Page 8 of The Lady Confesses
“Yes, I heard you.” With that, she moved toward a stack of crates near the end of an alleyway. Concealing herself behind them as much as possible, she watched to see what her rescuer would do next. As far as she could tell, watching him walk out into the open, the man had no fear of anything. But then, unless someone saw them together and recognized her, his part in her escape was still entirely unknown. He had no reason to be afraid.
As he neared the gates, two men emerged from the shadows. She hadn’t even been aware of their presence. Nonetheless, her heart leapt to her throat as they approached Joss.Mr. Ettinger.She could not afford to think of him so intimately. Never again.
He exchanged words with one of the gentlemen as the other crept up behind him. But she needn’t have worried for him. Hehad clearly anticipated the move. At nearly the last second, he grasped the other man by the throat and spun him around so that the club brandished by his compatriot struck him instead. That man sank to the ground, leaving only one for him to fend off. Having struck down his friend, the second man apparently had a change of heart. He dropped the club and ran off, disappearing between dilapidated buildings.
*
Joss turned backto where Hettie was concealed. “Come on. We don’t have much time. He’ll be coming back with reinforcements. They guard the gates—normally, it’s to keep others out. Today, they’ve been instructed to keep everyone in. I can only assume that your abductors have paid them handsomely to do so.”
He scanned the streets and alleys, watching for any sign of the guard or his colleagues, as Hettie extricated herself from the stacked barrels and crates. They were yards still from the entrance and the relative safety to be had on the other side of it.
By the time she’d reached him, he could see a group of rough-looking men heading in their direction. They’d emerged from one of the abandoned warehouses that lined the street. Joss didn’t wait. He scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder and ignoring the pain it caused him. He sprinted toward the freedom that awaited them through those gates.
With shouts and curses ringing behind them, he ran for all he was worth. When he breached the stone gates that marked the boundary of the Mint, his lungs were burning and his shoulder was on fire. And a bevy of men—men he recognized—stepped forward. The Hound’s men had come to their aid.
“Mr. Ettinger, sir,” one of them said. “We’ve got a cart just over there. We’re to take you and the lady to Mrs. Blaylock’s home.”
“Take her to Mrs. Blaylock’s. I’ll make my own way to the club to meet the Hound.”
The man flushed. “He’s with Mrs. Blaylock, sir. And I don’t think he’ll be leaving there anytime soon.”
Joss cursed. Of course. She was a menace just like her sister. Neither one of them would give a man a moment’s peace. “Fine. Bring the cart this way. Lady Ernsdale’s feet have taken enough abuse during our escape.”
The horse-drawn cart was moved to where they stood, and Joss reached for her to help her into it. She jerked away from him and instead allowed one of the other men to aid her. That she’d place her trust in a common criminal over him was both telling and deserved. Muttering a curse under his breath, he climbed up as well, making it a point not to touch her. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he was fairly certain that he’d never touch her again.
Chapter Seven
As the smallcart rumbled over the cobbled streets of Mayfair, Hettie felt as if there was an insurmountable chasm between herself and Joss Ettinger. As there should be, she thought. It was clearly what he had wanted. Whatever his reasons, he’d decided that their intimate interlude together should have no significance, and pride would not let her argue the point.
When at long last the cart halted before her sister’s home, she allowed one of the men who’d flanked it—some on horseback and others on foot—to help her down. As her feet touched the stones, she winced. She’d been off of them just long enough to forget how badly it hurt to put all of her weight on them. There were dozens of small cuts and bruises from running through the dirty streets and stepping on heaven knew what. None of them were too deep or severe, but that didn’t make them free of pain.
As she climbed the steps and entered the sparklingly clean foyer, Mrs. Ivers, her sister’s housekeeper, let out a sharp cry. “Heaven be praised! They’ve brought you home!”
Within seconds, the door to the small sitting room flew open and Honoria appeared in the doorway. With her hair wild and her clothing rumpled, she looked a mess. Well, a mess for Honoria, who never had a single hair out of place. Her wonderfully organized and fastidious sister wasn’t the sort to appear in public without everything being just so. But she was a welcome and beautiful sight.
Honoria took another step forward and her expression shifted. Hettie sighed.
“It was the river,” she explained, referencing the dank smell that accompanied her. “I’m not even certain it could be classified as water given the degree of filth it contains.”
“Mrs. Ivers, have a bath run for my sister, please, and have one of the maids get her something of mine to wear,” Honoria requested. Even then, she didn’t stop. Instead, she kept moving forward until she wrapped her arms about Hettie.
More moved than she cared to admit and afraid of becoming an overly emotional wreck, Henrietta protested, “I’ll make you smell, too!”
“I don’t care,” Honoria insisted. But she wrinkled her nose a bit. “Well, I care. But not enough to let go of you. Not just yet. I’ve never been so afraid in all my life.”
That made two of them, Henrietta thought. And speaking of fear brought another one to mind. “Where is my husband?”
“He’s at his home... and you will stay here. This will be your home going forward,” Honoria answered with steel in her voice. “Now, let’s get you upstairs. We’ll get you bathed, we’ll get you some clean clothes, and then we’ll sort it all out.”
Honoria stepped back, and Hettie knew the moment she had seen Mr. Ettinger. Honoria left her side and walked toward him. Much to his chagrin, no doubt, her sister grabbed him in a tight embrace. Honoria said something to him, the words pitched so low that Hettie had no hope of hearing them. But she could tell from his expression that whatever it was had left him very uncomfortable. His cheeks flushed with color, and he was so stiff and obviously discomfited by the exchange.
*
Joss had noidea what to do. He had river mud dried on every inch of him; his clothes were caked with it. And Mrs. Honoria Blaylock, a woman who was never anything less than perfectly tidy, had just wrapped her arms about him and murmured her heartfelt thanks for something that she ought not have had to ask for to begin with—someone to save her sister.
“You do not have to thank me. It’s my job,” he answered. The words came out stiff and somewhat sharp.
She stepped back from him, a smile on her face that gave her the beatific expression of a madonna. “I do have to thank you. Whether it’s your job or not, I am grateful. And if there is ever anything I can do for you, Mr. Ettinger, you have but to ask. It’s yours.”
