Page 31 of My Kind of Scoundel
She stuffed garments into a valise and hurried from the room, keen to assist Mr Chance and leave the premises before the silversmith came prying. A quick peek inside the adjacent chamber confirmed it was a shambles, too. It looked like a whirlwind had whipped up the contents.
Stemming her tears, she made for the stairs.
That’s when she heard a creak behind her and felt a sudden breeze. A hard shove in the back made her lose her balance. She cried out, her valise slipping from her grasp as she went tumbling down the stairs, hitting her head on a wooden step and landing with a thud.
Chapter Seven
The thumping sound above stairs had Theo straightening. “Miss Darrow,” he called. He thought he’d heard a sharp cry. Perhaps she had stubbed her toe amid the chaos upstairs or kicked the door, annoyed at herself for kissing him again. “If this is part of our game, know I am up to my elbows in ladies’ gloves.”
Silence.
Not a faint chuckle.
Not a teasing or flirtatious remark.
Theo dropped the bale of gloves onto the glass counter, strode into the hall and gripped the newel post. “If this is a ploy to lure me to your bedchamber, know I would come willingly.”
Silence.
Theo might have returned to the mundane task of glove sorting, but a pang in his gut forced him to mount the stairs two at a time. He knew his fears were founded when he reached the landing and saw Miss Darrow lying on the floor.
Saints, have mercy!
Theo froze.
Her face was as pale as a cadaver, her legs akimbo.
Her eyes were shut as if the darkness was her solace, too.
A childhood memory assaulted him. A shrill scream had brought his sleepy-eyed brothers racing out of the bedchamber. Four years old and tripping over his nightshirt, Theo had peered around Aaron, desperate to witness the spectacle at the bottom of the stairs. The image of his mother’s awkward pose—the blood streaking her golden hair, the bulging whites of her eyes—haunted him to this day.
Gathering his wits, Theo stepped over her heavy valise, dropped to his knees and tried to rouse the lady. Panic assailed him. Blood trickled from a tiny cut on her hairline. Even a minor head wound could have disastrous consequences.
“Miss Darrow.” Theo’s hands shook as he stroked her limbs to ensure none were broken. He checked her pulse, relieved to feel a gentle pounding beneath his fingers. Gathering her into his arms, he uttered, “I’m going to move you now.” He’d been powerless to save his mother, but he’d be damned if he’d let Miss Darrow die. “Hold on to me.”
She lay limp in his arms, her breath barely a whisper.
Theo held her close and descended the stairs.
He exited the shop, shouting for his coachman to open the carriage door. “For pity’s sake, hurry.”
The burly fellow scrambled into action. “Stone the crows. What happened to her, sir?”
“Miss Darrow tripped over the hem of her pelisse and tumbled down the stairs.” It was Delphine’s pelisse and far too long for her. “Fetch her valise from the first-floor landing and secure the front door. The key is in the lock. Hurry, man. She needs a physician.”
Reminiscent of the day Miss Darrow helped bundle him into a vehicle, Theo used brute strength to place her on the seat. Once inside, he drew her onto his lap and continued speaking, willing her to wake.
“There’s something to be said for Keats.” He stroked her hair from her brow, his stomach twisting into knots. “The line he draws between good and evil is often unclear. Perhaps it’s a testament to his humble beginnings.”
His hopes of rousing a response came to nought.
Godby reappeared. He threw the valise atop the box, settled on his perch and flicked the reins. The carriage lurched into motion seconds before the nosy silversmith came dashing across the street.
Theo checked his pocket watch. They would miss their appointment with Pickering’s mobile library. But all was not lost. They could break the black wax, open the ominous note and force the librarian to confess. They could interview the barrow boy, assuming he was unharmed. Any insignificant detail might be pertinent to the case.
As the carriage raced towards Aldgate, Theo found himself staring at Miss Darrow’s lips. They were soft and plump, but that’s not what made their kisses unique.
An unknown ingredient had roused a fever in his blood—a secret something entwined with the hypnotic scent of jasmine, the warmth of her lips, and the vibrancy of her adventurous spirit.
