“Who else would I be talking to?” the man asked.
Turning his head, James studied the man’s companion. He was a stocky man, built like a prizefighter. Great! “To your friend here, I suppose,” James said. If he could only make them doubt his identity, he might be able to avoid an altercation with them.
“He was talking to you,” the prizefighter told James, his lip curling with vehemence.
James attempted a blank stare. “I can’t imagine why. Do I know you by any chance?”
“No,” the tall one said, “but the man who’s paying us does. Now hand over the damn book or Larry here will have to smash your face in, is that clear?”
An unappealing thought, James decided, but hardly enough to deter him from saying, “I don’t have it with me.”
“We’ll see about that,” Larry said. “Grab him, Sam.”
Leaping back, James reached for the pistol in his jacket pocket, but before he could manage to pull it free both men charged toward him, knocking him flat on his back. His head hit the ground with a thud and then the wind was forced out of him as both assailants landed on top. Bright light exploded behind James’s eyes, followed by a sharp excruciating pain that pierced his skull. He gasped for breath and attempted to move—a futile endeavor until Larry and Sam eased off of him. They immediately went for his pockets, but this time James was faster. Still clutching his pistol and fighting the pain, James pulled the weapon free and pointed it at the man closest to him. “Back away,” he wheezed.
“You can’t shoot us both,” Larry said.
“No, but do you really want your friend here to die?” James asked, not taking his eyes off Sam.
Sam stared down at the pistol, his expression lacking the arrogance it had earlier. Fear shone bright in the man’s eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed. He raised his hands and leaned away. “Let’s leave him be, Larry.”
Larry snorted. “And give up on the reward?” He tugged on James’s jacket, ignoring the threat to his friend.
“If you’re apprehended, you’ll hang,” James said as Larry patted him around his chest.
“Brawls aren’t punishable by death,” Sam said. Deciding that James had been bluffing, he began helping Larry again.
“No,” James said, trying to push them aside so he could sit up. Sam caught him by his arms and slammed him back down on the ground. The pistol fired and Sam cried out. Releasing James, he clutched his thigh where the lead ball had struck him. “But treason is,” James added.
“You bloody bastard,” Sam groaned.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Larry asked, impervious to Sam’s suffering as he glared down at James.
“The book you’re trying to steal belongs to the king,” James grit out. “It’s important. That’s all I’m saying.”
Footsteps tapped in quick succession against the cobblestones. “Hey! You! Leave that gentleman alone!”
Turning his head, James saw that a group of men were approaching at a run, alerted no doubt by the sound of the shot being fired. Sam groaned. “Help me, Larry.”
“Sorry,” Larry said, scrummaging to get off the ground, “but you’re on your own.” He started toward the other end of the street, but the group of approaching men split, some coming to a halt beside James and Sam while two continued after Larry. Within a few minutes, both culprits had been apprehended.
“Are you all right?” a man dressed in black asked.
“I’ve been better,” James muttered as he leaned on each of his legs in turn to see if they’d taken any damage. His back and head hurt like the devil. “Are you a runner?”
The man dressed in black nodded. “Principal Officer Townsend, at your service.”
James nodded. “Earl of Woodford.”
Townsend inclined his head toward Sam and Larry. “Will you be pressing charges against these men, my lord?”
“Absolutely,” James said. He needed to stop Larry and Sam from interfering in his case.
“I should be the one pressing charges,” Sam said. “That bloody cove shot me!”
“Mind your language,” Townsend said. He looked Sam up and down. “His lordship has every right to defend himself as he did.”
“If you can see to it that they’re both locked away until further notice, I’d appreciate it,” James told Townsend.
“As you wish, my lord,” Townsend said. He studied James a moment, then asked, “Would you like for me to arrange a carriage for you?”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” He was no longer in any condition to call on the king. At the very least he would have to return to the apartment for a change of clothes.
“Very well then,” Townsend said. “Let’s take these culprits away.”
“I’d like to ask them a question before you do,” James said. “This wasn’t a random attack and I want to know who’s behind it.”
“Answer him,” Townsend said when Larry and Sam remained silent. “Refusing to do so won’t help you. Quite the contrary.”
“He didn’t give us a name,” Larry said, “but his hair was dark, much like yours.” He nodded toward James. “Not as tall though.”
“Was he well-dressed? Wealthy?”
Larry hesitated a moment before nodding. “His clothes were quality, and he offered each of us five hundred pounds for our efforts.”
Townsend whistled, obviously impressed.
“Anything else?” James asked.
Larry shook his head.
Turning his back on him, James addressed Townsend. “Thank you for your help.” He handed him a calling card. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do,” Townsend said, putting the card in his pocket. He dipped his head toward James. “Good day, my lord.”
James waited until they were out of sight before heading back to the apartment. His back was still sore and would probably remain so for a few days. Placing his fingers to the back of his head as he climbed the stairs to the third floor of the building where he was renting, he felt a lump forming. No surprise there. In truth, he was lucky he hadn’t been knocked unconscious. Jesus! Within a week he’d been whacked in the forehead by a door, punched in the face and had his head slammed against the ground. Pausing for a moment, he took a breath while considering his assignment. The description Larry had given him fit any number of gentlemen, but it also fit Scarsdale to perfection.
“My God, what happened to you?” Lady Newbury asked when she greeted him at the door. Her eyes had gone wide and there were two stark creases upon her brow.
“A minor altercation with a couple of villains,” he said as he shrugged out of his jacket and flung the garment aside without any care for propriety. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from wincing in response to the pain.
“It doesn’t seem like it was a minor altercation. You’re clearly hurt.”
“It’s not that bad,” he lied. “I just need a brandy. If you don’t mind.”
She hesitated briefly before heading toward the side table while James crossed to the nearest armchair and lowered himself into it. Everything ached.
When Lady Newbury handed him his glass, her eyes were filled with concern. “There’s blood on your ear,” she said. “On the back of your neck too.”
James blinked. “I didn’t realize,” he told her truthfully before taking a sip of his drink.
“I’d like to take a look at the wounds.” Her expression grew serious. “I also want you to tell me where else it hurts.”
“I’ve already told you, it’s nothing.”
Crossing her arms, she gave him an angry look. “What’s wrong with you? You’re obviously in pain!”
“It’s manageable,” he said, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as needle-sharp misery stabbed at his head.
“It doesn’t look that way,” she
argued. “Let me help.”
Before he could protest any further, she’d stepped up behind him and begun parting his hair. A small sigh followed. “You’ve a cut here,” she said. Her fingertips traced his earlobe, sending a warm wave of pleasure down over his shoulders and torso. “And here. They’re not deep, but I’ll still need to clean them.”
She pulled gently on his cravat and James jolted forward without thinking, confounded by the unexpected invasiveness. His back protested and agony swiftly followed. “What are you doing?” he asked with a groan.
“There’s some serious bruising.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. Ah, that felt good! “I landed on my back with two men on top of me.”
“I see.” Her voice was strained. If only he could turn his head and see her expression, but he knew that doing so would hurt even more, so he refrained. “I think you should take off your shirt so we can see how bad it is.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may need a compress.”
He hesitated a moment, then managed a nod. A compress would actually be quite lovely. “Very well then,” he said. Setting aside his glass, he began untying his cravat.
Rounding his chair, Lady Newbury started toward a door leading into a narrow hallway that led toward two bedrooms and a small kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
Continuing on her way, she gave him her answer. “To fetch some water and a towel.”
James stared after her. It had been a long day and they’d both been through a lot, but while he was accustomed to this sort of thing, she was not. He was impressed with how well she seemed to be handling it. Pulling away his cravat, he laid it across the armrest and untied his shirt closure. She’d asked him to forget about the kisses they’d shared at Thorncliff, even though she had to know that for a man like him, with the sort of memory he possessed, doing so would be quite impossible. Especially now. The brief touch of her bare fingers against his bare skin as she’d studied his wounds, had brought the recollection of those intimate moments between them straight to the forefront of his mind.
He wanted that again—that unrestrained passion that they’d shared. But would she allow it?
Footsteps sounded, announcing her return. Realizing that he was still wearing his shirt, he struggled to get out of it, but the ache in his shoulder made it difficult for him to move his arm properly.
“Do you need help?” Lady Newbury asked, placing a bowl of water and a clean white towel on the side table.
“I’d appreciate that,” James said. He studied the apprehensive look upon her face. She was either unsure of what to do or she was afraid. He’d suspected fear to be the cause of this new barrier she’d built between them when they’d been in the carriage. Since then, he’d had no opportunity to study it more closely, until now. Raising his arms as much as possible, he said, “All you have to do is pull it over my head.”
She nodded, stepped forward and gathered the fine fabric in her hands while trying to stand as far away from him as possible. Tugging at it, she pulled it free from his breeches, but was unable to complete the task without moving closer. The moment she did, James leaned in to meet her, his shoulder pressing against her hip as she dragged the shirt over his head.
Looking up, he hoped to assess her reaction to their brief contact, but found that she’d turned away, busying herself with the towel and the water. “How bad is it?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes flickering over him, just as they’d done at Mrs. Dunkin’s. A pink flush colored her cheeks and she immediately looked away. “I think you’ll live,” she said.
Surrendering his serious demeanor as if he were tossing aside a heavy cloak, James allowed a faint smile. “What a relief,” he murmured, turning away and offering her his back. Whatever her reason for wanting to stop the progression of their relationship, she could not hide her desire from him—not when she’d just stared at him as though he were a tasty treat waiting to be devoured.
He almost groaned at the imagery that thought produced and leaned forward slightly, determined to hide the stirring in his groin. Behind him, Lady Newbury dipped a towel into the water and proceeded to wipe away the blood from his ear and neck with hesitant fingers.
“You needn’t be so careful,” he said, longing to feel her touch more completely. “It doesn’t hurt that much there.”
“Forgive me, but I have never done anything like this before.” She rinsed the towel before returning it to his skin, a little more forcefully this time. “The cuts aren’t deep and they appear to be already healing.”
“I told you it was nothing.”
There was a pause. “So you did.” Her hand fell to his shoulder, tracing along it with feather-soft gentleness. The tension in his muscles eased with the pleasure of it, and, unable to help himself, James allowed a soft groan. Her fingers stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” he said, even though he was far from it. He’d just taken a beating, his body was in complete agony and the king was depending on him to uncover a conspiracy that was deeply imbedded within the aristocracy. Yet the only problem his mind seemed willing to focus on right now was how to get Lady Newbury out of her gown and into bed so he could have his way with her. “Please continue.”
The cool towel slid across his shoulder blades and down toward his lower back. “There’s some dark purple bruising here,” she told him. “Feel that?”
Sucking in a breath, he nodded as she carefully pressed against his left flank, just above his waistband. “How big is it?”
There was a pause, during which her hand remained completely still. Then, as if she’d just remembered something, she moved away, leaving him bereft. His heart thudded in his chest.
“It runs beneath your breaches,” she finally said, “so I really can’t say. Perhaps you can have a look in a mirror?”
“I only keep a small one here. For when I have to shave.”
Water sloshed behind him. “I see,” she eventually said after some silence.
“About the compresses you mentioned earlier,” he began, unsure of how to deal with the awkwardness between them without doing something regrettable and while still maintaining the physical contact he so desperately craved. Damn, he wanted more!
“There’s no doubt that you need them,” she said as she went to the side table, snatched up a bottle of sherry and poured some into a glass. James stared at her while she drank, completely mesmerized by the fullness of her lips against the rim of the glass. “What?”
He blinked. “Nothing.”
She frowned, stared back at him a moment and eventually said, “You’ll need to get undressed.”
It didn’t matter that she spoke as if informing him of something completely mundane, like the weather. The effect her words had on him—the implication—was nothing short of scandalous. “Hm?” Just an utterance, but it was all he could manage right now, given the situation that he was presently in.
Inhaling deeply, she straightened her back and crossed her arms, which brought his attention to her lovely breasts. God, how he wanted to . . . He cast the thought aside. Unfortunately, she did not look as though she had any plans of accommodating any of his baser desires at present, for her entire face had taken on an expression of sheer determination—as if a mountain stood before her and she meant to climb it.
“If I am to tend to you properly, then there’s really nothing for it,” she said firmly. “Go to your bedchamber and get undressed, then lay on the bed and give me a shout when you are ready. I’ll come in and put the compresses on you.”
His heart rate kicked up, accompanied by a tantalizing heat in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, determined to give her the choice she deserved, because if she really wanted to resist him as much as she indicated, seeing
him naked was hardly going to help.
“I can be professional about this,” she said in a manner suggesting that she was trying to convince herself more than him. “After all, I did grow up with two brothers, one older and one younger. In addition to that, I was married for six years, so there’s no reason why we cannot be practical.”
James could think of several reasons, but chose not to mention them as he quietly gathered his shirt, stood up and headed toward his room. If he was lucky, he’d find a way out of this hellish predicament soon, but instinct told him that it wasn’t going to be easy. If he was going to have a physical relationship with Lady Newbury, assurances would have to be made, which meant that he was going to have to give the matter some serious consideration. Acting rashly would serve neither of them any good.
As soon as Woodford was out of sight, Chloe practically collapsed against the sideboard. Heavens, she’d never seen such a well-defined chest as the one he possessed. It was lean and firm, fairly rippling with muscles. Her insides still squirmed with the recollection of it.
And his back! Who would have guessed that seeing the wide expanse of it, of being permitted to touch it as she pleased, would fill her with such desperate longing. As much as she’d tried to remain indifferent, her efforts had failed completely. Of course, the matter was only made worse by the memory of what it was like to kiss him—to feel his touch.
She shook her head. Somehow she would have to resist the temptation he offered, not just for the sake of her sanity, but for the sake of her heart. I must not fall for this man. But to say that she wasn’t half in love with him already, would be a lie. The crippling distress she’d felt when he’d been harmed, told her so. Lord help her, what was she going to do?
“I’m ready,” she heard him call out from his room down the hall.
Chloe blinked. “I’ll be there in a moment.” She’d been woolgathering and had completely forgotten about the compresses. Taking a breath, she retrieved the bowl of water from the table next to the chair where Woodford had been sitting, and headed toward the kitchen. Gathering a few more linen towels from the stack she’d found earlier, she then approached the door to Woodford’s bedchamber on leaden legs. She hesitated briefly before raising her hand and knocking.
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