Marrying the American Heiress: A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 2)

by Diana Bold

  The shadow moved, stepping forward into a faint patch of moonlight. “Shhh,” a deep male voice whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

  A sudden commotion sounded in the alley beneath the window as a group of men thundered through the usually quiet neighborhood. Dogs howled as sharp voices barked orders down below.

  They’re looking for this man, who has taken refuge in my room.

  A new rush of fear washed through her. What sort of criminal was he? And more importantly, what did he want with her?

  Tension spiraled between them as the shouts continued, then slowly faded off into the distance. After what seemed an eternity, the stranger gave a weary-sounding sigh, then abruptly struck a match, casting a small puddle of light as he looked around.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, as he flicked on the gas lights and put out the match. “If you would have screamed, they’d have caught us.”

  Us? She gave another nervous glance around the room, but he appeared to be alone.

  He turned toward her, and she got her first glimpse of the intruder. She drew in a sharp breath, because his features were hidden by a fanciful mask of crimson and gold, formed in a strange caricature of comedy and tragedy. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a crimson cape, the deep color of blood.

  She recognized the fearsome bandit dubbed Prometheus from the newspaper sketches. He’d burned down dozens of brothels, apparently rescuing children who’d been pressed to work in them against their will. Though the police wanted nothing more than to capture him, he’d become a hero to the people.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, very aware of her state of undress. “They’re gone now.”

  “I’ll leave as soon as it’s safe,” he assured her. “In the meantime, do you mind if I lay the child down?” He swept back his cloak, revealing a young boy asleep in his arms.

  The child was as beautiful as an angel, with dark, curly hair. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Her stomach turned at the thought of what had been done to the poor boy. Giving a jerky nod, she scooted over to make room.

  “Put him here,” she whispered.

  Prometheus tenderly lowered the child to the bed, then returned his attention to Vanessa. “Do you have anything I can use for a bandage?”

  “A bandage?” Some of her fear evaporated when he gestured to his left thigh and parted his crimson cape to reveal that the dark trousers beneath were soaked through with blood. “My god, have you been shot?”

  He nodded briefly and sank into a chair.

  She scrambled off the far side of the bed, reaching for the heavy satin robe that lay draped across her footboard. Wrapping it tightly around her, she bit her lip. “May I go to the bathroom and get some things to tend to you?”

  He nodded abruptly, and she hurried down the hall. The thought of escape only crossed her mind briefly as she wet a washcloth and split an old white sheet to use as a bandage. She didn’t think he’d hurt her, and there was the child to consider.

  “I’ll help you with your wound,” she whispered when she returned. “But then you really must go.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bourke,” he said softly.

  “You know my name?” Her fears returned full force. Had he picked her flat on purpose?

  He bowed his head, ripping his trouser leg to reveal a deep bloody hole. “I recognize you,” he murmured. “I’ve seen you play Celia half a dozen times.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, along with a strange sort of pleasure. This man, who was making a difference, who put his life on the line for those less fortunate, had recently sat in the dark and watched her perform.

  She crossed nervously to his side and handed him the wet cloth, along with the strips of sheet he could use as a bandage. “You should have that looked at as soon as possible. You mustn’t let it get infected.”

  He took the wet cloth and swabbed at the blood, hissing a bit with the pain the pressure must have caused. “The bullet passed through. I’ll be all right. I just need to get home where I can clean it properly.”

  She stared at the lower half of his face, the chiseled lips and strong chin revealed beneath the demi-mask. She’d lay odds he was devastatingly handsome. For the first time, she became very aware of him as a man.

  When he made another soft sound of pain, she knelt beside him and took the cloth from his blood-streaked hands. “Here. Let me do it.”

  He sank back against the chair, closing his eyes. “I hoped you’d be this way,” he whispered. “When I got hurt, I thought if I could just get here, to you, you would help me.”

  She wanted to ask him why he’d thought that and how he’d known where to find her, but thought those questions better left unanswered. “I’ve read about you in the papers,” she said instead. “I think what you’re doing is very brave and needs to be done.”

  His lips quirked in a brief smile. “Well, I wish my friends at Scotland Yard felt the same. Between them and the bastards who work at the brothel, they led me on a merry chase tonight.”

  She bound his leg with the length of bandage, using a piece of red ribbon to bind it firmly in place.

  “There. That should hold until you get home.” She glanced up and found him watching her, his face mere inches from her own.

  “Thank you,” he told her, his gaze intent behind the mask. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she thought they must be blue or green, because they caught the light. “There’s something else you can do for me, if you would.”

  “Depends on what it is,” she answered cautiously, knowing she’d probably helped him far too much already.

  “It will be all I can do to make it home tonight.” The deep, masculine rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “If I take the child all the way to the Brookhaven, I fear I’ll either collapse or be caught. Do you think you could take him there in the morning? It’s the orphanage on Field Street in Kensington. Just tell them Prometheus sent you. They won’t ask any questions.”

  She bit her lip doubtfully. There seemed to be no harm in what he was asking. The theatre was dark tomorrow, so she had the day free. She could hire a post chaise to deliver the boy—a small price to pay to keep him safe from the lechers who’d had him before. Besides, she would hate to think of Prometheus getting caught.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”

  He reached out and brushed his fingertips across her jaw. “Miss Bourke, you’ve been an angel.”

  She caught her breath, trying to see behind the mask to discern the color of his eyes more clearly. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

  Then he bent forward and kissed her. At first, his lips pressed sweetly, chastely against hers, giving her plenty of time to pull away. When she foolishly did not, he leaned closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him, deepening the kiss with a groan.

  Nothing this exciting had ever happened to her. Kissing a masked stranger in her room in the middle of the night seemed surreal, impossible to believe.

  After a few blissful minutes, he pulled away. She lifted one hand to her lips, stunned. She’d never felt such an overwhelming attraction to a man, yet she hadn’t even seen his face.

  “So sweet,” he whispered, his voice a bit unsteady. “I’ll never forget you, Miss Bourke.”

  Before she could respond, he turned and left her flat the way he’d come, through the window.

  https://www.amazon.com/Intentions-Prometheus-BookStrand-Publishing-Mainstream-ebook/dp/B01LOUM692/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1520533186&sr=1-6&keywords=diana+bold

 

 

 
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