Wicked (13 page)

Her gaze focused first on the sweet blessed sound of salvation and then a protracted moment later Beau appeared in her field of vision, standing directly before her, his ta
l
l, broad-shouldered frame motionless against the backdrop of agitated guardsmen.

"Look," he quietly said, slowly bringing his hands up, palms open to show Horton. "I don't have a weapon. I'll have the soldiers back off." He nodded slightly to the guards who retreated. "No one will hinder your escape," he went on, carefully lowering his hands. "Leave the lady. You're free t
o
g
o
."

"She goes with me, mate," Horton growled.

"No, she stays. You have my word no one will follow you. The driver will come down. Take the carriage."

"Your word?" Horton sneered. "That don't mean nothin' to me."

"Then take me instead. And release her."

Horton's laugh was ugly. "I like this little bit o' fluff
m
ore'n you, mate. She feels right nice."

Serena went pale.

"I'll buy her from you," Beau quickly said. "You'll need money."

"How much?" Horton said, his flinty eyes suddenly regarding Beau with acute interest.

"A thousand pounds. Enough to purchase a great deal of female company."

"You don't have it." It was an enormous sum to a man of Horton's ilk.

"I do," Beau replied, sliding his hand into his coat pocket and pulling out a roll of bills. "Here."

Was it possible he'd free her? Serena thought, a tiny fragment of hope insinuating itself into the overriding terror engulfing her. Could it all be over so easily with a simple exchange of money? And she'd be safe again? Her breath seemed in abeyance, the world momentarily arrested on its axis.

"Toss it over."

"Release the lady first."

Horton looked at the money, indecision evident in his expression, greed prompting him to want both Serena and the money, although he was uncertain how to accomplish the feat. "Tell the driver to climb down," he said.

Beau curled his index finger on the hand holding the bills, the small gesture directed at the driver. "Now let the lady go." His eyes flickered upward briefly, watching the driver tie the reins securely in place.

Horton stared at the money for a moment more and then shook his head. "Sorry, mate."

She was as good as dead, Serena grimly thought, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it thumping against her rib cage. And she felt him begin to pull her backward toward the carriage. In an eerie, pale blur of images her life flashed before her eyes during the slow retreat, Horton
'
s knife blade lightly flicking her tender skin, each step moving her closer to her inevitable death. How long did it take one to bleed to death? she wondered.

Beau watched Serena being drawn away, his gaze locked on Horton's knife hand, silently counting the steps as they moved. Two, three . . . Jesus, she almost stumbled. He could feel perspiration trickle down his spin
e
—
f
our, carefu
l
—
f
ive . . . six . . . Horton had to reach up soon to begin making the ascent into the driver's seat; he had to adjust his hold if he wanted to carry Serena with him.

Jus
t
. . . like . . .
that.

A shot rang out, a bullet whined through the air, and Horton's right eye and the top of his head disappeared in a bloody explosion of tissue and bone.

Serena's high, piercing scream reverberated 'up the narrow street running down to the docks as Horton's brains sprayed her in a gruesome drizzle. For a moment of ghastly horror, she watched an eyeball ooze down her arm and then a shrill, lurid cry echoed in her ears as if from a great distanc
e
—
t
he sound drifting farther and farther away to the other side of the vertiginous darkness engulfing her.

Beau leaped forward to catch her as she crumpled in a faint. Lifting her into his arms, he briskly ordered the driver, To the York Hotel." Stepping over Horton without a glance, he carried Serena to the carriage, the powder-burned bullet hole in his coat pocket visible when his redingote swung open. "Notify the British authorities," he quietly said to the harbormaster, who came up at a run. But he didn't wait for an answer, the carriage step already dipping under his weight.

He wiped what blood he could from Serena's face and hair on the ride to the hotel, discarding his soiled handkerchief after a time, resorting to his coat skirts to absorb the remainder of the bloody residue. Once the detritus was cleaned away, she was so deathly pale he quickly felt for her pulse. Its strong, steady rhythm reassured him. He'd heard tales of people dying from fright and certainly she'd been subject to the most appalling trial. But through it all, she'd been unflinchingly brave, not uttering a whimper despite her awful fear.

The doorman at the York Hotel immediately called for help when Beau descended from the carriage with Serena still unconscious in his arms and by the time he'd walked through the swiftly opened double doors, several more staff were offering their assistance.

"I need rooms immediately. The lady's been in an accident. Have a doctor summoned."

"Yes, sir, of course, Lord Rochefort, we'll have you escorted to your suite at once." No one questioned the relationship of the lady to the young lord. Beau St. Jules was well known at the York; the ambassador's nephew was a frequent visitor.

"Rochefort!" a voice cried out, the hubbub having drawn the attention of several guests in the lobby.

And before Beau could escape, Lord Edward Dufferin appeared, pushing his way through the hovering staff. Puffing slightly from having moved his portly frame with unusual speed, he rested his curious gaze on Serena. "Been in a bit of a scrap, St. Jules?" he queried, taking in the bloodstains on Serena's gown. The white lace on her collar was exceedingly soiled. "Could I be of help?"

"Nothing serious, Duff," Beau replied, inwardly groaning at his bad luck at being sighted by a gentleman who was an old friend of his uncle. He hadn't planned on visiting Da
m
ien. "The lady fainted and cut herself in the fall."

"Is she English?"

It was a pointed question; he wished to know her name.

"A distant cousin, Lord Dufferin," Beau evaded.

At which unfortunate time, Serena came drowsily awake and, looking up into Beau's face, whispered, "Darling . . ."

Eddy Dufferin's eyes widened and he cast a speculative glance at Beau. "A cousin, you say," he murmured, his smile one of knowing male conspiracy.

"If you'll excuse us," Beau quickly said, not about to reveal any pertinent details likely to get back to his uncle and family. And without waiting for a reply, he swiftly walked away, carrying Serena across the lobby into the colonnaded atrium onto which the rooms opened.

"Who was that?" Serena murmured, her eyes still heavy-lidded, her voice wispy and low.

"Nobody," Beau blandly disclaimed. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive . . . thanks to you," she replied.

"Your color's better. You were very courageous."

"If my pistol hadn't misfired, I might have slowed him down."

Beau chuckled. "You mean I'm not going to be able to say, 'I told you so.' "

"I'd be an ungrateful wretch if I didn't allow you
that"
—
a
small smile appeare
d
—"although if I'd had a decent weapon . . ."

"You'd be very dangerous." His grin flashed white against his tanned skin. "Remind me to keep my pistols out of your reach."

"I'd never harm you, darling. I owe you twice now for saving my life."

"My pleasure, mademoiselle," he gallantly replied, coming to a stop before a large doorway at the far side of the atrium. "I think this is our room." He waited for the hotelier and staff to catch up, their hurried footsteps audible behind them.

"You've been here before," she said with the faintest of arched brows.

"Once or twice."

"You don't stay with your uncle?"

"Not always." Not when his wife was in residence, he refrained from adding.

"Your rooms are ready, milord," the small, immaculately dressed manager said as he reached them, moving to open the doors with a flourish. The hotel always reserved the two east suites for its most welcome guests. "The doctor's been summoned. Hot water is on its way and if milord would suggest some food items that would appeal to the lady, the chef will begin preparing them."

"Anything at all, Ramos. The lady has a cosmopolitan palate," Beau replied, a boyish grin directed at Serena.

"I can't he
l
p it if I hadn't eaten for four years," she whispered.

"A circumstance I'm doing my damnedest to remedy," Beau murmured, his gaze affectionate. "Do you need anything else besides food before this throng of people departs?"

The rooms were awash with staff opening the curtains, turning down the bed, plumping pillows, seeing that the water pitchers were filled, placing vases of fresh flowers strategically about the sitting room and bedchamber, arranging fruit bowls and sweets so they were visually alluring.

"My lord, you must be important," Serena gently teased, her gaze taking in the great number of servants. "I can see I'm going to have to be vastly more pleasing to a man of such consequence."

"No complaints, darling, on that account," he murmured. "That will be all," he said to the hotelier hovering nearby. "The lady requires some rest." He glanced down at Serena with an inquiring gaze. "And some bathwater?"

She nodded.

"Immediately," Beau declared.

"Yes, my lord, of course," the trim little man crisply replied and, clapping his hands, he waved everyone from the rooms.

"We're going to have to throw this gown away," Beau remarked, his gaze flickering over her ruined dress as he moved through the sitting room into the bedchamber.

"My luggage!" Serena exclaimed, recalling her reason for accompanying Beau to the docks.

"I'll have it delivered here. But right now we need to get rid of this gown."

Neither mentioned the bloody stains, but Serena allowed him to help her off with her dress and, not averse to being coddled after her harrowing experience, didn't protest Beau's tucking her into bed.

"I'll be right back," he said, placing a small plate of cookies near her. "Wine or water?" he inquired, bringing over two decanters. He nodded his approval when she said wine, knowing the liquor would relax her. Bundling up the navy serge dress, he placed the bell pull within reach. "If you need anything, there are forty people to get it for you. Don't move and I really mean it this time."

"I have properly learned my lesson, sir," Serena said with mocking acquiescence.

"Hmm
m
," he restively murmured, not certain Serena Blythe's unfettered spirit would ever be suitably restrained by man or god.

So he moved with dispatch once he left the suite, handing the gown over to be discarded, giving instructions to the manager for the return of Serena's luggage, checking on the young guardsman's fate, delivering a verbal list of orders to arrange for Serena's comfort. Yet despite his speedy return, he found her not in bed but sitting on a garden bench in the small walled terrace attached to
the
suite.

"You must have been a handful as a child," he said, standing in the doorway. His gaze leisurely surveyed her enticing image, her voluptuous form clothed only in petticoats and chemise. "I thought you were going to stay in bed."

"The sun's too lovely to stay inside. Isn't it deliciously warm in this little snug garden? And for your information I
was
a handful. Papa used to call me his little savage."

His brows rose. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"I've always been independent."

"Another surprise," he drawled.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You'd be bored to tears if I was truly
m
issah, admit it."