Once Upon an Accident 02 - Lessons in Seduction (17 page)

“The weather was superb and the company even more so. I had thought you would join us, but Anna said you were attending your own schedule this day. She did say you’d mentioned the lending library.”

“Yes, I was looking for some information on the latter part of last century, but alas, there is not a good book to be found. Not that I am lacking in reading material,” she said, glancing at the book in her hand.

“I need to be off since we are going to be attending the theater tonight. I daresay I will see you there?”

He nodded. “I would be honored to escort you home.”

“Oh, no thank you. I have a footman waiting for me, and the Ware carriage. I suppose I should dawdle no longer, as it is. Thank you for rescuing me from that painfully dull discourse.”

After bidding the young earl goodbye, she checked out her book and headed through the front door. When she stepped onto the street, she searched for John, the footman who was to be waiting for her and was puzzled when she did not see him. She noticed the Ware carriage parked down the street so she turned in that direction, thinking John must have misunderstood her directions.

As she walked along, her thoughts drifted back to Oglithorpe and his odd behavior. The man never showed interest in last century historical study. In fact, she had heard him on more than one occasion say that nothing of importance could be studied until all those involved were dead. So why had he given so much attention to the diary? Could he somehow be connected?

A hand wrapped around her elbow, the fingers digging into her skin even through the fabric of her clothes. Before she could turn, she felt the prick of a knife in her side.

“Do not say a word, me lady, or I will split your gullet.”

He need not fear. The same bewildering detachment she had felt when cornered by Cummings rushed over her, effectively cutting off her ability to run, to scream, to move.

In which Dewhurst plays the hero.

Cold fingers of fear slid down Cicely’s spine as she nodded to her captor. He pulled her off the street and into a nearby alley. As she desperately tried to devise some way to break free of his hold, her gaze took in the activity on the street seeking to find one person to help. This particular corner was deserted, the two closest shops no longer open.

Why had she not accepted Dewhurst’s offer of escort?

The stench of rotted food filled her nostrils. Bile rose in her throat as her fear doubled. Her mind whirled as she tried to come up with something—anything—to free herself of the hold of the ruffian. He was stronger than she’d gathered upon first impression. Regardless of strength, she reminded herself, the knife he held to her side cared little for station, size or shape. It could cut them all the same. She shuddered, tripping over her own feet.

“Stop your antics. I’m warnin’ ya.”

When he had them far enough away from the street so no one could hear her scream, or if they did, they would not think to look, he released her, pushing her roughly against the brick wall. She stumbled, but caught herself before her face connected with the unyielding brick. Even through her gloves, she felt the scrape.

When she turned to face him, her first full assessing glance at her captor stunned her. The young man could not be more than fifteen, if that. Not that it calmed her fears in the least. She knew that desperation could make anyone deadly. She had firsthand experience. The lad’s hair was dark and overly long, brushing over the frayed collar of his thin coat.

The cold, determined look in his black eyes sent an icy wave of horror over her soul. This was a young man who had seen the worst in life and survived, but at what cost? And at what cost was he willing to continue?

That gave her an idea. Perhaps she could plead with his more entrepreneurial spirit.

He wet his cracked lips. “I need the book.”

For a second, she did not react. The comment was not what she expected. Already terrified, it took her a few seconds to work through what he had asked.

“The book?”

He glanced down at her arms, and she followed his gaze. She was holding the book she had checked out from the library against her breasts as if that could save her.

He gestured with the knife. “Come on, lady. I need—”

“Lady Cicely!”

She turned, relief replacing the terror when she saw Dewhurst running down the alley. The ruffian used the momentary distraction to grab the book from her arms and run deeper into the alley.

Dewhurst reached her. If should could just make her mind stop spinning she would be fine. It was then she noticed that John was with Dewhurst, a gash on his forehead, blood oozing from the wound. She slumped backward. The young earl grabbed her by her upper arms to steady her.

It helped, slightly, but she still could not stand.

With a sigh, she slid all the way to the filthy street. She must have surprised Dewhurst with the action, because he let go of her. The cold ground seeped through her gowns, but she didn’t care how cold her bum grew or how nasty the ground was. At least she would not topple face first into the mess. Blackness pushed at the edge of her vision.

Dewhurst bent down, peering into her face. “Lady Cicely, are you all right?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“I am ever so sorry, my lady. One minute I was waiting for you, the next I was waking up in an alley several blocks away,” John said.

She looked over at the injured footman and finally found her voice.

“Oh, John, we should get you home. Someone needs to stitch that up.”

He touched the wound and flinched.

“The important question is, are you okay?” Dewhurst posed the query and she turned her attention back to him. It was a mistake. The movement was too fast. She planted her hands on the ground on either side of her hips. She took three deep breaths and felt markedly more in control. Her racing heart had slowed to a fast canter.

“I am perfectly fine, except for having a bit of a fright. I just need a moment to compose myself, then we can go.”

Crouched in front of her, Dewhurst asked, “What did he want?”

“The book. He took my book.”

“Your book?”

The bewilderment in his voice brought a small smile to Cicely’s lips.

“Yes, such a silly thing, really. I have no idea why he would want a book from the lending library enough to threaten a woman with a dagger.”

“Just what the bloody hell is going on here? Dewhurst? Unhand Lady Cicely.”

Douglas’ deep baritone sounded down the crowded alley as he strode toward them. Giddy, warm relief filled her at the sight of him. Dewhurst, apparently taking Douglas at his word, released her.

She blinked repeatedly. She should try to stand.

Dewhurst and John jerked to attention, greeting Douglas with awe and respect. Cicely fought the bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to break free. Her nerves were raw from the strange turn of events over the day and even though she felt comfort that Douglas had appeared, she could not seem to calm her heart.

When he reached her, anger darkened his eyes, and his expression was unemotional, cold. He scowled first at John, then Dewhurst. Finally he turned his stormy gaze to her, along with his steely presence and unwavering attention.

“Please forgive me for the oversight, Your Grace, but I do not believe I shall be able to curtsy.”

The muscles in his cheek flexed as if he were grinding his teeth.

Her fragile will buckled, her world spun, her heart beat loudly in her ears for two, maybe three beats and then Lady Cicely sank into darkness.

Douglas’ heart was still lodged firmly in his throat as he stepped through the front door of the Ware household. Cicely, in his arms because he had been unable to let her go, had come to once in the carriage, but had since been out cold. His breath labored and speaking nearly impossible, Douglas walked through the foyer. Fitzgerald gaped first at Cicely, then at him.

“Your Grace?” The aged butler’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Swallowing the panic that felt as if it would consume him, Douglas said, “Please summon Penwyth and Lady Victoria.”

“Immediately, Your Grace.”

But when Fitzgerald turned to leave, Penwyth was already striding down the stairs.

“Good God, Ethingham, what are you doing?”

“I am holding your cousin, who”—his voice had risen, so he modulated it—“I am to understand, was accosted over a book she checked out from the lending library this afternoon.”

The earl’s frown was fierce as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I am sure that Ethingham would like to get Lady Cicely settled.”

Penwyth started at the sound of Dewhurt’s voice, apparently not noticing the younger man had followed behind them. When Douglas glanced over his shoulder, he found Dewhurst helping John through the door. Dewhurst fairly staggered under the young footman’s weight as he guided him across the floor. The handkerchief Douglas had given him was now soaked in blood, and John had gotten lightheaded in the carriage.

“Fitzgerald, send a footman around for Dr. Thomas,” Sebastian ordered.

Nodding, the butler left without a word, his face drained of all color.

“Ethingham, let’s get her into the study. Lay her down on the couch.

John, have Simon”—he nodded to the footman who had just walked up— “help you to your room. We will send the doctor to you when he arrives.”

“What about Lady Cicely?” John asked.

Douglas could tell the words cost the lad much. He paled further at the volume of his voice.

“She needs the doctor first,” John said.

Douglas inclined his head. “We’ll see to her safety. You take care of yourself.”

Sebastian ushered Douglas into the study where he efficiently swiped the sofa clean of pillows. When he stepped back and gestured it was ready, Douglas could not seem to bring himself to put her down. Tucked safely in his embrace, she felt so small, so fragile and defenseless. God help him, but he would never forget the bone-chilling fear he felt when he discovered her in that alley. Dewhurst standing over her, fading footsteps of the assailant sounding in the distance and young John bewildered and bleeding. When he’d found out she had left the lending library five minutes prior and never made it to her carriage, panic had held him by the short hairs. Five minutes… Anything could have happened.

Douglas pulled her tighter to his chest. His arms trembled, but it was not from her slight slip of a form, it was from her danger and his shortcomings. The fact that it had been Dewhurst and not himself who had saved her, had struck him to his core. It was asinine and juvenile, but he felt he had the right to be the one to protect her. But he had been too involved in other things, too busy to keep up with her comings and goings.

He looked down at her. Her color was pale although her breathing was deep and steady. She was so cold. So lifeless. So unlike Cicely.

Penwyth stepped forward and said in a lowered voice, “It is all right, old chap. The doctor is coming. She is safe. She is going to be all right.

Just set her on the sofa and we will figure it all out.”

Before he could embarrass himself by refusing to set her down, she stirred. Her heavily lashed lids fluttered, once, twice, then rose. The instant fear that leapt in her eyes twisted his heart. But that fear dissolved into confusion when she realized who was holding her.

“Douglas?”

Penwyth coughed discreetly behind Douglas, apparently taking note of Cicely’s familiar use of his name.

Without paying attention to the other man, he placed her on the sofa, knowing now that she would be fine. She blinked up at him as he straightened. He knew the moment she remembered the incident. What little color was left drained from her face.

“John?”

Of course. Her first concern would be for someone else.

“He’s fine. A doctor is going to have to stitch up the gash, but he will be hale and hearty soon enough.”

She nodded then turned her attention to Dewhurst who had just stepped through the door to the study. “Thank you so much, my lord. If you had not come upon us when you did, I shudder to think what would have happened. He was a desperate lad.”

Her thin voice sent another wave of rage pouring through Douglas.

He did not like the mind-numbing fear, the desperate worry that the incident had caused him. The sound of her weak voice had him lashing out at Dewhurst.

“Yes, just how was it that you should be the one to discover Lady Cicely was in trouble?” His tone reeked of suspicion but damned if he could stop it. The giant green beast that was jealousy clawed at his belly, fighting to get out.

“Chance only. I saw John wandering down the street covered with blood and I had just talked to Lady Cicely in the lending library. She had said John was to escort her home so when I found John, I realized something terrible had happened. We started our search immediately, and I am thankful she had not been taken too far.”

Douglas opened his mouth to ask what had prompted them to turn down that unlikely alleyway when Colleen rushed into the room, followed closely by Lady Victoria and Lady Anna.

“We just heard what happened,” Colleen said. She was composed but he recognized the same fear in her eyes when their gazes met. Her attention turned to Cicely. “Cicely.” She hastened to the sofa. “How are you doing?”

Cicely smiled weakly and looked a bit embarrassed by all the attention. “I am fine. All the excitement and skipping luncheon probably caused my fainting spell.”

Douglas thought it probably had a bit more to do with nerves, but he remained silent.

Anna, looking much like a woman warrior, settled her hands on her hips and faced Dewhurst. “Just what is this all about?”

Douglas smiled with humor and compassion. It was about time that someone asked that. Perhaps the domineering little woman could coax answers he himself could not.

“Anna, please. He saved me from a ruffian who apparently was after my lending library book.”

Suddenly Anna’s demeanor changed. Anna cast a worshipful glance at Dewhurst and then turned to Cicely. “A book from the lending library?