“Of course not.” Her cheeks turned red, and she looked away.
“Then you’re dressed.”
“It’s not proper for you to be here, at this time of night.” She picked at the lace edge of the pillow, not meeting his eyes.
“Have I ever claimed to be the proper sort?”
“No.” She met his gaze. “But despite my past, I am.”
“I want to hold you, nothing more. You’re safe with me. You have my word.”
“Your word as a gentleman?”
Will ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You know I am no gentleman.”
He didn’t know why he came to her tonight. Yes, he did. He hadn’t found a single trace of Mary at any of the places Fingers had put on that damn list. The thought of her still out there alone, going through who knew what kinds of hell had driven him to seek out the one good thing in his life right now—Olivia St. Germaine. He needed to feel her softness against him, needed her to make his sense of failure easier to bear.
She watched him, her blue eyes filled with indecision.
“Trust me.”
Olivia looked at him. He sensed her indecision and laid his hand, palm up, on the bed.
“What I know about you is rumour and hearsay. How can I trust you?” she whispered. “How can I trust that you aren’t using this situation to your advantage? That I won’t regret trusting you in the days to come?”
“I would not do anything to ever cause you regret.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and for the first time, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking by the expression on her face. Finally, she placed her hand in his, giving him her answer without words. He waited until she lay down and then settled them both on their sides. Olivia lay in front of him as stiff-necked and unyielding as a clergyman.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “I’ve not heard a word from you in four days.”
“You know I’m searching for someone.”
“Yes, a girl.”
“I wasn’t in town these last days. I had information I’d hoped would help me find her, but it proved inaccurate.”
“Do you still believe the Duke of Sandhurst is involved in your friend’s disappearance?”
“My sister.”
“What?” Olivia twisted around to look at him over her shoulder.
“The young woman I’m looking for, she is my sister, Mary. And yes, I believe Sandhurst had everything to do with her disappearance.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Olivia sat up, the coverlet pressed to her breasts. “Yes, it does. You’re blackmailing me into helping you gain entry into various social events. I deserve to know why you believe Sandhurst is involved.”
Will sat up as well. “I’m not blackmailing you.” God, he was growing to hate that word. “We’ve struck a bargain to help each other, you and I.”
“Some bargain. I had no choice but to accept if I didn’t want my secrets revealed and if I wanted your help to find out why Phillip has suddenly left London with no word to me about his return or where he is.”
“And I had no choice but to come to you for help.”
“That cannot be true. I’m certain there are any number of members of the
Ton
that would help you.”
“Only those whose vowels I hold, and those men are so desperate to maintain their lifestyles or the appearance of them they’d tell me anything I wanted to hear as long as I promise not to call in their markers. I haven’t the time to spend chasing false rumours and lies. Mary has been missing since Christmas. I need to find her as soon as possible.”
“You haven’t heard from her since then?” Olivia settled back onto her side. “It’s been nearly five months.”
“Yes, it has, and I grow more worried with every day that passes.”
“I’ll send a note to Amanda in the morning to see if she knows of any entertainments the duke may be attending. Perhaps I can wrangle an invitation or two.”
“Thank you.” Will lay down and pulled her close.
She stiffened. “I think it’s best if you leave.”
He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Let me stay for a while longer. It’s late…I don’t want to be alone right now.” The last slipped out before he could control his tongue.
He hated how vulnerable he sounded. He hadn’t asked anyone for anything since he was a lad who was too stupid to know better. People didn’t help one another out of kindness but out of greed and what it could gain them. And yet, here he was begging for her company. When he had comforted her during the thunderstorm, held her in his arms as he lay beside her, it had felt as though she belonged there, that she was the other half of himself he hadn’t known was missing until that moment. He needed her now as she had needed him then. Just being here beside her gave him solace, helped alleviate the choking sense of failure. He had had such hopes of finding Mary this time.
Olivia closed her eyes and took a leap of faith. “You may stay for now.”
His arm came around her waist, his warmth seeping through the bedclothes. She relaxed against him, hoping he could feel the strength she was trying to give to him. Though she swore she felt his lips against her hair, he didn’t move his hand once in an attempt to caress her. Olivia found herself hoping he would and feeling strangely disappointed that he hadn’t. Instead his palm rested gently against her arm near her elbow. She knew the instant sleep claimed him, his breathing settling into a deeper rhythm.
She would wake him soon. He needed the rest. She doubted he’d slept more than a few hours during his search for his sister. His clothing was wrinkled and travel worn. At least two days’ growth of whiskers stubbled his cheeks, and his eyes had deep shadows of exhaustion under them. There had been a wealth of sadness in his gaze. She knew how it felt to be helpless in a situation beyond one’s control. It wouldn’t hurt to allow him a few minutes to sleep. She found herself leaning back against his warmth, her eyes drifting closed.
****
Olivia followed the little man who’d introduced himself as Harry down the hall. Being in the same hall in the same warehouse Fingers had taken her to the night she had demanded to see Lazarus made her feel a little less hesitant than when Harry had appeared at the servants’ entrance stating he’d been instructed to take her to Rachel to check on the girl’s progress.
Why hadn’t Lazarus mentioned he wanted her to see Rachel last night when he’d suddenly appeared in her bedchamber? Her cheeks warmed as she remembered falling asleep in his arms. She had no idea when he left. She’d woken this morning alone with no sign of having a midnight visitor the night before.
Harry glanced back at her. She couldn’t help noticing he kept casting looks at her like she’d suddenly sprouted two heads. She touched the chignon at the back of her neck, making sure the pins still held it in place, then touched the front of her gown, ensuring she was presentable. The way he kept looking at her made her feel as though she was walking about in her unmentionables.
He stopped in front of a door, knocked once, then opened it. He moved back, allowing her room to enter.
“Ain’t never heard of no woman doctoring,” he muttered as she passed him.
Olivia smiled at the comment she was sure he hadn’t meant her to hear. It explained his strange behavior and why he kept staring at her. Knowing it was that and nothing more, she felt at ease, her nervousness draining away. The one thing she was confident in was her ability to provide proper care for Rachel. After the injuries she’d treated on the battlefield, a broken wrist and a few bruises, terrible though they were, were easily seen to.
She moved into the room and set her case on a table just inside the door. Though small, every effort had been made to turn the area into one of comfort. Two chairs were pushed in against the table. A bed took up the far wall, while a leather chair sat near a chocolate colored divan. There, Rachel sat in rapt attention.
A male voice filled the room, reading from one of the latest novels of the day. Olivia moved closer not wanting to interrupt, but something must have given her away.
The person stopped reading and looked around the side of the chair. “Miss St. Germaine,” he said, standing.
“Good afternoon, Fingers.”
“I was just keepin’ the wee one company ’til you arrived.” He turned back to the young girl. “I’ll be back soon, Rabbit.” He handed her the book and crossed to where Olivia stood. “Lazarus be wantin’ to see ye when you’re finished,” he said, then left the room.
“How are you feeling, Rachel?” Olivia moved to the divan, carrying one of the chairs from the table with her.
“Me arm is still painin’ me.”
“May I look at it as well as your other injuries?”
Rachel held out her arm. Olivia sat in the chair. “How are you liking the story?” she asked in an effort to take the girl’s mind off the examination.
“Oh, Fingers, he’s a right good reader. He makes them words come alive in me head.”
“Does he read to you often?” Olivia moved on from Rachel’s wrist to the bruise on her cheek, checking that her eyes were clear.
“Aye, when he’s not workin’ for Lazarus. He keeps me company. I get jumpy when I be here alone. That’s why he calls me ‘Rabbit.’”
Olivia could imagine how much the young girl kept both men hopping. “May I check your ribs?”
Rachel nodded. “I have to be warnin’ ye. They be a frightful sight.” She pulled a sheet that had been kicked to the bottom of the divan up to her waist then lifted her loose gown to expose her ribs.
Her entire left side was mottled with bruises ranging in color from bluish-purple to yellows and greens. Olivia gave her a small smile of encouragement. “Do they cause you any pain?” she asked, gently probing the area.
Rachel inhaled sharply. “Just when you be pressin’ on ’em, Mum.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Olivia pulled the gown down to meet the edge of the sheet. “You seem to be healing well.”
“So I don’t have to be stayin’ abed anymore? I needs to get back to work.”
“I don’t think you’re quite ready to start working yet.”
“But I be needin’ to. Please, Mum.”
“What type of work do you do?”
“I was a maid at…” Rachel touched the bruise on her cheek. “I don’t know. Mebbe I can sell oranges.”
“How old are you?”
“I turns fourteen this summer.” Rachel’s voice sounded proud.
Olivia couldn’t believe Lord Willoughby had beaten a thirteen-year-old girl. Though she didn’t know the man well, she would have never guessed he was capable of such a thing. While she abhorred violence of any kind, she couldn’t help feeling grateful Lazarus had handled the manner in the way he had. Perhaps the next time his lordship raised a hand to someone, he would remember his own beating at the hands of another.
Due to servants’ talk, Olivia doubted Rachel would find another position in service, but she didn’t want her reduced to selling oranges either. “I will talk to Lazarus about finding a new post for you.”
“Oh, will you? He won’t even allow me out of this here room.”
“I can’t guarantee he’ll listen to me, but I will speak to him about it.” Olivia stood. “I shall take my leave so you can get back to your book.” She carried the chair back to the table and picked up her case.
“If you need me, tell Fingers, and he’ll bring me here, all right.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Opening the door, Olivia wasn’t at all surprised to see Fingers waiting for her. She lifted a hand in farewell to Rachel and stepped into the hall.
“She is well?” he asked.
“Yes, she’s doing very well, considering her injuries and how she acquired them.”
He scowled at that. “Lazarus is waitin’.”
“Heavens, we can’t have that, can we?” Olivia couldn’t keep the remark to herself. It was amazing how the man had people jumping to his every whim. She wished she knew how he engendered such loyalty among the people who worked for him.
Ignoring her sarcasm, Fingers led the way down the hall and around a corner before stopping in front of yet another door. He gave the same series of knocks as a few weeks ago and opened the door, without waiting for a response.
“Miss St. Germaine,” he said, giving her a slight push inside.
Olivia stumbled forward then turned just in time to see the door shut.
“You must forgive him. He sometimes forgets his manners.”
She raised her brows at the comment and faced the room. Lazarus stood near an enormous oak desk, the fingers of one hand tracing an odd pattern on the edge of the desk. He wore black as usual, the sleeves of his shirt folded up to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms. The collar was undone, and there wasn’t any sign of a cravat in sight. The drapery at a large window on the right side of the desk had been opened, bathing him in sunlight as it spilled into the room. She never believed herself capable of flights of fanciful imagination, but at that moment, he struck her as a fallen angel, dressed in darkness but seeking heaven’s light.
“Rachel is recovering well and eager to work,” she said, looking away from him. She felt unaccountably nervous in his presence. “I doubt she’ll be able to secure a post in any of the households of Mayfair. I have a friend in Bath that owns a small bakery. I can send her a letter asking if she’d be willing to hire Rachel on.”
“Thank you for the offer, but she’ll not be leaving London and all she knows because she was beaten.”
“I’m not implying that at all.” Olivia was aghast that he felt she was trying to hide the young girl away in shame. “I was just trying to help.”
“She’s not your responsibility. You needn’t worry about trying to help.”
“She became my responsibility when you brought her to me for care,” Olivia snapped, his high-handedness setting off her temper.
“You stated she is all but recovered, so any responsibility on your part has ended. I will see that she is taken care of in the future.” He moved to lean against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “There will be no more discussion on the subject.”
“Fine.” Olivia stalked to the door. “I will contact you once I receive a response from Lady Riverton regarding any upcoming entertainments.” She yanked the door open.
“Are you not going to check my wound?”