by Lauren Smith
“St. Laurent? Jonathan is here?”
“He is. And I have no doubt Langley and his men will happily kill him if he gets in their way. And he will. I have to get you outside now—”
The sudden explosion of a pistol being fired turned the world into chaos. The dining room doors burst open, and several ladies rushed past them, knocking Gillian against the wall. James cursed as he saw Gillian’s head strike the wall, and she crumpled to the ground. He rushed toward her, but a deep bellowing shout stopped him in his tracks.
“Halt or I will put a bullet in your back!” Langley’s threat was followed by a pistol barrel digging between his shoulder blades.
James breathed out slowly, staring at Gillian, who was getting to her knees, clutching a hand to her head. That was two blows today—blows that would have felled a bigger man than his tiny sweet Gillian. Behind him, he heard the scuffle and crashes of men fighting in the dining room. St. Laurent must be using his fists now. James almost smiled. Anyone facing that man’s bared hands wouldn’t be standing for long. He’d trained with the best.
“Wait…I know you. So how does the Earl of Pembroke find his way into my little club without an invitation?” Langley demanded.
“A terrible lack of security, for one.”
Langley jammed the barrel into the back of his neck this time. “Shut up!”
James had only seconds to act, only one chance to move the right way. He jerked to the right, and the barrel slid off his neck as he crouched and spun, grappling with Langley. The pistol fired, but the bullet lodged in the ceiling, sending a shower of plaster down around him and Langley.
James roared and tackled Langley to the ground and wrestled the gun from his hands. Langley’s mask fell off during the struggle, his wild eyes glittering dangerously.
“I’ll not stand for this! You cannot break into my club—”
James punched him in the face, and he fell back on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“I did, and I would do it again, you bastard,” James muttered.
James looked up, peering through the half-open dining room doors. All he saw was Audrey clutching a screeching black cat and Jonathan throwing punches in every direction. Audrey sought him, her face frantic.
“Lord Pembroke! Heavens! I’m so glad to see you! Where’s Gillian?”
He waved hastily behind him, before he turned back to Gillian. She was sitting back against the wall, her head in her hands, blood dripping down her cheek, and he realized to his horror that part of the ceiling had fallen on her.
“Miss Beaumont…” He knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hands and turning her wounded side into the light of the candles in the wall sconces above.
“My lord…I do not feel well,” she said drowsily.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He grimaced as he examined her. She needed to be seen by a doctor immediately.
“Wait here. Miss Sheridan and St. Laurent require assistance.” He hated to leave her, but Jonathan couldn’t hope to fend off all those cads by himself. Once he was certain the other man was all right, he’d go straight back to Gillian.
“Go. I’ll be fine,” she promised him. James leaned in and brushed a swift kiss over her lips before he ran into the fray in the dining room.
3
Everything seemed to be a bit hazy. Gillian watched James explode into the dining room. He moved with a surprising swiftness and ease, as if he was quite accustomed to battling the minions of a hellfire club. Earlier that day he had shown her his sweet, irresistible, and all too seductive side, but now she saw a warrior before her.
She tried to walk toward him but tripped. Her feet felt clumsy, and she looked down. She blinked past the pain in her head, and with an odd distant feeling she noticed that the beautiful purple gown she wore was torn, and—was that blood smeared on her bodice? Heavens…whose blood is that? The sound of fighting drew her attention back to the dining room, and she looked up.
Her mouth fell open as she saw James grab a man and throw him over the table as he fought his way to Jonathan. Audrey stood in the corner of the dining room, a black cat in her arms and a fireplace poker in one hand. She faced a drunken lout who was stumbling toward her. Audrey wielded the poker like a fencing master would face an opponent. She swung hard and knocked the man down with a swift blow. Then she faced the hallway, still holding the feline under one arm. What the devil is Audrey doing with a cat and—
“Gillian?” Audrey shouted when she saw Gillian sitting in the hall. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes.” Gillian stumbled toward her, and that’s when she felt the stickiness dripping down her cheek. She reached up and touched her face. Her hand came back covered in blood. The sight of the scarlet liquid on her palm made her flinch. She was the one bleeding?
She glanced back at her mistress in time to see Jonathan help Audrey and the cat through an open windowsill. They vanished into the night. Suddenly James appeared, catching her by the hand.
“Time to go. Can you run?”
“I think so,” she said, glad he was pulling her along because it seemed she might not have the strength after all.
“Why did they go out the window?” she asked as she and James rushed down the corridor. The path that led back to the dining room was blocked as men were coming fast behind her and James, but as of yet they hadn’t been spotted.
“They had a chance to get out that way. It’s better if we split up so that we can hide easier in the shadows and attract less attention. I know of another way out. Many of these old houses are based on the same floor plans—” James paused at the end of the hall and shoved the door open hard enough that it crashed against the wall. They stumbled into the kitchens, where a surly looking woman with a greasy apron stared at them.
“Oi! What are you doing here?” the cook demanded.
James didn’t bother to answer; he simply headed straight for the door at the end of the kitchens. Gillian followed, dodging pots and coughing as steam filled her lungs. They burst outside into a darkened alleyway, and James hastily led her to the street, where he hailed a hackney that was passing by. He shouted an address to the driver.
“And another ten shillings if you get us the hell off this bloody street,” he added.
“That I can do!” the old driver said.
James lifted Gillian into the coach and set her down gently in the seat facing away from the driver. The coach jerked into motion, and she fell against James. He caught her, keeping her from toppling to the floor.
“I’ve got you,” he said. The words seem to resonate deeply with her, even more than the simple act of catching her. The evening had been a complete blur, and yet having him hold her seemed to ground her. Only now was she able to finally catch her breath.
“My lord, what were you doing there?” Gillian reached up to touch her aching head.
“I was rescuing you—not that I did a very good job of it. Careful,” he said as he grasped her hand and gently pulled it away from her temple. “You’re bleeding.”
“I really didn’t need to be rescued,” she reminded him, though she was fully aware of just how ludicrous that sounded given the situation she’d found herself in.
Chasing after her mistress into a hellfire club—into a trap, no less—was not one of her brighter moments, and she despised her own foolishness. If there was one thing she could have claimed proudly, it was that she knew how to be responsible and sensible. Nothing about tonight had been sensible. Instead, she had been reckless and almost lost her life. When she glanced James’s way, she saw him biting his lip rather than arguing with her.
“You are right,” she grumbled. “I was in trouble. Thank you for coming to my aid.”
He smiled warmly, and it brought back a fresh wave of memories from earlier that day, how he’d teased her in the library and kissed her senseless. She had let him believe she wasn’t a lady’s maid, but an actual lady. She couldn’t hide the truth from him anymore. He’d saved her life, and
she owed him her honesty.
“My lord…” she began, but the coach stopped, and the driver announced the address. This was not the Sheridan townhouse. “Where are we?”
James looked at his boots then, suddenly bashful. “I brought you to my home. It’s late, so no one will see you. I have a doctor who lives with me because of my mother, and I want him to look at you at once. The moment he has assured me that you are well, I will escort you wherever you wish.”
His mother? She struggled to remember what James’s sister, Letty, had said to her. James’s mother had fallen ill after their father had died and over the last two years had become withdrawn and forgetful. Knowing that he looked after his mother filled Gillian with a sense of sympathetic compassion.
“Is that acceptable? Taking you home?” His voice was soft, silken, though a little dangerous in the way it made her heart flutter. He was exactly the sort of man she had dreamed of falling in love with. But she never could. He was a titled peer, a member of the haute ton. She was an earl’s bastard daughter.
If I dared to dream, you would be mine.
She couldn’t look away from him as she nodded. She shouldn’t agree to go into his house, but she longed for one moment to pretend that this life might have been hers. Part of her heart still clung to foolish girlhood dreams, wanted to believe for one night that she was a highborn lady who could be seen with him, who could marry him, who could have a life with him.
He climbed out of the coach and held out his hand to her. She started to exit the vehicle, and he gripped her by the waist carefully, slowly letting her slide down his body to the ground. Despite her aching head, she longed for him to kiss her in that moment. He cupped her chin, his eyes lowering to her lips before he gave himself a shake.
“My apologies. We need to get you inside and seen to by Dr. Wilkes.”
She fought off a wave of disappointment. Would it be silly and reckless to tell him that his kisses would have erased her pains?
Yes, very foolish. You’re acting like Audrey.
James knocked at the door, one arm curled around Gillian’s waist, as though he feared she would collapse at any moment. She greedily clung to him, hating how much she liked feeling his strong body pressed so close to hers. When the door opened, a young but tired looking footman answered.
“My lord!” His eyes widened, and he snapped to attention when he recognized James standing before him.
“Brandon, Dr. Wilkes’s services are required at once. We’ll be in my bedchamber. Bring us some food and wine.”
“Of course.” The lad rushed off, and James helped Gillian inside.
He curled an arm around her waist, which she didn’t shy away from. It felt good to be held like this, to feel his strong arm supporting her body when she still felt a bit dazed. He assisted her upstairs to his bedchamber and helped her into a chair, then retrieved a blanket from a nearby settee and tucked it around her lap. He gently curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his so he could study her.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked. The pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Despite his kind words and tenderness, she had never been more aware of him in a purely masculine way than in that moment. He’d rescued her, taken her out of harm’s way, and was now caring for her. She was torn between adoring him for his rescue and hating herself for needing that rescue.
“I’m fine, my lord, I assure you—”
They jumped as the door opened and the footman returned with a tray of food and a bottle of wine. The young man bashfully exited the room after he set the tray and bottle of wine down.
“Heavens,” she said with a blush. “What he must think of me, with you here, alone…” She knew just what the servants would think, since she was one. More than once she’d seen Audrey’s brother, Cedric, take women to his room alone in the years before he’d married Anne.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to think of an excuse for bringing you here. You mustn’t find yourself in a cloud of scandal—not that my servants would ever talk,” he rushed to reassure her.
Gillian’s stomach fluttered with nerves. He was worried about her? She was nothing in society, a nearly invisible presence. Aside from other servants, only Audrey had ever seen her as a person and not a lady’s maid. No, if anyone was in danger of their reputation being damaged, it was him. She was the undesirable one here.
“My lord, I really must speak with you,” she said softly, knowing she had to tell him the truth about her station.
“I want Dr. Wilkes to see you first. Then you can tell me whatever it is you wish to tell me.”
She leaned back in the chair by the fireplace and watched him pace the floor. Had her head not been pounding she would have chuckled at seeing him so clearly vexed over her when he really ought not to be worried. She would be fine.
“You must be careful not to wear a path into the rugs,” she said, finally letting a smile slip at his fretfulness. The man was a worrier. Her amusement faded as she realized it must have come from him becoming an earl so young and bearing his mother’s illness and his sister’s welfare as his own responsibility.
“Hmm?” he responded before he realized what she’d said. With a wry chuckle, he stopped. “Yes, wouldn’t want to wear down the carpets.”
His lips parted again as though he was about to speak, but the door opened and a kindly looking middle-aged gentleman entered. He wore breeches and a shirt, but no waistcoat.
“My apologies, my lord, for my state of undress. But Brandon informed me that a lady here is in distress?”
“Yes. Dr. Wilkes, this is Miss Gillian Beaumont. Miss Beaumont, this is Dr. Giles Wilkes.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Gillian said.
“And you as well.” Wilkes smiled as he approached her. “Let’s have a look, shall we? The head, is it?”
James moved beside her, frowning in the most darling way while Dr. Wilkes examined her eyes, head, and neck.
“I need to cleanse the wound and see exactly how deep the damage goes. Miss Beaumont, can I persuade you to sit on the bed?”
“Of course.” Gillian sat on the bed and tried to hold still as Dr. Wilkes retrieved several items from his black medicine bag.
Dr. Wilkes took his time examining her and instructed James to hold a candelabra closer so he had proper lighting.
“Do you mind if I inquire as to how you were injured, Miss Beaumont?”
“Well, I was shoved hard against a wall, and I think part of the ceiling fell down on top of me.”
Wilkes gaped at her and then at James. “Pardon?”
“It’s a long story, but I was helping her escape a hellfire club. Things became complicated.”
“I see.” Dr. Wilkes frowned as he used a mixture of witch hazel to clean her scrapes. Gillian hissed at the sting, but James’s powerful hand gripped one of hers as he stood beside her next to the bed, which comforted her somewhat.
“She should not be left alone tonight. The wound appears to be superficial, but she should be watched closely in case she’s having any pain. I want to be woken at once if that’s the case.”
“Oh, but I cannot stay—” Gillian protested.
“You can and you will.” James squeezed her hand again. “If Dr. Wilkes is concerned about you, you must do what he says.”
“But…I have no clothes, and Miss Sheridan will worry about where I am.”
It was dangerous to stay. She would be too close to the man who tempted her like no other had.
“I will send a messenger to Miss Sheridan at once. I’m sure Letty will have some extra clothes you can borrow.” James caught her chin, turning Gillian’s head to face him. “Please, let me take care of you.” Their eyes locked, and she had that feeling that his words weren’t simply about tonight, but for many nights to come.
He doesn’t even know who I am. If he did, he would be furious at my deception.
“Are you comfortable with that, Miss Beaumont?” Dr. Wilkes asked.
What could she
say? “If it is what you recommend, then yes.”
“I’ll stay to watch over you, if you have no objection.” James still held her hand, and heat crept into her cheeks at the thought of him being so close to her while she slept.
“I don’t,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes. They were warm and soft, a shade of brown that made her think of cinnamon.
“Good.” James let go of her hand, and then he walked with the doctor to the hallway.
Gillian curled her arms around her waist. She knew that what she was doing was wrong. Staying here with him was scandalous. She’d told him not to worry about her reputation, because she was afraid he’d try to do the honorable thing and offer marriage, and then he’d despise her once he learned the truth of her situation. A woman in service lived and died by her reputation, and while Audrey might not care about this level of scandal, it would spread and make the Sheridan house lose respect, which would hurt Audrey. Gillian felt like Audrey was her closest friend, even though they were employer and employee.
The door opened a little while later to reveal James and a young maid. The woman held a nightgown and other necessities in her arms.
“Miss Beaumont, this is Sybil. She’ll see to your needs. I’ll give you half an hour to see that you’re settled.” He paused by the door. The uncertain, almost worried look on his face was strangely charming, as if he feared to leave her alone in case she might need him.
“Thank you, my lord. I will be fine until you return,” she promised.
Sybil helped her change out of the dark purple dress and into the nightgown. The expensive fabric made her feel embarrassed. Did it belong to James’s sister, Letty? The fine lace at her throat and breasts was too lovely, too expensive compared to the simple homespun cotton gown she always wore. It had to belong to his sister.
“Do you need anything else, miss?” Sybil asked. She finished taking down Gillian’s hair from the hasty coiffure she’d styled earlier that evening. She’d had to rush from the house after Audrey and only had time for a simple chignon. Many of the pins had become tangled during her earlier struggles, but the maid had a talent for setting them free.