Trust Me (43 page)

The gentleman held his hands up.
“I mean no trouble.”

“What else could you be about,
coming here and terrorizing a sweet young thing like this?” Mrs. Mason
harrumphed.

“I thought we had something to
discuss.” He gave Jeanne a cold, hard glance. It was so full of sadness,
bitterness that it made her heart jump. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

“Yes, you certainly were,” Mrs.
Mason said.

He turned on his heel and left
the shop. The little bell rang in the wake of his departure.

Jeanne returned to the window and
watched him staggering and veering down the street. The wind gusted again. It
was such a cold day. He had no hat. Where would he go? Who would watch out for
him?

He wasn’t her responsibility.

It was dangerous to reach out to
others. Someone like him, with a disorder of the mind, would be a bottomless
pit of need. Sucking her dry.

He was turning the corner. She
put her hand to the glass. Her throat began to burn again.

A light touch settled on her
shoulders. She started and twisted around.

Mrs. Mason smiled. “It’s all
over, dear.”

It was over. She was safe now. He
was gone and gone in a way that didn’t involve doctors treating him with all
sorts of barbaric, useless torture. She should be relieved. She
was
relieved.

He might still encounter dangers
between here and reaching Esau. But how much was one person required to risk
for a stranger?

“Oh, you are shaking.” Mrs. Mason
patted her shoulders. “Now don’t you worry. I know his type, a craven fox
preying on the weak. But he’ll think twice about harassing you, now that he
knows you’ve got some friends in this town.” Mrs. Mason pulled her away from
the window.

“I am so tired. I need to go
home.”

“No, you must wait. Be sure he is
gone. You should finish your pie and have some more tea.”

“Yes, of course you’re right.”
Jeanne followed her back to the table and chairs. She took some coins out of
her reticule and placed them on the table.

Mrs. Mason shook her head. “My
treat today.”

“No, I insist.”

Mrs. Mason waved dismissively. “I
have to attend to the baking but you stay here and rest yourself. Ben will
drive you home later. If that coxcomb comes back, you just call for me.”

Mrs. Mason hurried away to the
backroom.

Jeanne stared into the steaming
cup.

Tap, tap, tap.

She looked up. Raindrops pattered
the window. No, not rain. Sleet. The drops stuck to the glass, then melted and
slid down.

What if the gentleman were truly
ill and delirious with fever? Not insane at all? He had no hat. Was lost.
Alone. The burn in her throat swelled into a sob. She slapped her hand to her
mouth and pressed it back.

A touch on her shoulder brought
her into the moment. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight?”

Jeanne shook her head furiously.
“No, no, I have to go.”

She tore from Mrs. Mason’s touch,
arose from her seat, and hurried to the door.

“Wait, wait. The gentleman may be
waiting—”

Jeanne jerked the door open and
exited the shop.

She ran faster than she ever had
in her life. But she didn’t have far to go once she’d turned the corner. The
gentleman was leaning against a wall. He looked as pensive as ever.

As she approached his expression
eased and he reached a hand out. “My darling, let’s go home.”

The wind gusted, sending ice cold
straight to her bones, and she pulled her pelisse closer to her chin. A passing
coach rattled by, its wheels sending a sluice of cloudy grayish water up in an
arc which came dangerously close to drenching them.

She forced a smile. “Yes, let’s
go home.”

She’d get him into a carriage and
on his way back to where he belonged. Surely that was enough. A gentleman like
him must have servants who would watch over him. Her responsibility would be
discharged.

“Where the devil is the
carriage?” Deep offense resounded in his voice, as though he’d never had to
wait for a carriage before.

“Didn’t you tell your driver to
wait?”

“Of course I did.” His voice rang
with indignation.

“Come,” she said firmly. “Let’s
go back to the mews and see about your carriage.”

The groom at the mews nearest the
coffee shop said that the gentleman hadn’t left any carriage there.

“Where did you come from before
you arrived at the coffee shop?” she asked once they had walked out of earshot
of the groom.

The gentleman just stared at her
with that highbrow look and compressed his lips. So, he didn’t know where he’d
been or where he’d left his damned carriage. She sighed. “We’ll walk a bit and
a hackney will come along.”

He looked down from his lofty
heights, almost sneering down his aristocratic nose. “We’re certainly not going
to take a public carriage.”

“Well, the carriage is—” She drew
her brows together. “—being repaired.”

“Being repaired?” he asked, as
though such a thing were a complete impossibility.

“Yes.”

Her heart fluttered a series of
frenzied beats. Shaky, panicked energy quivered down her legs. She drew in a
deep, hitching breath. Calm, she must remain calm. If she stayed calm, he was less
likely to have any sort of fit or rage, right? Perhaps she might play the
loving mistress? “Darling, don’t you remember?”

He stared at her then blinked
several times.

“Don’t you?” She made her voice
very soft.

He released her hand. “Blast it,
I don’t remember.” His expression went blank yet his eyes widened. “I don’t
remember anything.” He frowned. “Except that you were angry with me.”

“Angry about what?”

“Everything.”

There was that devastated,
desolate look again. The burn returned to her throat and she had to turn away.
“It’s terribly cold. We’re being soaked. Let us find a public conveyance and
sort all of this out later, shall we?”

He jutted his chin and his
features took on an annoyed expression. Apparently, he was not used to
listening to others or taking their advice. He blinked once or twice and then
he took her hand again and strode determinedly ahead, pulling her with him.

When they found a carriage for
hire, the gentleman stared blankly at the driver.

“Sir, where shall I take you?”

“Darling, tell the man.” Again,
she tried to make her voice soft. Loving.

He turned to her. His eyes, now
glassy again, reflected sheer fear. Her throat constricted. Again, she wondered
if he were really ill with a fever. He didn’t remember where he lived. Or he
couldn’t remember how to give directions to where he lived. Heavens, it was
worse than she’d thought. Oh Lord. She did not want to deal with any panicked
hysterics or self-defensive rages like with Papa. She swallowed hard and smiled
at him in a hopefully reassuring manner.

He jerked his gaze away.

“Give him directions, Thérèse.”
The resentment in his voice made her heart contract. She was intimately
familiar with a man not wanting to appear weak. Not wanting to need help.

Wetness pricked the corners of
her eyes. Not from the rain but from frustration.

All right, yes, mostly she cried
from sympathy.

She did not want this. This
couldn’t be happening. She quickly gave the driver directions.

She’d have to take him to her
garret for now. The other women frequently entertained men in their rooms. Mrs.
Pillmore required her percentage, of course. But it wouldn’t seem amiss to
anyone. Oh, just imagine how Mr. High-And-Mighty was going to respond to being
taken to her garret. But what else was she to do with him? Good heavens, he
wasn’t a stray dog.

The driver rushed to aid her into
the carriage but the gentleman pushed him away, then poked his head inside.

He began peeling off his
greatcoat.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It is appalling in there. You
shall have to sit on my coat.”

She stuck her head inside and
caught the odor of mildew and a touch of stale urine. Well, clearly not the
best but she’d come across worse. On a rainy day, this close to east London,
beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Please put your coat back on.

“You cannot sit on those seats.”

“You are becoming soaked through.
Please, put your coat on.”

His frown deepened. “Thérèse, why
are you suddenly so disagreeable?”

“The longer we stand here, the
more thoroughly soaked we get from the sleet.”

Was that a hint of a smile on his
lips? “Your new bluntness is a refreshing.”

He reached out, as though he were
about to help her into the carriage. Then he swayed and listed backwards. His
eyes rolled until only the whites showed. He pitched forward.

A startled cry pierced the
silence. Hers. She leapt forward, hands poised to catch him. He fell upon her
and his weight overwhelmed her to the point her knees buckled.

Then his weight eased. The driver
was lifting him. “Let’s put him inside, milady.”

Milady.

She could have laughed at any
other time. But the reality of her situation came crashing upon her. She was
now responsible for an unconscious, mentally unstable gentleman. Together, they
got him inside. She settled beside him and took a deep breath.

The driver closed the door with a
slam. The finality of the sound resonated deep in her chest.

What a fine situation she’d
willingly trapped herself in.

Her nostrils began to burn. The
connivance didn’t smell any nicer with the door shut. She wrinkled her nose.
Thank God she didn’t live too far away.

It began to move. To put it more
bluntly, it began to rock hard enough to rattle her teeth. His unconscious form
shifted and fell against her shoulder.

“Thérèse—” His deep voice sounded
sleepy. “The channel is so choppy this time of year. You mustn’t be afraid.
Think about Paris. We shall have a grand time in Paris.”

He locked an arm around her waist
and drew her near. Sheltering her from the jarring motion with his body.

His very solid body.

The hackney rattled along and
another strong jolt hit. She found her face pressed ruthlessly against his
chest. The scent of his shaving soap was certainly better than the odors in the
carriage.

He pressed the curve of her waist
then slid down to the swell of her hip. “You have gained some weight.”

Heat suffused her face. Of
course, his Thérèse must be a slip of a thing. No one could ever accuse Jeanne
of being slender.

“You never ran from me before.”

“No?”

“No.” He found her hand. “Can you
forgive me? Will you come home and stay?” He didn’t plead. But there was a
sincere, earnest, urgency underneath his calm tone that made her believe his
sincerity. His remorse. It held her spellbound, unable to resist as he lifted
her hand to his cheek. The stubble there was a faint rasp against her fingers.

 
His skin burnt her like live coals. She gasped then jerked her
hand out of his hold.

 
She tore her glove off and put a hand to his forehead. Moist,
blistering heat.

Thurmp, Thurmp. Thurmp.

Her heart pounded her ears with
sudden, jarring violence. Her mouth went dry. God above. She’d been so focused
on her dread of insanity, it had clouded her perception. Clearly, the man was
dreadfully ill and delirious with fever.

Totally her responsibility.

She swallowed hard and in the
semidarkness they rode in silence for long moments. Silence but for the subtle
wheezing issuing from his open mouth as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Also by Natasha Blackthorne

A Midsummer’s Sin

What
People Are Saying About
A Midsummer’s Sin
:
“I loved this
sensual tale from beginning to end. Both characters touched my heart. Natasha
writes historical erotic romance that sizzles and heats up the pages. Her
writing blends together perfectly. The details take you into her world and make
you want to stay there.
This story will stay with me for a long time to come. This is a must read!” ~
Let's Get Romantical
“I remember when I first started reading historical romances…how I was so
engulfed in the stories of love and just the premise of a woman being swept off
her feet by someone who she totally wasn't expecting. I haven't read historical
romances in a loooong while and Natasha Blackthorne is one of the reasons why I
started to love this genre again…If you have not read a book by Natasha
Blackthorne, then you simply must. You are missing out on some of the most
sensual, sexual, historical writing ever.” ~ Salacious Reads