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Chapter Five
Dorian had observed the argument between father and daughter raging in the street outside the gambling hall, from the shadow of a rickety doorway that led into a storage yard to the side of the hall. He knew he ought to have gone into the building, but he had not been able to help himself. He had wanted to see how matters would unfold and observe from a safe distance.
Why do I care? I should not care.He had tried to turn away several times, but something within him had made him stay and watch: a strange urge to protect and defend this odd young woman who did not fear him. Every time he saw the rip in her dress flap open, he desired to run to her and cover her with his body, his tailcoat, his cravat—whichever came first—to defend her dignity. That instinct only increased with every lewd whisper he overheard from the spectators.
And yet, he had not moved to protect her. He had stayed put, listening to the argument that bounced between them. Rose’s pain and her father’s disgrace became increasingly apparent. He had flinched when Bill had pawed all over his daughter, in search of money; it reminded him of those worthless cretins in the alley who had done the same. True, the reasons had been different, but Dorian could stand neither.
And then, that drunken lout had struck Rose, and Dorian had known that he would act. It made little sense to him, for he had already vowed to part ways with Rose and forget her. Yet, she drew him back into wanting to rescue her, like a siren calling to Odysseus. Only, he had no friends nearby to lash him to a mast and make him see sense. Hudson was inside.
After the sentries on duty at the gambling hall had turned Rose and her father away, Dorian had followed at a furtive distance. He did not like the way that Bill dragged her violently by her delicate wrist, fearful that it might break as easily as a bird’s wing. But he still had not intervened. Instead, he had bided his time, waiting for the right moment when Rose might actually be in mortal danger.
The second he saw Bill push Rose into the alley, he had readied his blade. After that, it had been an easy creep up behind the fellow and a soft kiss of metal on skin, and he knew that Bill would run away like the coward he was. Inebriates like him always did, for they feared not being allowed to taste another sip of brandy or feel the thrill of another doomed card game if death were to claim them. That was why they took the slow road to their bitter end, savoring every miserable day.
“Are you hurt?” Dorian finally addressed Rose, now that her father had vanished into the city. He had intended to add some softness to his tone, but he had forgotten how. It came out brusque and unfeeling, but she did not seem to realize. Her eyes were unfocused, her breaths shallow and labored.
Sheathing his blade in the custom strap he had concealed beneath his sleeve, he closed the distance between them and scooped her into his arms. She did not try to object. Her body went limp in his grasp as he carried her out of the alley’s gloom and back into the relative brightness of the street.
“Miss Parker? Miss Parker, can you hear me?” he said as he carried her along the river path and back to the road where the gambling hall stood. She did not answer. Worried that she might be gravely hurt, he did not proceed the entire way to the hall. Instead, he stopped beside a familiar carriage that waited by the side of the street, the horses seemingly slumbering with their blinkers on.
He banged on the door. “Shenton!”
A startled grunt erupted from within. The door opened a few moments later, and a groggy face peered out: Bob Shenton, Hudson’s manservant. He was older than Hudson and Dorian by almost two decades and could not endure the revels of the gambling hall in the way that they did. As such, he usually stayed in the carriage to ensure no-one stole it.
“My Lord, what’s the—” He did not finish his sentence as he stared down at the young woman in Dorian’s arms. “Tell me that isn’t Lord Bentley’s doing?”
Dorian shook his head. “It is not, but we must depart immediately for the nearest physician. Please, fetch Lord Bentley and bring him here.” He gave the manservant a knowing look. “You will likely find him in one of the back rooms.”
Shenton hurried out of the carriage and adjusted his ruffled clothing. “At once, My Lord.”
Dorian barely looked as the older man hurried away to wrangle his rowdy employer. His attention was firmly captured by Rose’s peaceful face as she lay cradled in his arms. He could see every contour of her features much more clearly, now that her hair trailed over his arm. The plump rise of her cheeks and the faintest of furrowed lines between her eyebrows that suggested she frowned a lot.
She has plenty of reasons to frown, I suppose.Gently, he set her down in the doorway of the carriage and leaned her, so her shoulder rested against the squabs. She looked as though she were about to loll forward, urging him to reach out and put his hands on either side of her neck, just under her jaw, to keep her chin from dipping. Her skin felt warm to the touch, and the subtle pulse of her heartbeat jumped against his fingertips.
“That will certainly bruise,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently across her wounded cheek. A livid streak of red and faint purple blemished her otherwise united complexion. His hands were so much larger than her face, making her seem unbearably vulnerable.
I wonder what hurts most—the slap itself or the knowledge that her father was the one to strike her?It alarmed him that he was allowing her to humanize before his very eyes, his heart thawing ever so slightly. A hairline crack in the ice that surrounded it.
“Miss Parker?” He tried to coax her out of her unconsciousness, only to realize that he was pressed rather close to her, his forearm resting right against the rise of her bosom, where the dress had been torn. His stomach clenched with shame as he repositioned himself into a more appropriate stance.
What am I doing? I feel as though I am the one who took a blow to the head.He was about to remove his hands and maneuver her into a more autonomous arrangement when her eyes fluttered open.
“My Lord… what happened?” She brought a hand up to her face, her fingertips grazing his retreating thumb. If she noticed, she did not show it.
Dorian stepped back as she returned to full mobility and put his hands behind his back. He felt he could no longer trust them after they had touched her skin. “Don’t you recall?”
“I was in an alley… My father was shouting… Then… you came and, I… ended up here.” She shook her head slowly, as though it might jostle her memory back into the right place. “How am I here?”
“You… walked much of the way. I am surprised you do not remember,” he lied, for his own sake. Indeed, as he stood to his full height before her, he realized the enormity of what he had done. He had carried her in his arms without hesitation and wished her to be well. He had never held anyone in his arms like that, aside from bleeding soldiers who called out for their mothers with their final breaths.
Not even “her”…There had not been time. That had been stolen from them when they had been forced apart.
Rose squinted. “I walked?”
“You did.”
“And… my father?” She swallowed quietly, prompting Dorian to watch the subtle movement of her throat.
Dorian looked away, worried she might see. “He retreated, though not without making idle threats in your direction. You do not have much in the way of fortune, do you?”
