Page 80 of The Wolf of Mayfair
His chest heaved. Wingrave blinked slowly to clear his vision of the pinpricks of rage dotting his eyes.
Out of breath from the force of his exertions, he staggered away from the lifeless, bloodied form beneath him.
Helia stared blankly at the bruised and beaten man before them. She slowly lifted stricken eyes to Wingrave.
Helia, intrepid as Joan of Arc herself, had never once gazed upon him with that fear. Now those emerald-green irises glittered, such consternation in those always innocent depths, it brought Wingrave crashing to the moment.
“You are all right?” he gruffly demanded, curling his bloodstained gloved fists at his sides.
Dumbly, wordlessly, Helia nodded.
“You’re certain, because I’ll—”
“F-fine,” she quickly cut him off. Her gaze slid back to the unconscious man sprawled at her feet. “I a-am f-fine.”
Only, her face wan as it’d never been and her arms curved tightly about her middle, she appeared anything but well.
He stood and took a quick step near her.
Helia scrambled away; she backed away from Wingrave so quickly she nearly tripped on her skirts.
He reached out to help steady her. Then it hit him with all the weight of a thousand stones raining down on him.
She is afraid ... ofme.
Helia grappled with her throat; the long column bobbed wildly. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
As if on cue, a slight, almost inaudible groan filtered through the air.
Anthony glanced at the bloodied mess of a man sprawled beside them. Unfortunately, he’d not finished him.
“He lives,” he said coolly.
From the barbarity that’d taken hold and relief at stopping Helia from being forced off, a safer, far healthier annoyance grew in their place.
“We’re leaving,” he bit out.
Helia wavered. “Sh-should we simply l-leave him here in the cold?”
Raising an eyebrow, Wingrave settled a glassy stare on her. “And you care if we do?”
She hesitated. “I ... I w-wouldn’t see him die on m-my account.”
His nostrils flared. An irrational jealousy rooted in his belly.
“If you were so worried about the gent’s fate, you shouldn’t have gone running around London like a pea-wit,” he snapped, effectively silencing her.
That explosion didn’t make him feel better. It only left him feeling petty and small.
“We’re leaving,” he repeated. Wingrave snapped a hand forward.“Now.”
In an unlikely display of submissiveness, Helia bowed her head and skirted the now stirring gentleman.
Wingrave gritted his teeth. Here he’d thought there couldn’t be anything more miserable than feeling those puling emotions of regret and shame. Only to discover something far worse and more debilitating—jealousy and fear.
Staring after her retreating figure, Wingrave gave his head a shake, and fetched Erebus.
Chapter 17
