Page 35 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
Although she did not look at all convinced, with a last little nod, the girl thrust herself back once more into the thick of the crowd vying for entrance to the tavern.
Felicity resumed her walk, mindful of her surroundings despite the fact that the people milling about didn’t seem particularly interested in being mindful of her. It was almost a relief when the crowd began to thin.Almost. But as the crowd thinned, so did the light begin to wane, street lamps placed fewer and further between.
As she left the safety of the city center for the quiet and shadows of the residential streets, anxiety began to creep over her once again, not unlike that sense she had so often had of being watched whenever she had dared to peek out of the school’s windows in search of some phantom observer. Possibly it was only her uneasy mind playing tricks on her.
The night hadn’t seemed quite so threatening when she had left the theatre. She’d reasoned the walk was short, and the city crowded. She hadn’t even known she would be attending the theatre this evening; it was hardly likely she’d been followed. And still that anxiety spiked as she glanced down mostly-deserted streets.
Best not to chance it. She’d made it perhaps half the distance home, but she would climb into the first hack she came across and make the journey that much shorter. Perhaps it would not be the best use of the scant coin she had on her, but better to be safe. She stuffed her hand in her pocket as she walked, searching for her reticule.
Came up empty. How was that possible? She’d had it in her pocket when she’d left the school; she was certain of it.
Comprehension struck at last with the weight of a hammer. That girl—the blond girl at the tavern. She hadn’t been straightening Felicity’s coat at all. She’d been picking her pocket.And like a fool, Felicity had taken it for simple kindness. Probably the girl had orchestrated the whole thing, using Felicity’s distraction and disorientation to relieve her of her reticule without her notice.
Well, there was no help for it now. She was just as far from home as shewas from the theatre, and there was no sense in doubling back on herself. She’d just have to go on. But as she stepped out into the darkening streets, she wished—
She wished that she had simply sat through the remainder of the play. That she had waited in comfort for the carriage to return. Far better Ian’s confusing, irritating presence than the fear that gnawed at her stomach at the prospect of the walk remaining to her. In the cold. In the dark. Alone.
Pausing at the intersection of two streets, she tried to wrench her fretful brain into a decision—turn right or proceed straight? Both would take her toward her destination. Both seemed equally treacherous in the darkness. It had been years since she had walked these streets at such an hour, and she had not been alone.
She had been in Ian’s company then. And she had never once feared for her safety. And now she did, surrounded by the ominous loom of shadows, the street lamps that promised safety so far apart, the streets all but deserted.
A faint noise from somewhere behind her sent her scurrying around the corner, and her calves ached beneath her skirts from the taut pull of her muscles as she wrenched her trembling legs into a run.
Her breath burned in her lungs. Her burst of speed had at least gained her some distance. She wasn’t so very far away, now. Five minutes if she could manage to maintain her pace. Her shoes slapped the pavement, her footsteps deafeningly loud, reverberating down the street, the sound echoing in rapid patters.
No. Not onlyherfootsteps.
Panic beat within her chest. An odd haze frilled the edges of her vision owing to the scant few breaths she’d taken since she’d burst into a run. In the distance on the next corner, a single light glowed within the window of a stately townhouse. If she could only get near enough to attract attention—
A heavy grunt. The collar of her coat pulled tight against her throat as a fist seized a handful of the back of it, and the scream that had collected in her lungs was choked into a bitter squeak as she was yanked to an abrupt halt. She flailed her arms, lashing out blindly through a pained cough. One hand connected—briefly, weakly—with a rough-hewn face, eliciting a grunt.
A wrench of the fabric of her coat. A meaty hand hard upon her shoulder, squeezing past the point of pain. She managed to draw a fresh breath just as the villain jerked her about.
She loosed a scream, resonant and ear-splitting, sopiercing it shredded her throat as it emerged.
“Stupid bloody bitch.” That beefy hand slammed into her jaw, a heavy-handed slap which rattled her senses. Her face stung; her vision blurred. And somewhere, in the depths of her brain, her conscious mind scuttled off just as it always had in moments of violence, and tucked itself away behind a closed door. Her arms dangled at her sides, limp and useless. Her knees locked, saving her from a fall—but it was only the pinch of those hard, hurtful fingers upon her shoulder that kept her upright.
A face rendered blurry through the haze of her vision leered into hers. Sour breath coasted over her nose and turned her stomach. Through the buzz in her ears, she heard, as if from a great distance, “Ye’ll pay, or ye’ll lose everything ye hold dear.”
“Felicity!” The shout in the distance sizzled along her spine. There was the pound of feet on the pavement, growing nearer.
“Fuckin’ hell.” A last violent shake, another rasped demand. “Five thousand pounds.” Her knees collapsed beneath her, sending her sprawling to the pavement. Her head struck something hard, and stars swam before her eyes, swirling in the inky blackness above.
Humiliation lay bitterly on her tongue, which felt too thick in her mouth. Her limbs remained too heavy to move. Even the twitch of her fingers was too onerous a task. A sob gathered somewhere in her lungs, slid up her throat, and stuck just behind her teeth. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trickled down the side of her face toward her temple.
Harsh breaths tore through the silence. The pavement vibrated with the report of those rapid steps approaching, and she—she couldn’t make herself move. Couldn’t summon even the faintest sense of self-preservation that might force her to her feet.
A tiny whimper eked out of her throat as the footsteps drew to a stop, as movement swirled in her peripheral vision. Wool scraped across pavement, and a hand slid beneath her head. She tried to cringe away instinctively, managed a faint twitch at best.
“No, don’t move.” Ian’s voice shattered the silence. “You struck your head when you fell. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Felicity drew a breath, a real one. It rushed into her lungs, fading a bit of the film that had dulled her vision. That sob stuck behind her teeth emerged, loud and shrill, tearing out a piece of her soul with the mortification of it. The puling whine of the child she had once been wrenched out of the past. A tremor shook her, a helpless quake she’d not experienced in years.
“Christ.” The rough sound seared her ears. “Here,just—” One arm slid beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. A strange sense of weightlessness assailed her as he lifted her from the cold, hard pavement. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. “There,” he crooned near her ear. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
That part of her that had packed itself away within the depths of her mind surged back with a vengeance. Tucked within the safety of Ian’s arms, Felicity turned her face into the front of his coat and sobbed in earnest.
Chapter Thirteen
