A Rogue to the Rescue (The Rogue Chronicles #4) Page 2

  “Probably not.”

  “Who is she?” Pierre asked as he hurried forward to light the candle beside the bed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does that mean you don’t know what’s wrong with her either?” Pierre pulled down the bed covers only to hold out his hand. “Wait.”

  Daniel looked over to see him staring at the woman’s dirty feet.

  “What happened to her shoes?” Then he quickly shook his head. “Allow me to guess. You don’t know. Mrs. Beverly will have our heads if we allow that muck to touch the linens.” He gave a mock shudder at the thought. “I shall fetch the water and basin from your room to clean them.”

  Daniel didn’t bother to argue. Pierre was right. Mrs. Beverly served as housekeeper and ran his small household with the same efficiency as the captain of a ship. She would not be pleased to have the clean linens dirtied by whatever filth covered the lady’s feet.

  “Send someone for the doctor as well,” Daniel requested as Pierre reached the door. Then he set her against the pillow and bolster, careful to leave her feet off the edge of the bed.

  Daniel studied the lady in the candlelight, surprised to realize she was very attractive. She looked rather like a fallen angel with her white nightrail and dirty feet. Her honey-colored hair was messily pulled back and framed her fine-boned, heart-shaped face. Long, sooty lashes and brows a shade darker than her hair were all the more arresting against her smooth skin. Skin that was noticeably pale.

  Who was she and why was she dressed like this? Those were only the beginning of his many questions. But first, he wanted to make certain something wasn’t seriously wrong with her.

  “The doctor has been sent for,” Pierre said as he carried in a basin of water along with several cloths over one arm and quickly got to work. “Where did you find her?”

  “Not far from Brooks’s.”

  “You were walking home again? Tsk tsk.” Pierre didn’t approve of Daniel testing his savate skills, a French boxing technique that used both hands and feet, at which Pierre was a master.

  “Just because I walk doesn’t mean I’ll find trouble.”

  “Well, you certainly did this evening. She must be chilled to the bone based on how cold her feet are.” Pierre paused in his ministrations to study the woman. “One look at her and you know she’s some sort of trouble.”

  “You mean in some sort of trouble.”

  A pointed look from the valet suggested he meant what he’d said.

  Pierre had lived on the streets of Paris all his life until he’d been called upon to escort a French aristocrat to England over two decades ago. The lord had dismissed him once they reached the safety of England’s shores, leaving Pierre on the streets once again, this time in London.

  He’d come to Daniel’s notice when Daniel had watched him fight at an underground match a friend dragged him to. Daniel had been impressed with Pierre’s skills when he’d easily beat his opponent with his unusual fighting method. While some Englishmen thought the technique ungentlemanly with its open hand slaps as well as kicks, Daniel had been fascinated. If he were ever in a fight for his life, he wanted every advantage possible. So he had asked Pierre to teach him, but he’d refused until Daniel named a sum the Frenchman couldn’t refuse.

  Rather than simply serve as his savate instructor, Pierre insisted on more. When Daniel learned he had no place to live, he offered Pierre a position as his valet. Daniel had taught him the duties and paid him an excellent wage, and in exchange, Pierre taught him the French boxing technique in addition to acting as a valet.

  “I’m not certain it was wise to bring her home with you when you know nothing about her.” Pierre cast him a worried look as he dried one foot.

  Daniel stared at the dainty, delicate limb with unease. “Probably not. But what else could I do? She was crying.”

  Pierre muttered a curse under his breath. “We mere men are no match against a woman’s tears.”

  “She was obviously frightened. Terrified, in fact.” Daniel frowned. “She seemed to think someone was looking for her, but she was desperate not to be found.”

  “She spoke?”

  “Briefly. I would guess she’s well educated, based on the few words we exchanged.”

  Pierre glanced at her attire as he finished washing her other foot. “Mayhap she escaped from somewhere. Why else would she be on the street dressed in such a manner?”

  “We’ll have to wait until she wakes for answers.”

  “Let us hope that is soon.” Pierre placed her feet under the bedclothes and drew the covers over her. Then he set aside the basin and cloths to light the fire. “Shall I sit with her until the doctor arrives?”

  “I’ll do so. Waking to find a strange man with her might frighten her unnecessarily.” Besides, he was anxious to learn more about her and who she thought was searching for her.

  Within a half an hour, Dr. Boyle arrived, and in his usual no-nonsense manner, asked only a few questions before examining the lady while Daniel waited in the hallway.

  “Based on her condition and the little information she shared, I believe she’s been given some sort of drug,” the thin man said after closing the door behind him. “Laudanum, perhaps, but far too much of it I would guess. After a few days of rest and some decent meals, I would expect a full recovery.”

  Daniel nodded, relieved to hear his opinion. “Can she be moved?” He thought to take her to Richard and Caroline’s when possible.

  “I’d advise against doing so until she’s stronger. Send for me if any problems arise, but she should be feeling better soon.”

  “Thank you for coming.” Daniel returned to the chamber while Pierre showed the doctor out. To his disappointment, the lady slept once again. It appeared as if he wouldn’t have any answers until the morrow, but he was pleased there didn’t appear to be anything seriously wrong with her.

  “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 want to answer. As if sharing the events—those she could remember—made them more real. Even thinking of them reminded her of the danger she’d narrowly escaped. It was difficult to believe she was truly safe.

  “You mentioned that someone might be looking for you,” he pressed.

  The thought of Mr. Finch was enough to cause fear to choke her once more. She laid a hand against her suddenly pounding heart, unable to think of that terrible place, let alone speak of it. Not yet. She shook her head and glanced away.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She looked back at him, wondering how much to say. Whether it was the quiet, deep timbre of his voice or those compelling golden eyes that spoke of trustworthiness, she found herself sharing the whole story in fits and starts, beginning with her father’s death, her arrival in London, the visit to the registry office to apply for work, and the few parts she remembered after that. Unfortunately, much of it was a blur.

  The man said nothing as she spoke, only nodding a few times as if to encourage her to continue, waiting patiently for her to find the words when she paused and providing a handkerchief when emotion overcame her.

  “I certainly don’t wish to cause you further unease, but the authorities should be notified of all that happened to you.”

  Though his gentle suggestion held only concern, her heart nearly beat out of her chest at the thought. Guilt weighed on her as her thoughts flew to Mary. The woman probably wasn’t the only one in trouble in the brothel. But the thought of confronting Mr. Finch, Mrs. Cole, or the others she suspected were involved sent fear pulsing through her and made it difficult to breathe.

  A knock on the door caused her to flinch.

  If Mr. Walker noticed her reaction, he didn’t comment on it.

  “Enter,” he said, and the door opened to reveal another gentleman, who appeared some years older than Mr. Walker.

  He remained in the doorway with a guarded expression as a middle-aged, stout woman carrying a tray bustled into the room.

  “My goodness! Look at you awake at last.” The woman’s expression was filled with concern and sympathy as she looked over Beatrice. “You poor dear. You must be near starved.”

  The aroma of food caused Beatrice’s stomach to growl in response, and she managed a smile. “I must say a meal sounds wonderful.”

  “Miss Linfield, this is Pierre, my valet.” Mr. Walker gestured toward the door. “And Mrs. Beverly, our housekeeper.”

  Pierre bowed then disappeared from sight.

  “It seems as if you’ve had a terrible time of it as of late, miss.” The woman sat the tray on the bed beside Beatrice and lifted the silver cover. “Mr. Walker will set you right as rain. Mark my words. But no meaningful conversations can be held on an empty stomach.”

  “How kind of you.” Coddled eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast had Beatrice’s mouth-watering.

  “I included a cup of warm chocolate, but I can bring tea if you’d prefer,” Mrs. Beverly offered as she stepped back with a nod.

  “This is perfect. Thank you so much.” She couldn’t think of the last time she’d had such a fine breakfast.

  “Of course, dear. My sister is near your size and sent a gown for you to wear if you’d like. It might not fit you well but ’tis better than nothing and should do for now.”

  “I would appreciate that. Thank you.” The kindness had Beatrice blinking back tears again.

  “Oh now,” Mrs. Beverly said as she adjusted the covers over Beatrice in a motherly fashion. “No need for tears.” She glanced at her employer before looking back. “Once you and Mr. Walker are finished with your conversation, I’ll bring up the gown, and we’ll have ourselves a nice chat.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Eat before it grows cold,” the housekeeper ordered.

  Beatrice nodded as she reached for the warm chocolate. She didn’t think she’d ever tasted anything so lovely.

  “I’ll tell you right now that Mr. Walker is a proper gentleman,” Mrs. Beverly continued as she tidied up the room. “You’ve nothing to worry about with him.”

  Beatrice glanced at Mr. Walker to see an amused expression softening his face.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Beverly.” He dipped his head, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  The woman smoothed her gown. “My pleasure. Your breakfast will be ready when you are, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and departed.

  It took all of Beatrice’s will to stop from gobbling down the delicious meal. But with Mr. Walker watching her, she did her best to eat slowly, pausing often to enjoy the chocolate. He spoke of inconsequential matters, including the weather, and avoided asking questions as if aware that would keep her from eating.

  As her father used to say, a good meal could cure many ills, and she felt much restored by the time she’d eaten half. There was no possibility of finishing it all.

  Now that her stomach was full, weariness dragged at her once again.

  “Why don’t you rest?” he suggested as if her exhaustion were written on her face. “We can visit further later.”

  She could hardly keep her eyes open as he removed the tray and left the room. Though she didn’t like to take advantage of the man’s kindness, determining how to proceed would have to wait until she felt better. To her surprise, images of her handsome rescuer comforted her in her dreams, especially his smile and those golden eyes.

  DANIEL FINISHED HIS breakfast then moved to the study, his thoughts still on Miss Linfield. Her story was shocking. Horrifying, in fact. Had what she’d endured been all the more terrifying to her because she was a vicar’s daughter and most likely led a sheltered life?

  He admired her pluck for having escaped the brothel and shuddered to think of what might’ve happened if she hadn’t. From what she had told him, she’d narrowly escaped before being forced into prostitution.

  The authorities needed to be informed of the situation. Perhaps after resting more, she’d be ready to speak with them.

  What had brought her to London to find employment rather than staying in her village and marrying? Her honey-colored hair, creamy skin, and even features were appealing. Appealing? Who was he kidding? They were lovely. She was a very attractive woman.