Jacquie ’Alessandro - Whirlwind Affair

The squeak of a door creaking on its hinges cut off his words. Allie's gaze flew to his. He laid one finger across her lips, indicating silence, and she nodded. Slow, heavy footsteps sounded in the distance, pausing, then starting again, growing louder with each footfall.

He helped her rise, then gave her a questioning look of unmistakable concern. She nodded. Her cramped legs protested and it was nearly impossible not to stamp her feet to return some feeling to her limbs, but she was fine. And very anxious to leave. The footsteps grew closer.

Reaching down, he picked up his knife. He then grasped her hand, pulling her close. So close they touched from chest to knee. A flash of heat rushed through her. Leaning down, he whispered directly into her ear.

"Don't let go of my hand."

Moving with a catlike silent grace, he pulled her deeper into the shadows of the stacked crates, then paused, listening for the footfalls, which had again stopped. Allie heard the rustle of her petticoat and grimaced. To her ears it sounded as loud as the clanking of a cowbell. And her one shoe was more a hindrance than a help, the heel making her feel lopsided, and sounding an unwanted tap against the wood. Reaching down, she pulled off the shoe, stuffing it into the pocket of her gown. No sense leaving it behind when it might prove useful as a weapon.

With her hand firmly clasped in Lord Robert's, he led her slowly forward through the shadows, keeping close to the stacked crates. The footfalls sounded again, closer this time. Lord Robert halted, then pulled her close against him. He pressed them as far back into the shadows as possible, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding her head against his chest, shielding her between the wooden crates and his body.

Heat surrounded her like a velvet blanket. His heart beat hard and fast beneath her ear, and his warm breath touched her temple each time he exhaled. And with each breath she drew, the masculine, musky scent of him filled her head.

The footsteps continued. Closer. Closer. Dear God, was it the man who had abducted her? What would he do when he discovered them gone? Well, he'd have a devil of a fight on his hands if he attempted to take her again. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she wrapped her chilled fingers around her shoe. She prayed she wouldn't be forced to help defend them with such a meager weapon. But she would if she had to.

Closer. Heart pounding, she stood perfectly still, listening to Lord Robert's thudding heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall. Closer. Until she was certain they were about to be discovered.

But then, miraculously, whoever it was moved on, passed them, the footfalls diminishing. It must not have been her abductor. A watchman perhaps? A moment later, the squeak of unoiled hinges rent the air, then all was silent.

She locked her knees to fight the limb-weakening relief rushing through her. Lord Robert exhaled a long breath that ruffled her hair. His arms tightened around her and in that momentary respite from her fright, she was suddenly very much aware of him. Not as a protector, but as a man. A brave man whose hard, masculine body was pressed intimately against her, his fingers tangled in her hair where his hand cradled her head to his chest, his warm breath touching her.

A wave of heat scorched her… Heat that had nothing to do with the embarrassment she should have felt. But before she could react, he released her body, gripped her hand, and began leading her silently along. The splinter jabbed deeper into her heel, but she forced the discomfort from her mind. If a sore foot was the worst memento she garnered from this evening, she'd consider herself very fortunate indeed. Less than a minute later they reached a large wooden door.

Keeping her behind him, he cracked the door open. Allie nearly jumped out of her skin when the hinges growled with a noise resembling the cry of a wounded animal. Lord Robert's head and shoulders disappeared through the opening. Seconds later he leaned back.

"This leads to an alleyway," he reported in a low voice. "I'm not certain of our exact location, but I have a general idea. We need to get to a more crowded area, then we can hail a hack." He squeezed her hand in what was clearly meant to be a reassuring way. "Not to worry."

Worry? That was a lukewarm description of her feelings. She'd never been more frightened in her life. "I'm not worried. Do I look worried?"

"I don't know. It's too dark to tell. Just don't let go of my hand."

He slipped out the door and Allie gripped his hand ever tighter, needing no urging to follow him out of the dank warehouse. Let go of his hand? Not if her very life depended on it.

Unfortunately, she was terrified that it might.

*********

When they reached the end of the alley, Robert looked both ways. A glimmer of relief edged down his spine, even as dread coursed through him. Fortunately, he did indeed know where they were. Unfortunately, it was one of the worst sections of the city. Getting them home unaccosted would take a miracle. He gripped the hilt of his knife tighter. And prayed for a miracle.

Keeping to the deep shadows, he moved swiftly along, holding tight to Mrs. Brown's small hand. They zigzagged through trash-strewn, rat-infested back streets. The stench of filth and poverty and unwashed humanity mingled with nearby cries of women and harsh shouts of men. A series of deep grunts and moans emanated from a darkened doorway, and he quickened his pace. He expected her to falter, to squeal in dismay, to gasp in horror, to cry out, or to succumb to the vapors, but she kept pace with him, never uttering a sound. Indeed the only reason he even knew she remained behind him was the feel of her palm pressed firmly to his and the slight rustle of her petticoats.

They were close now… close to a place where they'd be able to hail a hack. Just two more turns and he'd get her to safety. He would not fail. Not like he had with Nate…

They rounded the second turn and a pent-up breath whooshed from his lungs. There, under the dim circle of light cast by a gas lamp, stood a hack. It was easily the most welcome sight Robert had ever seen.

Both driver and horse appeared to be dozing, but they roused as Robert and Mrs. Brown approached. He called out the direction of the Bradford town house to the sleepy-eyed driver as he helped Mrs. Brown into the carriage.

Settling himself on the seat opposite Mrs. Brown, Robert drew in what seemed like his first easy breath in hours. They were safe. On their way home. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut as a combination of relief, triumph, and exhaustion surged through him. He hadn't failed.

But by damn he wanted to know the whys and whats of how he and Mrs. Brown had ended up trussed like turkeys on a dockside warehouse floor. Setting his knife on the hard seat beside him, he raked his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers encountered an egg-sized lump.

"Are you all right?" came her soft voice.

"Just a bump. How are…?"

His voice trailed off as they passed under the light of a gas lamp and he got his first good look at her. Her eyes were huge, her face chalk-white. She lifted a visibly trembling hand to brush away a tangled curl clinging to her pale cheek, and his heart seemed to stutter to a stop.

Her hand was covered with blood.

God, he hated the sight of blood. Always had. Even as a child. He vividly recalled cutting his foot on a sharp stone when he was six years old. He'd watched the blood ooze from the wound and had nearly passed out cold. The only thing that had kept him from doing so was the knowledge that Austin and William would have teased him unmercifully if he'd swooned like a girl.

One look at Mrs. Brown's hand and the crimson streak of blood now marring her pale cheek, and his stomach turned over. "You're hurt," he said. Damn it all, his voice sounded positively feeble. Why hadn't he felt the blood while he'd pulled her along? Had he caused her further injury? Hurt her? No, he realized. Her right hand was bleeding. He'd been holding her left hand.

Clearing his throat, he reached out and gently grasped her forearms. He eased her hands over, and his lips flattened into a grim line. Even in the dim light he could see that her wrists were rubbed raw. Numerous oozing nicks marred her palms and fingers, but it was the long cut running across her right hand that concerned him the most. A drop of blood dripped off her fingertip, and he swallowed hard. "These wounds need to be seen to. Immediately."

His mind raced. It would take at least thirty minutes to make their way through the labyrinth of streets back to the town house. His own rooms were farther away still. He couldn't stand the thought of her waiting, bleeding, for all that time. Dear God, the woman hadn't uttered a word of complaint and she had to have been in agony. Sympathy crowded him, and he barely resisted the urge to pull her onto his lap and cradle her like a broken child. For God help him, that's exactly what she looked like.

An idea popped into his mind, and he seized it like a starving dog pouncing upon a bone. He signaled the driver, then shouted out a different direction for him.

"A sovereign for you if you deliver us there within five minutes," he yelled. The hack surged forward, nearly tossing him off his seat.

"Where are we going?" Mrs. Brown asked, her eyes appearing even larger and more haunted than a moment ago.

His gaze riveted on the streak of blood staining her cheek. "A friend's home. He lives close by. These wounds need immediate attention." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his handkerchief, then gently dabbed at her palms. "I'm so sorry… these must hurt terribly."