She looked at him oddly, as if she suddenly realized he was there before her. “I... I... I do not know.”
“We will discover the truth,” he said. “Permit me to assist you to this building’s entrance steps. I would like to have a look around. To know assurances that someone else has notbeen harmed. Can you place your trust in me to do what I say? Afterwards, I will see you home.”
“Home?” she asked and frowned. “Do not wish to return home.”
“Do not worry. I will not desert you.” He guided her to the steps leading to the main door of the building, but he had quickly become aware of how his touch frightened her, for she recoiled each time his hand skimmed over her arm She half sat and half collapsed onto the stained bricks of the entranceway. He permitted her to slump against the cold stone, claimed his Queen Anne pistol, and walked back the way she had come, but there was no one along the street and no signs of a struggle, not even one of her missing shoes. He was guessing whatever had happened to her, it had not happened nearby. Perhaps someone had dumped her in Covent Garden after assaulting her elsewhere.
Richard briefly wondered if she had been raped. He prayed not, for no woman, no matter her walk of life, but, especially, a woman of Lady Emma’s “huzzah,” should be played foul.
Hurrying back to where he had left her, he roused her gently. If she had a head injury, he did not want her sleeping until a physician or a surgeon examined her. “Come now, my lady,” he said as he gently coaxed her to her feet. “Again, I ask, can you tell me who you were with earlier this evening?”
She looked around her. “I do not... recall,” she said with a frown.
“My lady...” he began, but she reached a bloody hand to him to prevent his question.
“How do you... know me... to be a lady?” she asked, and it was the first time she appeared truly frightened, rather than simply confused.
“You are Lady Emma Donoghue. Earlier today, you and some of your acquaintances prevented a number of gentlemen fromentering White’s.” He would not tell her he had been asking the occasional question about her for coming up on two years. Like it or not, the woman had become the marker by which he had viewed all the others.
“And this was . . . my punishment?” she asked.
“I cannot say with any confidence,” he admitted. “As I was one of the men at White’s, I saw you there. You have been among those ‘protesting,’ shall we term your actions, at several venues for months. Yet, of course, you are well aware of those efforts.”
“Who are you?” she asked as she staggered away from him, fear obviously returning.
He reached a hand to her when she swayed in place. “I am Lord Richard Orson. I am a peer of the realm and often assist those in the government.” Customarily, he and the others among Lord Duncan’s men did not mention their connections to the government, but as Richard was planning to place this situation in the hands of his friends, keeping his position a complete secret would not be possible.
She shook her head in apparent denial, but the movement had sent her swaying in place again.
Richard caught her before she collapsed and scooped her up into his arms. Ironically, she curled into him as if she sought his warmth. “What does ‘three’ mean?” he asked.
Her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat. Obviously, she was afraid to release him. “I do not understand,” she murmured against the skin of his neck.
“You said you must find... never mind. It is of no great importance at the moment. We must first discover someone to attend to you.” Her arms tightened about his neck. He asked, “Is there someone I should inform of this incident? I know your parents are away in Europe.”
“My parents are away?” she implored. “When? Where?” She snuggled closer. “Surely we are acquainted.” Her voicesounded as if she meant to fall asleep on his shoulder. “Are we betrothed?” She slurred the question.
He purposely jiggled her to keep her awake. “We are not betrothed,” he assured. He thought,Not even friends. “I told you earlier: I am Lord Orson.”
