
“It’s closed off. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
Jackson opened the door and jumped out, and Hunter followed him. The boy paid their fare and took off at a brisk pace. Hunter thanked the man himself and slipped him a bit more for his trouble, then he hurried after Jackson.
They approached the area, and a smoky pall hung over everything. They rounded the corner, and he was stunned to see the devastation that had been inflicted. An entire city block had been reduced to piles of ash.
Spectators were milling, looking astonished. They chatted quietly, as if they were at a funeral, and who could guess? Perhaps there were dead bodies in the rubble. All of the shops most likely had had living quarters located on the upper floor. If he subsequently learned there had been casualties, he wouldn’t be surprised.
They stopped in front of what had been Hannah’s business, but there was no indication it had ever been a bookshop. A few sturdier items were visible—a stove, two chimneys—but for the most part, it had been destroyed.
His heart sank. What would become of her?
She’d been so proud of her endeavors, so proud of how she was earning an income and supp
orting her brother. How would she regroup and start over?
He and Jackson stood side by side, gaping at the debris, then he turned to Jackson and asked, “You could have sought assistance from anyone. Why did you fetch me?”
Jackson shrugged. “You like her, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who does.”
It was a pathetic comment on the state of her affairs, but it pleased him too. He’d been provided with a chance to be her knight in shining armor, and for once, he’d be delighted to embrace the role.
“Has she any possessions left?” he said. “Anything at all?”
“No, for either of us. When we raced out, I was already dressed, but she was in her nightclothes, so she doesn’t even have a gown or pair of shoes.”
Hunter felt terribly aggrieved for her, but happy too that he was her friend. He was rich and had more money than he could ever spend. If Hannah needed a new wardrobe, he could certainly buy her one.
“Where is she?” he inquired.
“Over there.” Jackson motioned to a tea house down on the corner. “Many of the survivors are settled inside. The owner and his wife have been feeding them and calming them down. They’ve sent out messages, informing relatives and acquaintances of what happened.”
“And you thought of me.” He patted the boy on the shoulder. “I’m thrilled that you did.”
“I assumed you could advise her on how she should proceed. I have no idea.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“She’s shocked and confused,” Jackson said. “Promise me you’ll be kind to her.”
“Of course I’ll be kind. I promise. She’ll always be safe with me.”
Hunter went down to the tea house, and he entered to a subdued scene. People were huddled in small groups, whispering and crying. Hannah appeared particularly woebegone. She was seated at a table by herself and still in her nightclothes, though as a bow to modesty, someone had given her a cloak that she’d draped over her shoulders.
She had a knitted throw folded over her legs, as if she was cold and couldn’t get warm. Her face was smudged, her hair tangled, and she was especially tragic, especially beautiful. His pulse pounded at the sight of her.
She was staring at her feet and didn’t notice him. As he walked over to her, an unusual wave of affection assailed him. From the moment they’d met, he’d liked her much more than he should, and he was being pelted by the most potent masculine instincts. He wanted to watch over her, to protect her forever so no calamity could befall her ever again. She had no parents to guide her, no sane kin to step in. Would she let him fix what was wrong?
He hoped she would, and if she wouldn’t listen, he’d ignore her.
“Hannah Graves!” he said. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds.”
On hearing his voice, she jumped as if he’d poked her with a pin. “Hunter! Am I glad to see you!”
He grinned. “You used my Christian name. We’re making progress.”
“How did you know I needed you?”
“Jackson tracked me down.”
“I was wondering where he was, but I’ve been too weary to search for him in the crowd.”
Hunter grabbed a chair and drew it close so their legs were tangled together. He clasped her hands in his.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Tell me the truth. Don’t pretend to be fine if you’re not.”
“Physically, I’m fine, but emotionally, I’m heartbroken. I lost everything, and I escaped in just my nightclothes. It’s all I managed to salvage.” She gestured to the cloak. “A stranger gave me this so I could cover myself.”
“I deem it to be perfectly expected that I would stumble on you in such a desperate condition.”
“What shall I do?”
She looked young and bewildered, a damsel in distress. Tears flooded her eyes, and she tried to keep them at bay, but there were too many. They overflowed onto her cheeks, and though she attempted to swipe them away, she couldn’t.
Typically, he couldn’t abide a histrionic woman. When he reached a point with a female where she was reduced to weeping, he vanished. With her though, it never crossed his mind to depart.
“Don’t be sad,” he said. “I’ll help you. It’s why Jackson brought me to you.”
“What will become of me?”
“We don’t have to answer that question this morning. This morning, we can simply be grateful you weren’t hurt.”
He dragged her onto his lap so she was snuggled to his chest. He held her, murmuring soft words in her ear and stroking a soothing palm up and down her back. She cried until there were no tears left to shed, until her limbs were rubbery and his shirt dampened to a complete mess.
Finally, she said, “I have to go somewhere. I can’t sit here, taking up space, but I’m so befuddled by events that I can’t make a single decision.” She straightened and gazed at him. “What would you suggest?”
While she’d wept so sorrowfully, he’d had a lengthy interval to ponder a solution. “I know exactly what should happen. Let’s find Jackson, and we’ll be on our way.”
****
Hannah walked down the stairs at Hunter’s country home of Marston Manor, and she was so nervous she was practically tiptoeing. Since the fire had incinerated her world, so much had transpired that she felt totally dazed.
As she’d dawdled in the tea house, she’d been very afraid, as if she was out of options, which had been silly. The Parkhurst bank accounts should have been available for her to draw on, but it was constantly on the verge of bankruptcy, so she had no cushion to bolster herself in an emergency.
But she had friends in London, people like Sybil Jones. Or there were several cordial ladies at the church she attended. There were old friends of her father’s everywhere too.
She could have sought aid from any of them, but it would most likely have manifested itself as coach fare to Parkhurst. It was where everyone thought she belonged, but with her life in shambles, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She’d moped and lamented over her plight, and Jackson had realized she needed someone wealthy and powerful to guide her, so he’d located Hunter.
It was embarrassing to admit, but apparently, she was weak and dithering and couldn’t remain calm in a crisis. Hunter and Jackson had joined forces to save her, and for the moment, she was delighted to have them be in charge.
She’d been so proud of what she’d accomplished, but pride was a terrible sin. Was she being punished for her vanity? She had to pick a path that would lead her forward, and there had to be at least one route that wouldn’t deliver her to Parkhurst.
What now? she asked herself, then she shook off the question.
She didn’t have to worry. Yet. She was with Hunter and Jackson, and she would rest and regroup until her mental faculties had improved.
At a speed that had amazed her, Hunter had whisked them to Marston. It was only two hours from London, and they’d arrived before she’d had much opportunity to reflect on whether she should have accompanied him or not.
No doubt he had nefarious designs on her, and a more sensible female might have been wary, but just then—when she didn’t even own a gown anymore—she didn’t care about much of anything. She was too numb.
With his recently inheriting his title, he hadn’t exhibited much interest in the rural property, being content instead to wallow in town like the rake he was. He had a land agent, butler, and housekeeper to watch over the place, and they’d run it for his cousin before the man had passed away.
Luckily, they were incredibly efficient, and they took their obligations seriously, so the estate was in a pristine condition. None of them had expected him to pop in unannounced though, so he’d created a huge stir when his coach had rattled to a stop in the driveway. The staff had sprung into action, adeptly catering to his whims and wishes.
He had a natural flare for giving orders, and the servants seemed in awe of him. He’d explained Hannah and Jackson’s situation, that they’d be staying for awhile and wou
ld require significant help to get back on their feet, and she’d been stunned by the kind response.
The entire evening, she’d been pampered by a bevy of sweet-tempered housemaids who’d doted on her. They’d found her and Jackson a few items of clothing in trunks in the attic, and those items would suit them until she could figure out how to purchase a new wardrobe.
She’d been bathed and fed and had been deposited in a grand bed with a stuffed feather mattress that had been fit for a princess. She’d been so exhausted that she hadn’t come down to supper, so she hadn’t seen Hunter or Jackson again.
After a marvelous night of sleep—sixteen delicious hours—she would busy herself with showing both of them how grateful she was for their precious concern.
A footman directed her to a breakfast parlor where another bevy of servants was waiting to coddle her. She’d grown up around servants, but she hadn’t had any in London. Whenever she visited Parkhurst, there was such a turnover of employees that the skilled ones had all fled, so the competence at Marston was greatly appreciated.
She couldn’t predict how long Hunter would permit her to tarry or what she’d do when she left, so she would simply relax and enjoy herself, as if she was on a holiday in the country with her wealthy, handsome friend.
Later on, there would be plenty of time for frightening rumination.
She entered the dining room and sighed with delight. As with every other room in the house, it was beautifully appointed, with tall windows, plush rugs, colorful paintings, and comfortable furniture. It was testament to the affluence of the Stone family.
Hunter was seated at the table, and he grinned a grin she felt clear down to her toes.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said. “I was going to give you ten more minutes to stagger down, and if you didn’t arrive, I was starting without you.”
“I’m famished.”
“That’s splendid to hear. It means you’re already getting better.” There were four footmen hovering, and he gestured to them. “We’ve been impatiently watching for you. May I shoo them out and we can serve ourselves? Or would you like to be pampered a bit more?”