Page 18 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“I’m here to see Mr. Thorne,” she said, tamping down her impatience. Now that she had made it here, she was unsteady with exhaustion. “Is he in?”
The doorman narrowed his gaze. “If you’re hoping for more coin, Thorne doesn’t bed the ladies from Maxine’s. Go to the front—”
“No,” she snapped. “Now get out of my way.”
Alexandra stormed past the giant. She was through being polite tonight. There was one man dead in her bedroom, another dead in her garden, and both were there because she was married to a deceitful blackguard with a penchant for crime. To hell with politeness.
The back antechamber was cozy and warm. The staff loitering in the hallways between their duties gaped at her, likely surprised to see an angry, bedraggled woman get past the door giant.
A hand clamped on her arm. “Madam, I suggest you leave the way you came.”
The giant again.
“Remove your hand,” she told him with dangerous calm. “He might own this place, but it was my money that bought it. Now move.”
She strode down the hall in the direction of what she hoped was the private wing. The giant followed, calling her “Mrs. Thorne”, which only snapped her already fraying patience.
“Stop talking,” she said. “Just tell me which room he’s in.”
The giant pointed to a closed door. Alexandra opened it, swept inside, and shut it in his face.
Nick sat behind a desk, surrounded by stacks of books and papers. She had never seen him at work; he was in his rumpled shirtsleeves, his fingers ink-stained. Despite his obvious weariness, he still looked as handsome as the very devil.
Alexandra curled her fingers into fists. How dare he appear so calm while she was falling apart? How dare he bring this chaos into her life?
“I said not to disturb me, O’Sullivan,” he said, not looking up.
“I would have liked the same courtesy.” Her voice cut across the room like a whip. “But now we’re both disappointed, aren’t we?”
Nick’s head snapped up. “Alex? What’s happened?”
The concern in his voice did something to her. All at once, her careful self-control came undone. She slid down to the carpet. Her breathing was ragged as she held out her blood-covered hands. “You said I was to come to you if I needed anything,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “I need you now.”
Chapter 6
Thorne rose from his chair and approached her slowly, as he would a wounded animal. It went against every instinct— Every. Fucking. Instinct—not to seize her and hold on. Never let her go.
“Are you hurt?”
His calm voice hid his rioting thoughts. So much blood.So much blood. His hands curled into fists so he didn’t grab her up and check her over; he didn’t wish to frighten her. So he sank to his knees beside her and deliberately reached for her cloak. She shut her eyes and let him.
“I don’t think so,” she whispered.
“Who’s blood is this? Did you recognize who it was?” he asked as he unbuttoned the heavy cloak. Then he eased the garment off her shoulders. When he saw what was beneath, a breath exploded out of him. Her night rail. She came in her night rail. White cotton; blood everywhere.
She only shook her head, her eyes so unfocused that it terrified him. “No,” she said, gulping now. “No.”
“Shhhh. Come here.” Thorne held her against him. He didn’t care if blood ruined his clothes. He needed to hold her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She shook her head wildly. “He said he’d murdered the man you hired to protect me, and I didn’t . . . I wasn’t sure what else to do. I killed him, Nick.I killed him.”
He held her closer. Thorne knew what it was like to kill a man. He’d been fifteen the first time he slid his blade in a man’s gut and watched him bleed to death on the streets of the Nichol. If only that first kill had been his last—but he had done that dirty deed so often that he lost count. Each time killed a little bit of his soul until he thought there was nothing left
But there was, and it existed for her. No one else.
And he was supposed to protect her.
Thorne shut his eyes against the guilt that gnawed at him. “You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”
