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He positioned himself, hip and ear against the door, his heart pounding in his throat. They’d checked the room. Twice. If anything happened to her... David tapped the partition with the side of his knuckles, loud and firm but calm. “Amalia? Are you all right?”
Only more unintelligible shrieks and sobs ripped through the barrier, right into the part of his brain ready to panic. “Okay, I’m coming in.” He grabbed the knob—thank goodness she hadn’t locked it—and shoved with his shoulder. David’s eyes near popped out their socket. He adjusted his spectacles.
Amalia stood in the middle of the room, next to the bed, her nightgown torn so it only reached mid-thigh, her legs and hands covered with blood. Oozing, dark red blood.
“Amalia? What’s wrong?” he managed as he continued to survey the scene, his mind grinding and churning and sputtering to make sense of—well—everything.
“That—that was next to my bed and it’s all over my legs and nightgown.” She pointed at the ground, her entire body shaking.
David glanced down and gagged so hard, bile burnt his throat. Stomach roiling, he bent to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Nope. Not at all.
There, on Amalia’s torn cream-colored satin, lay a headless rodent, probably a rat, spewing its innards. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and bent down to stave off the dizziness as he sorted through priorities in his mind. First, gain control of the situation. Second, protect Amalia, and third—figure out if that thing came in through human or feline means.
“The rest of it’s over there.” Amalia indicated with her chin to a corner where the grotesque object sat atop one of her slippers. Another scream. And a moan.
With all his might, David forced himself away from the vile mess and threw his head out the door frame. “Meg, get in here. I need some help.” He glanced back at Amalia, who waved her arms, whimpering and mumbling the words “head” and “dead” over and over. “Bring a sack and a basin of water too. And some of Miss Truitt’s soap.”
Wrong thing to say. The whimpers transformed back into screams, accompanied by near violent hand-wringing. “It’s probably filled with disease.” Amalia tore at her own skin—not that he could blame her because...so, so, so foul. “Oh god, I’m going to die. Get it off. Get it all off.”
In a flash, Meg was behind him, her hair down and wild. “What in the—Christ.” She raced over to Amalia and forced the woman’s hands into the basin. “I’ll sponge her down.”
Instead, Amalia snatched the cloth from Meg and scrubbed her knees and thighs.
He glanced back at Meg. Someone finally noticed the source of the blood. His normally stoic partner, who’d amputated limbs, curled herself up in a corner and vomited on the floor.
No help at all. At least he hadn’t brought Will. He’d have probably fainted. David stalked over to the bureau. That’s where ladies kept their night things, right? He opened the top drawer to a sea of white satin and silk. He pulled the top article out. Hopefully, it would work. It was certainly lacy enough. He thrust it towards Meg, who didn’t move, her face paler than the fabric.
Shaking a little himself, he sidestepped the rat. Amalia snatched the gown from him. Tears ran down her cheeks and her legs were scraped raw, but her breathing calmed. She was in better shape than his partner at least. And probably him. He turned to retreat.
“Don’t leave me.” She wound the new garment in her hands, away from her body so he had a full view of her ruined gown. Her wet, ruined gown. Her wet, ruined, transparent gown.
He shifted so he could stare at the window. “I can’t stay while you’re changing. Your brother will shoot me, in an uncomfortable place. I shouldn’t even be in here with your nightgown ripped.”
“Please don’t go.” She clutched his arm. His said a silent prayer that the blood was off her hands. Worse, her near nude body brushed against his and a war broke out beneath his skin, between revulsion, duty, and attraction—that he could neither want nor afford.
But she was terrified and what kind of monster would abandon her in a room with a dead...that? And protecting her was his job, his duty, and his path to fixing the world—or at least America.
He rubbed his neck. “Fine, but I’m going to avert my eyes. And Meg will vouch for me, if Thad asks.” He glanced in Meg’s direction—still gurgling and gasping. Honestly. The woman had cleaned up more human entrails than, well, anyone. “You hear that, Meg?”
She coughed into her hand but rocked forward. “I heard it. Closing your eyes. I’ll report the same to Thad and I won’t bother to mention how far—” His partner gagged again. David gave her a withering glare as Amalia splashed more water on herself. She was going to catch cold at this rate.
Her teeth chattered. “Its guts are all over my legs and those things make people—have you heard of the black death? It was in the Decameron. Thousands of people got horrible sores on their joints and vomited blood. It spread from animals and all you had to do was touch—”
“She really is Thad’s sister. Someone needs to take books away from those children.” Meg gave a harsh laugh but wavered on her feet.
Useless. David elbowed her and indicated to the door. He didn’t need to say the words. Meg bounded out, probably into the chair next to Will.
David sighed again. No time to envy his partners because Amalia needed help. Professional help, like Thad would want. He lit a candle and accidentally glanced in her direction. Legs. Amalia’s legs, her long, now clean legs. With curved calves and ta
pered thighs. His body tightened with lust.
Eyes half closed, he managed to suppress his groan of desire—mostly. Meshuggenah—absolutely mad. Especially as she was spoiled and shallow and would hurt him again and again if he gave her the chance.
Client. That’s what she was and nothing more.
“Th-th-thank you.” Amalia shivered but was already hitching her garment, as if he wasn’t there. He spun back around as fast as he could, not at all attempting to visualize whatever was happening behind his back.
The remainder of her former gown hit the floor with a whoosh. He bent to grab it. “I’ll get rid of it and change the sheets too—”
