Night Storm (27 page)

She allowed herself to draw on her friend’s strength, inhaling his musky, slightly exotic scent and taking comfort from his masculine warmth. After several minutes she straightened, and this time he let her go. “Thank you.”

“My shoulder is always available.” He returned to his side of the carriage to give her room to right herself. “You should tell him.”

“As much as I’m sorry for what happened, I don’t think it wise to try and rekindle what we once had. The best I can hope for now is a return of our friendship.” Based on their previous encounters, she didn’t think even that had much of a chance.

“Why would it be unwise?”

“Because we’ve both moved on. Have our own lives. Changed in irrevocable ways.”

He bumped his knee against hers. Something he used to do when they were gangly, mop-haired children. “Do you still love him?”

More than she thought possible, given all that had transpired between them. Yet her heart remembered too clearly the torment of losing him. She would never survive that kind of devastation again.

“I don’t—”

Jules held up a hand. “I should never have asked the question, for I already know the answer.” He shook his head in exasperation. “How did I manage to befriend the two most stubborn people in London?”

Eyes narrowing, she said, “I’m trying to be practical about this untenable situation.”

“If you wish to be truly happy again, I recommend you take all your practicality and self-sacrifice and pour it down the nearest privy.” He ignored her sputtered protest. “Only then will you—and the rest of us—enjoy any peace and quiet.”

Chapter Eleven

Rather than take a hansom to Charley’s, Adair walked—or limped—the distance. Almost an hour later, and his bloodlust had only now begun to cool. By slow degrees, his body registered the fire eating away at his shoulder and the pressure pounding in his thigh. Charley wouldn’t be pleased if he had wrecked her handiwork.

Hermann’s vulgar words replayed in Adair’s thoughts like an annoying melody one could not strike from one’s mind. But worse than Hermann’s unforgivable words was the image of Charley’s stricken features when the bastard had called her a whore.

Although she had recovered quickly from the shock, Adair didn’t believe he would ever be able to scour the sight from his mind’s eyes. But he and Charley would not be the only ones to suffer from today’s macabre display of humanity.

He had made sure Hermann would not soon forget how to treat a lady, nor would he fail to remember Adair’s name. If Hermann so much as breathed the same air as Charley again, the bastard would suffer the consequences, and Adair relished the idea of meting them out.

A part of him hoped the man would fail, but the more reasonable side of his nature never wanted Charley to see the woman hater again. It had taken very little coaxing to learn the root of Hermann’s outburst. Somewhere along the way, the Society assistant had lost his ability for rational thought. He attributed most of society’s failures to the influence of women. A laughable notion, given that much of society was ruled by men.

The slow approach of a carriage broke through his reverie. Adair’s elbow sought the reassuring presence of the knife he kept secured at his waist before pivoting toward the sound. Once the carriage drew up even with him, Jules’s amused countenance appeared in the window.

“I’m glad to see you walking about and not in shackles for murdering Hermann, no matter how much the idiot fool deserved such an ending.”

“Where’s Charley?”

“Safety tucked inside her shop, behind locked doors. I was on my way back to the hotel when I saw you and had the driver execute a turnabout.”

“Thank you for escorting her home while I dealt with Hermann.”

“Did the man survive his lesson in good manners?”

The ghostly echo of bones cracking sounded in Adair’s ears. Hermann would never reach for Charley—or any female, for that matter—in violence again. “The bastard will live, unfortunately. However, every time he uses his right hand, he will be reminded of me and what I’ll do if he ever bothers Charley again.”

“Ah, a calling card, of sorts. I like it.”

Adair snorted. “Everyone believes you to be the refined one.”

“A misconception I enjoy. Allows for vast opportunities of underestimation.” He grinned. “It occurs to me our discussion at the hotel ended rather abruptly in your rush to save the fair damsel.”

“I don’t find the situation humorous, Jules.”

“Nor do I. But the worst of it is over, and I prefer not to dwell in darkness for long. It serves no one.” His nonjudgmental gaze settled on Adair. “You might try it sometime.”

Adair’s jaw clenched, and a multitude of excuses came to mind as to why such an exercise might work for Jules but not for him, but he shoved them aside. Jules battled his own demons. Demons that went back far longer than five years and ended in a single incident of heartbreak. If Jules could conquer darkness, then so, too, could Adair. He gave his friend a brief nod, indicating the message had been received and understood.

Jules’s eyes twinkled. “My powers of persuasion are increasing.” He indicated the Blue Goat Tavern to Adair’s right. “Care to imbibe a pint while I finish explaining how brilliant I am?”

Leave it to Jules to find the right words—even if irritating—to lighten his foul mood. Even so, Adair’s attention strayed toward his original destination. Toward Charley. Every muscle in his body strained to reach her.

His friend chuckled as if reading his thoughts. He alighted from the hansom and held the door open. “Go. Tales of my brilliance can wait for another day.”

Relief infused him with a new level of compulsion. His body vibrated with the need to see Charley, to make sure she was safe. To hold her in his arms. Adair shook his head. “I’ll walk.”

Jules assessed him from head to toe. It was then Adair realized he was standing with his weight balanced on his good leg while he cradled his injured arm against his body.

“In you go,” Jules repeated, indicating the interior of the carriage with the sweep of his hand. “Unless, of course, you’d like to make an unforgettable impression by collapsing at Charlotte’s feet and forcing her to drag your dead carcass across her threshold.”

Damned if he couldn’t visualize the entire scene Jules had just scripted, especially since it was uncomfortably close to what had occurred several nights ago. The last thing he wanted was to become another burden for Charley.

“Thank you.” Adair glanced around for another conveyance and found only walkers, vendor carts, and a stray rider.

The amusement was back in Jules’s voice. “Your concern is appreciated. But I’ve been traversing the streets of London for nearly two decades. I’ll be able to manage the short distance back to the hotel.”

Wasting no more time, Adair ascended up the stairs.

Jules closed the door and stepped back. Before the carriage jolted forward, he said, “Talk to Charlotte about Scotland.”

“I already did…during our meal earlier.”

“That may be true, but I suspect there’s more to discover.”

As always, Jules’s features gave little away, yet his keen eyes spoke volumes—if one knew how to decipher the message. Adair had been around Jules long enough to be able to read some of the signs. What he saw in his friend’s clear eyes, combined with the slight tilt of his head, gave Adair pause.

The driver flicked the reins, sending the horses into motion.

“Speak to her, Adair.”

Jules’s piercing gaze stayed with him for a long while. By the time the hansom rolled to a stop outside Charley’s shop, he had come to an unsettling conclusion.

His world was about to shatter into a million unrecognizable pieces, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. Other than walk away.

Today’s incident had revealed an undeniable truth. Neither he nor Charley would ever walk away again.

Instead of walking away, he opened the figurative door and plowed into the abyss that was now his life.

# # #

Charlotte’s eyes popped open, then immediately closed again, her eyelids weighted down by her fatigue. She lay on the cot in the back room, listening for the sound that had awoken her from a deep sleep.

The outer door rattled on its hinges as if a battalion of soldiers were trying to force their way in. She scrambled upright, blinking quickly to moisten her dry, bleary eyes. Finally, she made it to her feet just as the banging on the door started again.

“Charley, are you in there?” Cameron yelled through the door.

For heaven’s sake, the man would have every shopkeeper on Long Acre poking their heads outside to see what lunatic had invaded their peaceful street.

The back room was quite dark, so she had to feel her way around until her hand landed on the door latch. She stumbled her way through her office and braced herself for the shot of eye-stabbing light.

She heard one telltale click followed by another a mere second later before the front door swung open. On bended knee, Cameron struggled to gain his feet. The action looked awkward and painful, for he could not put the necessary weight on his injured leg to help him rise.

“What on Earth!” She rushed to his side and draped his free arm around her shoulder. “Let me help you up.”

He hissed a pained breath, and she realized she had stretched the bounds of movement of his wounded shoulder.

“Serves you right for breaking into my shop,” she said. “In another ten seconds, I would have had the door open.”

“In another ten seconds, you could have been dead.”

“Oh, Cameron,” she said in exasperation, even while her heart ached with gratitude. “I was perfectly safe, as you can see.”

Once she got him to his feet, he released her, as if she had scolded him somehow. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”

“Can we take this discussion inside?” Given the lateness of the hour, most of the shops were dark, although she could see that a few candles had been lit and those curious neighbors were craning their heads, this way and that, trying to discover what was going on in the street.

He followed her in, his limp more pronounced than she had seen it in a while. When she made to shut the door, he motioned her away. Not only did he close the door, he locked it. Then he flipped the
Open
sign to
Closed
, something she had failed to do when she had come home.

“Now, we’re inside, away from prying eyes. Answer my question.”

His tone, his evident anger, his taking over her shop as though he had a right, made her blood hum with indignation. She came close to saying nothing until she realized his actions were born out of fear. Fear for her safety.

She forced the tension from her neck, shoulders, arms, back, stomach, all the way down until even her toes felt free to wriggle. “I fell asleep in the back room. With the doors closed, I didn’t hear your first attempts to get my attention.”

With a thoroughness that left her breathless, his gaze roamed over her body until it settled on her feet. Her stockinged feet.

Embarrassed to be caught in such dishabille, she curled her toes as if that would help matters. By the time she lifted her gaze, Cameron’s countenance had softened, and a small smile played along his full mouth.

“You’re adorable when all mussed from sleep.” His silver-blue eyes locked on her mouth. “In fact, I’ve often wondered if you drooled in your sleep.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, surreptitiously feeling for moisture or, even worse, a crusty trail. Her exploration found neither.

Cameron burst out laughing.

The sound was at once annoying beyond measure and beautiful for its rarity. “Cameron Adair, if I weighed another ten stone, I would drape you over my knee and swat your behind.”

His amusement slowly died, and he stared at her for what felt like an eternity. Her cheeks warmed for reasons she couldn’t name, and her body pulsed in places it had never pulsed before.

“You don’t need brawn to get me on your lap. A simple invitation would do.”

Now she understood the soft lines around his eyes and mouth were formed by sensual interest. Something her body instinctively recognized, but failed to translate for her sluggish mind.

An image of her hand caressing the smooth flesh of his buttocks surfaced in her mind, washing away the last dregs of sleep. Only Cameron wasn’t draped over her lap, he lay on his stomach amid white satin sheets, naked and moaning.

“Charley,” he said in a low husky voice. “What are you thinking about?”

She moistened her dry lips and inhaled a deep, calming breath. “Nothing in particular. What brings you here?”

“Liar,” he said softly. Cameron lifted his arm and winced.

Her eyes narrowed. It was then she recalled her intent to check his wounds once he had escorted her home. Mr. Hermann’s interference and her mind’s surrender to sleep had momentarily distracted her from her original purpose. Not any longer. “Follow me, if you please.”

“Where are we going?”

Rather than answer, she lit a lamp and lifted it high enough to illuminate their path. Once they reached the back room, she lit two more before giving him her full attention. “Take your coat and shirt off, please.”

“Pardon?”

Gesturing with her index finger, she waggled a hand up and down his torso. “Your coat, waistcoat, and shirt. Remove them.”

He cleared his throat. “Not that I mind disrobing in front of you, but would you care to tell me why?”

“I’m concerned about your shoulder wound.”

“It’s healing fine.”

“Earlier today, I saw you rub the area several times. Just now, you winced when you lifted your arm.” She pulled down several jars from the medicine cupboard.

“How nice of you to keep such a close eye on me.”

“There’s nothing ‘close’ about it. It was rather obvious.”

“You know as well as I do that a healing wound can be itchy and uncomfortable.”

She pinned him with a look, one that dared him to lie. “So the area around your shoulder is itchy?”

His lips compressed.

“Just as I thought. Is the pain throbbing?”

He gave her an infinitesimal nod.