Page 250 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“Go on now,” Brier encouraged. “’Tis not my place to deride.” Not now that she’d roused protective instincts every bit as much as a curious fascination to know everything about her. “I would hear your tale.”

“After the accident…”

“Accident involving exactly what? Who and how many?” If she was exaggerating over a broken tongue or strap, then he would know not to put great store in everything she claimed.

“Our crowded stagecoach. Another coach and a fine carriage.”

He winced. A number of innocents involved, then. “Go on.”

“Aft-after the dead were separated, the injured being tended, I sought shelter beneath a tree. It had grown colder, was still raining.”

“Injured. Did no one offer to see to your hands?” She looked down as though still surprised to find their scraped appearance.

Then she found his gaze again. Her pale eyes were luminous, but blue or green or in between, he knew not, needing more light to discern their color.

After licking her lips once, she said, “Not trifles. I talk ofinjuriousinjuries, sir. The sort that one may not recover from.”

“Ah.” Hard not to cringe in the face of that. “All right. What came after the calamitous event?” What started her feet upon their flurry?

“There was talk of securing another stage but not until morning. Several others—a man, woman and baby, and another couple with two children—walked off, seeking shelter someone said. I waited—huddled, more like—feeling useless. The men who separated the broken coaches had already barked at me to stay out of their way…”

Her voice grew inertious and he cupped her shoulder and gave a nod of encouragement, pleased when she continued. “I thought to accompany the families. At the time, that made more sense than standing there growing more drenched and dreary every second. I started in the direction they’d gone. Only they must have lived close by for despite my haste, I did not see them through the murk. But by now, someone else followed me.

“At first, I thought it was perhaps one of the rescuers, come to offer escort, but nay. No one called out for me to wait, yet I sensed someone shadowing my footsteps with ill intent. I looked over my shoulder, saw nothing, but walked faster. The next time I glanced behind me, a dark shape with glowing, enflamed eyes—like the evil one—hounded my footsteps.” She spoke faster, agitation growing as she abandoned his embrace and rose to pace the small room. “No one was about. The streets deserted. Shops closed tight. But still, he—it—came after me, so I ran. Faster and faster—and faster again when he roared—”

“Roared? For the first time, I struggle to believe you.”

“Roared, I say!” And he was glad to see her stomp her foot and hold her ground, despite the fatigue lining her features. “Regardless of the raging storm, I raced through the gloom like a desperate, only stopping once I saw your lights. Movement beyond your window—”

Her breathing had become a series of labored, fast pants, panic edging into her tone and gaze, so he sought to distract. “What of your valise? Your trunks?”

“I have only two bags—or, had. Both…lost… In the brabble of everyone attending the injured and themselves.”

“What of the rest? Is that to be sent along?” After she secured employment, perhaps?

“The rest? There is norest. No other…”

Which meant, astonishingly, noothers, either. What was someone like her doing out alone this close to the holiday? All afrazzle? And still too damn tempting…

“No… More.” Her empty, swollen fingers flexed.

“Nothing?”

Her eyes seemed to glaze over, no longer seeing him. “Gone. Every single thing… Gone.”

’Twas the first time, despite her ragged condition and the wild tale she’d spun, he’d seen her eyes glisten.

Tears.

Understandable, heart-wrenching tears that shredded his resolve to remain unaffected. Uninvolved. “Clothing, I can help you replace.” He gestured beyond into the shop, toward the wall of fabrics, the shelves of ladies’ things just waiting for her perusal. She could choose what she needed tomorrow. Assuming she could sew, he could see her attired in a trice and at no cost to her. Otherwise, a dressmaker would be the first order of business.

What happened to not involving yourself?

The very concept of sending her back out to survive on her own was like glass piercing his chest. “What else is missing?”

What else could he help her replace?

Before seeing her to her destination, correct?

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