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Chapter Thirteen
Rushing toward her,Dash couldn’t grasp what he had just witnessed. Perdita dressed as a man in the stables, fighting off two brawlers. His brain scrambled and still couldn’t catch up, watching her take a blow. He ran at full speed toward her. If he hadn’t interrupted her, she might not be lying in a heap on the ground. His frozen heart clenched in his chest with the sight of her defenseless and vulnerable. She had lost her cap when she hit her head against the wooden post. Her curls hung partially across her face and around her shoulders. He needed to tend to Perdita, but first, he had to finish the man who had hurt her.
“Blimey hell, that stable lad is a woman.” The brute rubbed his knee from the impressive kick she had delivered. “I wouldn’t have hit her so hard if I knew she was a stupid twat.”
“I’m going to kill you for touching her.” Dash walloped the fool in the gut, who put up no resistance since he was still in shock at the revelation that he had been fighting with a woman. The blow staggered the man. Dash was about to finish him off with a facer when he heard a shout.
“No, I’m going to.” Harry, Clifton’s stableman and Perdita’s childhood friend, ran down the aisle. The easy-going man’s face was mottled in fury. “Then I’m going to kill you, Beldon… after we get Miss Dita home.”
Kneeling next to Perdita, Dash was barely aware of the crunch of Harry’s fist to the man’s face and the thud of the man hitting the ground. Harry was as big as the bruiser Perdita had taken on. What was she thinking, putting herself at such risk? He would never understand how her brain worked. She wouldn’t weigh the risk to herself if anyone she loved was in danger. And tonight was about her brother.
Dash has been about to leave after examining Haversham’s records when he spotted Tessa waiting for him. He’d been discouraged—he’d found the name, Carolina, jotted on a sheet of paper but nothing else to help find Roddy.
If Tessa hadn’t confirmed that Roddy did arrive at the club, and Dash decided to check for Roddy’s horse before returning to Perdita, what would have happened to her? A jolt of pure terror wracked his body when he considered the dire possibilities.
Her eyes were shuttered closed, her lips as colorless as her face. His fervent words were like a prayer spoken in a hushed voice in a confessional. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
His hands trembled as he pushed the curls that had fallen over her eyes. She was so cold. So icy cold and so still. Perdita was never still. She was always in motion, spinning and twirling like a whirligig. He undid the top buttons of her shirt, searching for her pulse. Desperate to feel her life and hoping to have her jump up and laugh as if this was a great prank. He said a silent prayer of thanks at the feel of her slow but steady heartbeat.
He gently lifted her head to feel the back of her skull where she had struck the hard surface. Alarm engulfed him by the wet sticky sensation of her warm blood covering his hand. He reminded himself that head wounds bled profusely. It was her deathly stillness that made it hard to draw air into his lungs. Primitive, heart-slamming fear spread through his veins. He was afraid for the first time in his life. He had faced his own death with less trepidation. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking or the terror clambering in every heartbeat. What would he do in a world without Perdita?
Dash jumped up and tore off the cravat hanging around his neck and then pulled off his coat. He covered her with his coat and then pressed the linen against the open wound. He then carefully lifted her with one arm under her knees. He used his long forearm under her spine, supporting her like a newborn babe. She was tall but he was a big man. She had always fit perfectly in his arms. He applied pressure to the wound, trying to not jostle her with the motion.
“Tell me you have a carriage. You didn’t ride here.” Dash didn’t want to contemplate parading Perdita to the front of Haversham’s where his carriage waited. He needed to get her away before the stablemen were done with their chores and returned to the barn and saw their coworkers knocked out.
Harry, who had the smaller fellow by the collar, pointed to the back entrance with one hand. “Yes. It’s parked around the side. I’ll be there right away after I finish this scum.”
The man’s voice trembled. “She hit me with a pitchfork. What was I supposed to do? Mr. Haversham don’t allow anyone back here.”
Dash heard the thump of another body hitting the ground as he took long strides to the exit.
Perdita hadn’t stirred with all the motion. Fear was riding him hard. Panic edging on the periphery. Did she have more than a concussion? A bleed into the brain? All because of some crazy notion to do her own investigating.
“I’ll be sent to the hulks or transported, but I don’t give a damn. I’m going to kill you for hurting her again, you slimy bastard.” Harry had caught up and was shouting at Dash like an unhinged man.
Overpowering Harry wouldn’t be easy, but it would relieve the helplessness wedged into his chest. “I’m going to rip you apart limb by limb for bringing her here. Those men in Haversham’s employ are ex-boxers.”
“You? A weak drunk? You can try. But I’ll be the one tearing you apart.”
Harry’s threats washed right over him. The stableman didn’t frighten him in the least. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her… but damn it. My God, she was defending herself against that giant.” Fear slashed through him without any outlet. “I hold you responsible. You could have stopped her.”
“Little do you know her. She would have found a way if I didn’t bring her.”
Dash felt as if his brain was going to explode out of the top of his head. If his hands weren’t filled with a non-responsive Perdita, he’d have his hands around Harry’s neck, choking the life out of him. “You fucking blunderhead. You let her walk into the stables alone. What did you think the outcome would be?” Shouting did nothing to help the situation. But yelling at Harry felt good even if he was as distraught as Dash was.
Harry’s rage was plastered across his face, his face and neck beet red, his jaw clenched. He rushed ahead to open the carriage door. “I brought her here to see if Fury, Lord Clifton’s horse, was in the stables. She waited for you in front of the club to accompany her until she saw you with your doxy. Then there was no stopping her.” Harry shook his head in disgust. “You don’t deserve to touch her… but I know my place. Once Miss Dita wakes up, you’ll never get near her. I’ll make sure of it… that is until the earl returns.” Harry slammed the door before climbing onto the box.
Perdita moaned either from Dash repositioning her on his lap or from the bellowing and the door slamming. The sound was like the “Hallelujah” chorus in Handel’s masterpiece. She was strong and healthy and would recover. No other outcome would be acceptable. He would make sure.
But once awake, how would he explain what she had witnessed? Of course, she saw what he wanted the Haversham’s spies to see, a gentleman seducing a prostitute. He couldn’t defend himself without revealing his role. She had little faith in him, and tonight proved that she had been right all along.
He cradled her in his arms, trying to warm her with his heat. He bent and kissed her on the top of her head, and the scent of vanilla wafted in his nostrils. “Do you hear me, Perdita? I love you. Only you. I’ve always loved you.”
Perdita groaned with his words.
“You’re going to have one hell of a headache when you wake up. But you’re going to be fine.”
The emptiness of the carriage and the emptiness of the last years without Perdita echoed in his soul. He had been drifting for so long since the day he walked away. He hadn’t held or comforted anyone since he left Perdita. He missed holding her and offering the part of himself that had been barricaded for years.
