Page 9 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
Something caught in her cloak. She choked as her legs flew out from under her. She hit the ground with a sharp cry as the shadows of the three men blotted out the moonlight as they formed a ring around her.
“Why did you run?” one demanded. “We only wanted a kiss.” The others laughed, the sound cruel and vicious. Men like these wanted more than just a kiss, and she was not about to give it to them.
“Leave me alone!” She swung her foot out, kicking the shin of the man nearest her legs. He fell over, cursing. Suzannah wore boots rather than slippers most days, and it paid off this evening. She got to her knees and tried to stand, but one of the men struck her with a backhanded blow. Stars streaked across her vision and the acrid taste of blood filled her mouth. She fell back onto the ground in a heap.
“You little—”
The man’s words were cut short by a bellow of rage. Something lunged from the shadows like an animal. The other two men cursed and scrambled to flee as a new man arrived, towering above Suzannah. Half a dozen feet away lay the man who had struck her. He was moaning piteously on the ground, one of his arms set at an odd angle. He’d been thrown, it seemed.
The new man stood above her, his breathing rough as he stared at her.
When the man reached down for her, Suzannah threw up a hand to shield herself. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered as his hands grasped her arms.
He didn’t hurt her. He simply lifted her to her feet. “Do you live nearby?” his low, gruff voice demanded.
“I... yes... just there.” She nodded at the boardinghouse up the street.
“Show me.”
Suzannah would have argued, but there was something about his tone, the air of natural authority to it, not to mention he still had a hold of her arm, albeit a gentle one.
“Are you... are you going to...?”
“You’re safe with me,” he answered. “I’ll not let anyone harm you. You have my word.”
She searched his eyes a long moment. There was ferocity in him but she sensed he posed no danger, at least to her. What she felt in that gaze and in his tone was honor, and that she trusted.
She finally agreed and showed him the way to her room.
When they reached the boardinghouse, he followed her inside and up the stairs to the floor where her room was. She fumbled with the brass key, her hands shaking too violently to fit the key into the lock. The man accompanying her gave a soft sigh and removed the key from her hands, easily unlocking the door. Then he pushed her inside the room and joined her.
“Oh, but—”
“Light a lamp so I can look at you.” The man’s voice was almost a growl.
“Please stopgrowlingat me like that,” she said, her words a little sharp due to her frayed nerves. She planted her hands on her hips, then winced at the pain where she’d scraped her palms on the stone when she’d fallen.
He didn’t apologize, but he did speak more gently this time as he stared pointedly at her hands. “Please light a lamp. I wish to make sure you aren’t hurt.”
This time she complied. She lit a lamp and set it on the small table. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long, dark hair and a thick beard. His eyes were deep obsidian pools in the night. He was frightening, but there was something about him that drew her in. She wanted to paint those eyes—she wanted to understand the strange look she saw in them. She saw rage, compassion, and confusion.
“Sit.” He pointed at one of the two chairs at the small table.
She did so only because she no longer had the energy to argue with him. He poured clean water into the chipped porcelain basin on her washstand and dampened a clean cloth. Then he returned and gently wiped her cheek and lips.
“Ouch, bloody hell!” she cursed, rather unladylike, flinching as pain sparked against the corner of her lips.
When he drew the cloth back from her face, blood had pinkened the fabric. The man raised a dark brow in such an elegant way that for a moment he didn’t appear quite so rough and frightening. It was as if he was questioning her rather colorful curse. She didn’t apologize. Instead, she gave a shrug as if she didn’t care. Her mother would have been mortified by her, had she still been alive.
“That was a vicious blow you took. You need to put some salve on that cut. Once it heals, rub more salve onto the area to reduce the chance of scarring. Does your head hurt?” The man brushed his long fingers across her cheek.
His hand was beautiful, despite the rough calluses on his skin. He must have worked hard for long years to earn such hands, and she couldn’t help but wonder who this man was. Heat flared in the place where his hand touched her. She instinctively caught his wrist as he touched her, but she couldn’t push his hand away. Either she had no strength or he was just strong... perhaps it was both. Given the breadth of his shoulders and the way his clothes clung to his chest, she would have wagered the man could lift a team of horses upon his shoulders. Her head throbbed with a dull pain, making it hard to think clearly. She’d let a stranger into her room in the middle of the night. She was mad, utterly mad, to trust someone like this.
“If you feel nauseated, you must seek out a doctor. Such blows can be serious.” He stared at her hand, which still held his wrist. He dropped his hand away from her face and she let go.
“How... how do you know that?” she dared to ask.
“I’ve been struck a time or two, just the way you have been.” There was an odd rustiness to his voice, as though he rarely had occasion to speak. Something about that dug into Suzannah’s chest, causing her to flinch. He noticed the reaction but seemed to misunderstand her compassion for fear.
