“Are you certain you wish to stay with our guest?” Pierre asked when he returned. At Daniel’s nod, Pierre pulled a wingback chair close to the bed, found an extra blanket, and added more coals to the fire.
“Do you need anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
“Good night then.” Pierre took his leave, and Daniel settled into the chair.
He never would’ve guessed when he left the club earlier that he’d bring home a beautiful lady and would spend the night watching over her. What sort of trouble was she in?
Chapter Two
Beatrice woke with a cry, her heart pounding with fear.
“Shh. It’s all right.” The man’s voice—and his words—confused her as did the gentle touch that brushed the hair from her face. “You’re safe now.”
Safe? Her head throbbed painfully as she tried to think of where she was and how she’d come to be there. Exhaustion weighed her limbs, and her thoughts were muddled. Yet rather than the fear that had gripped her every waking moment of late, she did indeed feel safe.
She glanced about the darkened chamber just visible in the embers of a fire, realizing this wasn’t the tiny room in the brothel. Nor the one in the tenement. Nor her bedchamber at home.
Grief took hold as she thought of her father and home, both forever out of her reach. How had her life come to this? Tears came, and she cried for all she’d lost. She couldn’t seem to stop.
“Shh. All is well.” The man continued to speak in that deep, calming voice, his touch at her temple soothing. “You’re safe.”
She held tight to his promise as a cloudy haze took her under once again.
“TAKE A SIP.”
The gentle request of Beatrice’s rescuer along with his warm hand on her shoulder compelled her to do as he asked.
She blinked several times to lift weighted lids then eased upright with his help, sending the room spinning. He leaned closer, his arm supporting her as he held a cup of what smelled like warm broth to her lips. She sipped hesitantly, waiting for the awful aftertaste that had flavored nearly everything she’d had since her arrival in London.
When she only tasted beef broth, delicious at that, she took several more sips, before finding it impossible to keep her eyes open any longer. A maid stepped forward to take the cup from him, the young woman smiling encouragingly at her.
“Well done.” The man’s praise warmed her nearly as much as the broth. He assisted her to lay down again, his appealing scent of bergamot mixed with the sea catching her notice, so different than the other men she’d encountered thus far in the city. “Rest.”
As if her body was compelled to heed his request, sleep claimed her once more.
BEATRICE WOKE AGAIN, head still aching, her thoughts confused. The events she’d endured came rushing back, and she opened her eyes on a gasp, causing the chamber to shift unsteadily. She eased upright, hoping to keep her view from swaying and the pounding in her head at bay. The realization that she’d escaped the brothel nearly overcame the worry of where she was now.
Daylight filtered along the edges of the draped windows, revealing her surroundings. The well-appointed room suggested she slept in a place much different than any since her arrival in London.
A man sat in a wingback chair near the bed, watching her closely with golden eyes. “Good morning,” he said softly.
He was the gentleman who’d rescued her from the street. The one who’d comforted her when she’d woke earlier. Gratitude fought with concern as she studied the handsome stranger. His lean face, watchful hazel eyes, and sun-kissed skin were appealing. A small smile graced his lips, and dark whiskers shadowed his jaw, matching his dark hair. Intelligence shown in his eyes, and his attire, though casual, was finely tailored.
But she was no longer a woman who easily trusted others. Not after what she’d been through. “Who are you?” The words came out raspy, and she cleared her throat.
The man rose and handed her a cup which she sniffed suspiciously.
“It’s water,” he said, one dark brow raised in question.
She sipped, relieved that nothing unsavory flavored the taste. She drank the entire contents before handing it back to him.
He set the cup on the table and returned to the chair. “My name is Daniel Walker,” he answered at last. “I came upon you two nights ago on the street.”
“Two nights?” Had she slept so long? She pressed her fingers to her temple as bits of memories came to her.
“Yes. How are you feeling?”
She considered the question. “Tired. Groggy. Weak.” She glanced down at her attire, realizing she no longer wore the white nightrail but a different one.
“Jane, the day maid, assisted you to change,” he explained rather hastily.
She nodded, vaguely remembering a maid’s presence.
“You can have a proper meal if you’re feeling up to it. The doctor has been to see you and suggested bed rest. We can send for him again if you’d like to speak with him.”
She shook her head, fairly certain that nothing ailed her that wouldn’t be cured by rest and sustenance.
“May I have your name?” He sat forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Beatrice.” She hesitated, wondering if she should give him her full name. Yet what difference would it make? “Beatrice Linfield.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Linfield. Is there someone I should notify of your presence? Family, perhaps?”
The question caused her to close her eyes briefly as a wave of grief rolled over her. “No. There’s no one.” Only too late did she question whether she should’ve admitted as much. Her thoughts were still so foggy. She pressed a hand to her aching head again, trying to think even as she swallowed against the lump in her throat.
“Can you share how you came to be on the street where I found you?” Mr. Walker’s gaze held steadily on her.
Part of her didn’t
