Page 6 of The Lady
That was Delilah’s first real coherent thought as he carried her through the streets. Her mind was still whirling, her body aching from her impetuous run. It felt as though all the strength in her limbs had dissolved, leaving her limp as a newborn pup. She leaned her head against the man’s chest, determined to enjoy whatever small peace and comfort she could until it was snatched away from her again. No matter what terrible thing came next, at least right now, she felt safe, and no one was hurting her. That her desires had shrunk so small made her want to cry, but she did not have the energy for tears.
As he carried her along, Delilah finally began to pay attention to her surroundings and especially to the man carrying her.
Her rescuer was not a gentleman. Although he was more finely dressed than anyone else they passed, and the quality of his tailoring was exceptional, the dark colors and style were wildly out of fashion. The scruff on his face, although well maintained, was also completely out of fashion, at least for men his age. Delilah did not think she had ever seen a man with such a beard unless it was grey or white. This man was older than her, but certainly by no more than ten years or so. Everything about him exuded authority and arrogance; he could give a lord a lesson in confidence.
His demeanor did not seem to be unearned. As he strode through the streets, everyone they passed—everyone—acknowledged him in some manner, whether or not he returned their greeting. Some of them looked at him with fear, others with awe, but they all looked. When their eyes fell to her, they were clearly curious, but not one of them stopped him to ask who she was or where he was going. That, in and of itself, seemed very odd.
“Who are you?” she whispered, then tensed when she realized what she had done. Doubts assailed her, worry she had ruined the moment, and her illusion of safety was about to end.
“Henry Trampine, at your service, little pigeon,” he said, although he did not meet her gaze. His eyes were steadily focused ahead of him, even though everyone scuttled out of his way, leaving him no need to maneuver through the crowds. They all moved forhim.
“He’s the Tramp,” the man walking beside him said, his voice so low, she could barely hear him. Even though he was almost inaudible, there was an odd palpable reverence in his voice as though he had just called her rescuer a king instead of a vagabond.
Delilah pressed her lips together to keep from asking any more questions. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the man’s shoulders. Whatever the future was going to bring her, she did not want to see it coming. She curled in and closed herself off to a world turned cruel, soaking in the present for all it was worth.
* * *
The Tramp
Butch caughtup when they reached the back entrance of Henry’s main establishment, a gambling hell called the Tramp’s Den, only panting slightly and gave Henry a nod. There would be no one coming after the lady. Henry wanted a full report, but that could wait.
“My office.” He jerked his head to Butch and Frank before carrying the lady up the stairs to his rooms. It would be easy enough to lock her in until he understood more of what was happening. From the way she’d gone limp in his arms, he doubted she was in any state to explain. Besides, he wanted to see what Butch had sussed out before he spoke with her, just in case she lied.
Was she asleep? That was his first thought when he laid her out on his bed. Her eyes were closed, and she curled into a tight little ball, almost as though she were trying to comfort herself.
“Stay here,” Henry said in a whisper, breathing the words over her still form in case she was awake and listening. “Do not leave this room.”
There was no response. Slightly disturbed, he left her there, a pink and cream blotch among the green and brown furnishings. His fingers still itched to tear that dress from her body... but first things first. He had not gotten to where he was in life by being hasty. Her current listless state made finding out what had happened to her even more important. If she was going to bring trouble to his door, out she would go, no matter how much he wanted her in his bed.
Butch and Frank were waiting in his office, more sumptuously decorated than his quarters. This was where he met with nobles and gentlemen when it was necessary, which meant it needed to be impressive by design. The furnishings were large and comfortable, the red fabrics lush and richly colored, and the paintings on the walls were fit to grace the walls of a museum. Personally, Henry thought the whole room was grotesque, but it always made an impression on the men escorted there.
Standing in front of his desk, his two men looked completely out of place with their rougher clothing and scruffy faces. That was by design as well, to remind any nobles, while the man they were meeting was just as rich as they, he was far more dangerous.
Without saying a word, Henry gestured to Butch while he took his seat behind the desk.
“Her name is Lady Delilah Darling, daughter of a baron, and shewasthe ward of the Earl of Greenwich til a fortnight ago when he quit the capital, and she was passed off to the Dowager Countess Felton,” Butch said, not mincing his words. “The footman said Felton is a mean old tabby on a good day, and she’s been right awful to the lady. She’s got two hellions for granddaughters, about the same age as the lady, and they’ve got it out for her. He said all three of ‘em have been mistreatin’ the lady, and she fled rather than be thrashed. He was followin’ to make sure she didna come to no harm, but then she went into the Warrens, and he panicked. He thought she must be headed somewhere, a friend or sommach, but now, he thinks she had nowhere to go.”
An unfamiliar emotion swelled inside of Henry, surprising him. It had been a long time since he felt pity for anyone. Such soft emotions had been driven out of him, living in the Warrens, but pretty little pieces like the one upstairs weren’t meant for this life. Still, beyond the pity, there was another emotion growing, much faster and stronger than his brief spurt of weakness. This emotion he was much more familiar with—avarice. He wanted—needed—to claim her as his own. Why, he did not know. He had never felt this way about a woman before.
There was something about her that had called to him from the very beginning, even from a distance. That need had not been assuaged, no matter how many ladybirds he tupped. And now here she was—fallen intohisstreets, intohislap, and without a protector. The wolves would have eaten her alive if he hadn’t stepped in, and they still would if he threw her aside. It sounded as though she had nowhere to turn to, no one to look after her. Henry’s body ached; he already wanted to run upstairs and lay claim to her in the most primal way possible.
She’d be a virgin—not just untried, but completely innocent.
Completely his.
Any other woman and he would not have been interested, but it washer. The phantom, who had haunted his dreams and thoughts for days, was within his grasp.
“Thank you.” Opening a drawer, he pulled out some pound notes for both men. Today’s service deserved an extra reward. Grinning, they took them and left, already knowing they were dismissed.
Leaning back in his chair, Henry steepled his fingers and stared blankly into the air, his mind churning with possibilities.
* * *
Lady Delilah Darling
She did not knowwhen she fell asleep, only that she did. When her rescuer—she was still unsure what to call him—laid her down on the bed, she was too frightened to move, even after he left. Pretending she was asleep was the only defense she had, and he seemed to accept it. After he was gone, she no longer wanted to move.
Every inch of her body still ached from her run, especially her legs and feet. She was unused to such exertion, and her shoes were not meant for running through the streets of London. She felt hollow on the inside, the uncertainty of her future yawning before her, waiting to swallow her up. She could not possibly return to Lady Felton’s house. The mere thought made her want to weep and scream. There was no telling what the woman would do to her. A thrashing would likely only be the beginning, and even after that, she did not think the twins would cease their efforts to torment her.
