“Look out, Wakefield. Move out of the way,” he said, not caring if he sounded short.
Wakefield gave him a surprised look but obligingly stood and stepped aside, allowing him to move his chair beside her.
“I’m fine, David.”
Charlotte extended her hand, and he gently lowered it to rest, palm up, on the sofa before surveying her from head to toe. Her sleeve had torn at the shoulder seam and the white fabric of her chemise poked through. She looked decidedly pale and fragile reclining there, her fashionable hat knocked askew and one long black curl falling down.
He pulled the chapeau’s ribbons, lifted it away and thrust it at Wakefield. Giving in to his strong desire to touch her, he held Charlotte’s upper arm and rubbed his thumb up and down it. The contact eased his belly, which felt as if he’d swallowed a bag of lead miniés.
“What happened, Charlotte?”
“Someone knocked me down and stole my reticule.”
David glanced at Wakefield and saw his friend’s gaze locked on his stroking thumb. Well, Wakefield could stare all he liked. And he didn’t give a damn what Wakefield thought of them using each other’s Christian names, either. He had no intention of worrying about appearances right now.
He removed her other glove and saw the heel of that hand was likewise swollen and bruised. Charlotte moved to sit up.
“I’m fine, really.”
“She landed hard,” Wakefield said.
David gently pushed her rising shoulders back down. “Just rest a moment.”
They heard the outer door open and close, and a moment later Persa, panting and tongue lolling from her mouth, ran into the room. The dog hurried to the settee and stood on her hind legs, her front paws resting on the seat cushion. David put his hand atop her head to keep her from jumping on Charlotte.
“Persa. Good girl,” Charlotte exclaimed.
Chetney entered, breathing as if he’d done his own share of running.
“You found her, Mr. Chetney! Thank you.”
“Did you catch the footpad?” Wakefield asked.
Chetney shook his head. “I was some distance behind. I followed the sound of Persa’s barking and caught glimpses of him. She was right on his heels, but he ducked into a pub then apparently went out the back. I heard him yell as he went in, though. I think Persa gave the bloke a souvenir.”
David gave the dog’s head a rub, and she sat on her haunches. Charlotte began to sit up again. This time he assisted her, providing support to her back.
“I don’t mind the loss of my reticule. There wasn’t much in it. But oh, why did he push me so hard?” Charlotte grimaced and slowly lowered her legs. Once she had her feet on the floor, she stiffened her back and took a deep breath. “Well, nothing seems to be broken.”
A good deal of David’s tension eased away. “I want you to go home and rest. And don’t come in tomorrow if you’re hurting.” She opened her mouth, so he added, “And no arguments.” Her mouth closed and she blinked at him.
Blast it, he’d sent his coach away. Simpson and Boone would return late this afternoon to transport him home, but he couldn’t very well deliver Charlotte to her residence without it.
“Let me see you home, Lady Haliday,” Wakefield offered.
David tried to dismiss the irritation he felt. There was no sense in letting his friend’s escort perturb him. He certainly didn’t want Charlotte going home alone.
“What are you doing here, anyway, Wakefield?” he asked.
“Saving ladies in distress,” Miles quipped.
David glared, and his friend’s eyebrows rose.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m officially no longer in the service of Her Majesty.” Wakefield started toward the outer office. “Let me whistle for a hack. I’ll send my horse home with a boy.”
As soon as Wakefield went through the door, Chetney following, David cupped Charlotte’s cheek. “Are you really all right? Shall I send for a physician?”
She wrapped her fingers loosely around his wrist. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaken up.”
“Send me a note this afternoon. I’ll want to know how you’re faring. I hate it that I can’t be the one to take you home.”
“I know.”
Her smile dispelled a good deal of his vexation.
Wakefield reentered and positioned himself opposite from David. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Charlotte stood, Miles providing a steadying hand. She took one step then halted, favoring her right leg. “I believe my hip is quite bruised.”
She bit down on her lower lip and stood on one leg, clutching Wakefield. Helplessness assailed David. He grabbed his wheels and began to turn his chair. He’d offer his shoulder for support, perhaps even convince her to sit in his lap and let him wheel her to the street. But before he could position his chair, Wakefield spoke.
“If you’ll allow me?”
Then Wakefield bent and swept Charlotte into his arms again.
“Oh, please. You needn’t carry me a second time. I can walk if we take it slowly.”
Wakefield grinned. “You’re not the least bit of trouble, I assure you.”
David knew that smile. It was the one his friend often used to such good effect on desirable women. And the last thing David saw of the pair was Chetney ushering them out the door, Charlotte comfortably ensconced in Wakefield’s arms, her hands locked behind his neck.
David rolled back into his office and shut the door. A flash of purple caught his eye, a button from Charlotte’s bodice lying upon the floor. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. It was round, silky smooth, and covered with the same fabric as her dress, which had nearly matched her eyes.
He slipped it into his waistcoat pocket and expertly maneuvered his chair behind his desk. Then he picked up his small brass desk clock and hurled it into the wall.
#
Charlotte tensed as the carriage bounced over a dimple in the road. Initially she’d been a bit dazed, but now that the shock of her assault had dissipated, with every movement she was becoming more aware of pain down the right side of her body.
Keeping her voice steady took effort. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me. I don’t know why it’s such a shock. Pickpockets and footpads are a menace all over the city.”
Wakefield’s golden eyebrows bunched. “But it’s usually a child who’s gone before you even know he’s there. This was a man, and the swine had no cause to shove you like that.”
Charlotte looked at Persa, who lay beside her on the seat, and she rested her hand on the dog’s furry back. The little beast had been fearless.
She shuddered. “He was so bold.” Her voice rang hollow, and she swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “Just my bad luck to cross his path, I expect.”
Wakefield considered her. Something in his face made her tense. “And good luck to have it happen where Scott could take care of you.”
She studied his expression. Cautionary, she’d call it.
“I gained the impression you and Scott have become good friends.”
Charlotte’s face warmed. Did Wakefield really think she and Scott were mere friends, or could he tell they were far more than that to each other? What had he seen pass between them?
“I do consider him a good friend,” she allowed. “A confidant, even.”
Wakefield’s gaze swung to the window. He stared out for a minute then turned back to face her. His tea-brown eyes narrowed. “I hope I’ll not offend your sensibilities with my brashness, my lady, but I’m compelled to ask you to be heedful of my friend’s feelings.”
“What?” Charlotte felt nearly as stunned as when the thief pushed her down. Was Wakefield warning her away from Scott? She didn’t know the man that well, but she’d thought of him as a friend.
Wakefield’s lips tightened. “Scott’s overcome a lot, and he struggled to do so. Most men in his circumstances couldn’t have done it. A failed…friendship might well jeopardize all his hard-won gains.”
She wanted to slap him. Everything came down to trust, didn’t it? And Wakefield didn’t find her trustworthy. She’d thought him a lighthearted gallant, but by posing this now, while she remained overwrought and shaking, he’d proven himself as shrewd and determined as Scott. He’d placed her at a distinct disadvantage.
She wondered if Wakefield had considered that Scott’s ‘friendship’ was a risk for her as well.
“I’ve no intention of hurting Mr. Scott. I have great concern for his well-being.”
“Scott’s fiancée broke their engagement when it became clear he’d never walk again. He hadn’t yet accepted his circumstances, and then the woman he loved explained she no longer wished to wed him. I feared for his sanity. And now, this friendship with you… He’s already borne enough hurt for any ten men.”
Scott’s fiancée. She barely heard Wakefield’s other words. They swam in and out of her head, a tumult she could not grasp. David had been engaged.
He hadn’t told her. She’d shared everything about her marriage with him. She’d told him how badly Haliday hurt her. She’d even told him about her miscarriage. And he’d never mentioned he’d had his own love thrown back in his face?
Hurt and confused, she suddenly didn’t want to be there, enclosed in the carriage with Lord Wakefield. Oh, would this ride ever end?
She considered him. He looked both uncomfortable and determined. His color appeared flushed, as if he might be embarrassed. So, perhaps she’d been hasty in her judgment of him. Perhaps his motivation stemmed more from his concern for Scott than his mistrust of her. And suddenly she remembered what Scott had said that night in the inn, when she’d gone to his room. This might well be a mistake. We could give ourselves all kinds of hurt.
Ourselves? David knew exactly how a world of hurt felt, and he’d apparently borne it.
Charlotte blanched. Once he’d been in love and planned to marry. Had she done Scott a disservice? Had she selfishly pursued her own desire without considering his feelings? She didn’t want to think so. She hadn’t worried overly about an attachment stopping him from getting what he wanted because he’d said he never intended to wed. But how could she have been so focused on herself that she never considered that her affair with Scott could become a hopeless snare for him? What if he fell in love with her?
David should marry. He shouldn’t let his legs prevent him from leading a life inhabited with a wife and children, even if I’m not the one to give him either of those things.
Scott had deep feelings for her. His loving left her in no doubt of that. They needed to talk.
A sudden picture of smiling, red-haired, blue-eyed children sent a pain tearing, twisting, stabbing through Charlotte. She had to use all her will not to reveal her distress to Wakefield, who continued to watch her, but the carriage was slowing, thank God.
“Thank you for telling me,” Charlotte said.
“The thing is, I think if he isn’t already in love with you, then he soon will be.”
Charlotte froze. She wanted to deny Wakefield’s assertion, but her deeply honest conscience wouldn’t allow it. Part of her feared he was right. Another part, one she didn’t want to acknowledge, spilled over with happiness at the thought.
She considered Wakefield. He looked deadly serious. And grumpy.
“I’m glad he has you for a friend,” she said.
The man’s eyebrows rose, but the coach stopped. Finally, they’d arrived at her townhouse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Vivian hummed a popular ditty. Anticipation stirred her blood and sent it skipping in concert with the tune. She hadn’t realized her masquerade would be so entertaining. She’d dressed in one of her housemaid’s gowns, stuffed her hair inside a cap, and now trailed behind Charlotte Haliday’s dog and the young servant girl walking the mongrel.
The girl crossed over to the central grassy area that sat surrounded with road and townhouses and slowed to a stroll. Vivian increased her own pace until she came abreast of the Haliday servant. The girl appeared tall for her age, which Vivian guessed to be around twelve. Her dark hair was secured in a long single braid, and round spectacles were perched on a nose too refined for the girl’s position in life.
“Well, she’s a noice one, ain’t she?” Vivian asked, doing her best to mimic coarse speech. She sounded so authentic that she nearly ruined it all by laughing but managed at the last moment to contain her mirth. She figured the girl would take her grin as simple friendliness.
“What’s ’er name?” she asked, pointing to the dog.
The smile the girl flashed was particularly sweet. “Piccola Persa.”
“Blimey, what kind o’ name is that?”
The girl giggled. “It’s Italian.”
“Is that a fact? Yer mistress must be quite a laidy.”
The girl nodded. “She’s a real lady—a viscountess.”
“Sit ’ere a minute, dearie.” Vivian waved her toward a nearby bench. The girl sat, and Vivian settled beside her. “Gor, it must be good to serve in a fine lady’s ’ouse. I bet there’s naught you need, eh, dearie?”
“She’s educating me.”
Vivian drew back and widened her eyes. She put as much envy as possible into her voice. “You’ve all yer ’eart desires, ’aven’t ya?”
“Well, I wish I could be with my brothers and sisters, but I do get to see them, and they’re all in fine places.” The girl’s chin firmed. “Someday I’ll be able to provide for them and we’ll be together again.”
“Why, I bet you could do it now, dearie. Ya seem genteel enough. Can ya read ’n’ write, then?”
The girl nodded and searched Vivian’s face.
“There’s a rich old woman right around t’corner ’at’s lookin’ fer a companion.” Vivian pointed down the street. “I bet you’d do jest fine, love.”
The girl frowned. “I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was looking for another position. They’d think me ungrateful.”
“Well, now. ’Magine bein’ with yer proper family might make it so that’s not so important. Why don’t ya just hop along right now, then? If’n it don’t work out, they’ll never know a thing. Jest leave yer dog wi’ me. Y’ll be back in a trice.”
“Oh.” The girl was obviously undecided, looking from Vivian to the dog.
“What’s yer name, love?”
“Eleanor.”
“Well, El’nor, she’s got near as much money as the Queen, that woman.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Where is she, exactly?”
Ah. Vivian curled her toes and withheld her smile. “It’s the ’ouse with the lion ’eads on the gateposts. Round the corner an’ ’alfway down the block. Mrs. Stover is the lady’s name.”
Eleanor made a little kissing noise and patted her leg. The dog came near, and the girl bent and stroked the canine’s head. “I suppose there’d be no harm—”
“Don’tcha worry yer ’ead, now. Ye can depend on Mabel Grey,” Vivian said, reaching for the leash. Eyes full of trust stared back at her for another undecided moment, and then the girl capitulated.
“You’re sure it’s all right? You’ll stay right here?”
“Mable Grey is as dependable as the cock’s crow at daybreak. We’ll be here.”
Vivian took the leash, and after an encouraging nod the girl turned away. She soon disappeared around the corner.
Reaching into her pocket, Vivian stared at the dog. Its head was already raised.
“Aren’t you the smart one?” she asked, abandoning her accent.
The dog moved closer and sat, tail thumping the grass.
Vivian unrolled a cloth, revealing three small balls of cheese. She quickly offered one, and the dog took it and swallowed in one quick motion. Those dark, gleaming eyes watched alertly for anything more.
Those bright eyes, that pink tongue, the long brown hair that blew aside with each movement of the animal’s head… For a moment Vivian stared, rapt. Then the dog barked and stood on its hind legs, front paws restin
g on Vivian’s knee. The canine’s gaze locked onto the cloth in Vivian’s hand, the dog barked again, and its gaze darted from the hoped-for treat to Vivian’s face, then back to the food in her hand.
Heaviness blanketed Vivian’s chest and constricted her breath. A stone dropped into her belly, and sickness rippled out in waves. Vivian swallowed, fighting back the bilious feeling. Why ever had she thought this would be easy?
The mutt shifted, front paws scrabbling against Vivian’s knee. She pushed the dog away, forcing the terrier to drop from her hind feet to stand on all four, then looked at the two remaining offerings of balled cheese. Vivian reached deep, fishing for the determination that had sustained her when she’d finally abandoned her faint-hearted, impossible yearnings, faced reality and let her dreams die. This was necessary. It wouldn’t harm Charlotte, technically, but it would greatly distress her, and hopefully Matthew Shelby would find his daughter’s dismay equally upsetting. A man who liked to control everything and everyone he touched wouldn’t like feeling so helpless.
Vivian held out the second cheese ball. The dog gobbled it down. Tongue dangling, the beast almost looked as if it was smiling.
As she picked up the last wad of cheese, another wave of sickness assailed Vivian and she struggled to fill her lungs with air, trying to quell the compulsion to retch. The leash fell to the ground. She left it and lifted a trembling hand to her hot face. Moisture covered her forehead, so she wiped it with the cloth that had held the cheese.
She didn’t have to give the dog the third morsel, she decided. Two should be enough arsenic to make the beast sick. A third would make her severely ill or even kill her, and it wasn’t Vivian’s intention to kill the animal. But sometimes things went wrong. It hadn’t been her intention for the man she hired to murder Haliday, either. She’d been sick for weeks after that catastrophe, even sicker than she was now. Which is why this time she’d made sure: when she’d hired a man to attack Charlotte, she’d made sure he understood he was to do no more than bruise her.
A Hero to Hold Page 19