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“Cross a palm with enough silver and you can learn pretty much anything. Also, how do you think they became locksmiths in the first place?” I straighten. “I can’t open—”
A shadow passes behind Gray, and there is one unforgivable second where I think it’s his own shadow, cast by the light filtering through grimy windows. When I realize my mistake, my mouth opens to shout a warning, but he’s already sensed someone there, and he’s spinning, fists rising.
The first blow hits Gray’s jaw before he can swing. He staggers back as I leap forward, but a second attacker lunges between us and slams his fistinto Gray’s stomach with enough force that I scream in rage as I launch myself at him.
Gray smacks into the wall, his head snapping forward, and after I barrel into the man I hit, I claw past him to get to Gray, slumped on the floor. When the man tries to grab Gray, I slash his arm with my knife, and he pulls back, gasping, blood welling up on his white shirt.
“Stay away from him,” I snarl.
“Like bloody hell—”
I wave the knife, cutting him short. “You’ve just attacked an unarmed visitor. A doctor.”
“He doesn’t look like a doctor.”
“Does he look like a thief?” I snap. “He’s clearly a gentleman. The front door was open, and we were looking for the proprietor. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
I turn to Gray, slumped unconscious against the wall. I grip his shoulder, and he falls to the side.
“I need a doctor,” I say to the two men.
“I thought he was one.”
Gray is unconscious,deeplyunconscious, and I’m trying not to freak out about that. Also trying not to freak out over that blow to his stomach.
I’m checking Gray’s breathing, about to snap again at the men to bring help, when hands seize my shoulders. I swing my knife, but the other man grabs my arm and deftly plucks the blade from my hand. I punch and thrash. My blows make contact, but there’s two of them—two very big men—and before I know it, I’m being shoved through a doorway.
I recover my footing and spring at them, but one shoves me backward into the darkness. As I fall, the floor disappears beneath me. At the last second, I realize I’m tumbling down stairs, and I manage to throw myself forward, landing hard across the risers and grabbing the edge of the landing.
I lie there, gripping the landing, and trying to get upright. Something hits me. Something heavy enough that my hold breaks and I slide down the stairs, and while the corset acts like armor for my stomach, each edge slams into my chin, as whatever hit me threatens to steamroll over me.
It’s Gray. I realize that as I grapple to stop my fall and my hand touches warm skin. They threw Gray into the stairwell after me, and his unconscious body is propelling me down the stairs. I catch the edge of a step andmanage to pause our fall, but Gray is no lightweight and I soon start to slide. I wedge one boot against the wall, grab his shirt in both hands and rise as best I can while steadying him.
I look down the stairs to see how much farther there is to go. It’s pitch dark. All I can do is keep hold of Gray—or his clothing at least—and try to get him down without both of us falling the rest of the way.
I stretch my leg down as far as I can. When my foot taps a solid landing, I exhale in relief. Only two more stairs to the bottom.
I wedge my hands under Gray’s torso and ease him down as best I can. He still hits each step, making me wince. At the bottom, I feel around until I find a wall. Then I prop him against it.
“Dr. Gray?” I say, and almost laugh at myself. The man didn’t wake up being thrown down a stairwell. He’s not going to wake to the sound of his name.
The half laugh catches in my throat.
The man didn’t wake up being thrown down a stairwell.
My hands fly to his neck. Well, they try to fly to his neck, though in the darkness I poke him in the face. I quickly find the right spot and press my fingertip against it. Is that a pulse? Please let it be—
Yes, that’s a pulse.
I check his breathing. It’s shallow but steady, which means the blow to the stomach didn’t crack ribs and pierce his lungs.
I awkwardly kneel beside him. “Dr. Gray?” I rub my hand against his cheek, which sounds very sweet, but it’s a brusque “pleasewake up” rub rather than a gentle caress. “Dr. Gray?”
I shake his shoulder. No response. Panic licks through me. He’s breathing. His heart is beating. That’s the limit of what I know to check for.
“Dr. Gray?” I rub his cheek again. “Come on. Please wake up, Dr. Gray.”
“Duncan.” His voice is thick, almost a groan. “I will only respond to Duncan.”
