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Dr. Redchester’s jaw tightened. “A dangerous miscalculation.”

His words held no judgment, merely stating fact, yet Abigail felt the weight of her error all the same. This wasn’t simply a wrong turn—it was a reminder of how precarious her position in the world truly was. One misstep, one moment of rebellion, and everything could be lost.

“Yes, I’m becoming painfully aware of that fact.” She bit her lip to stifle a gasp of pain as she limped along.

“Can you walk as far as the main thoroughfare? We might find one there.”

Abigail nodded, though her ankle throbbed with every step. She would crawl out of this place if she had to.“I’ll manage. Just—go slowly if you please.”

The slick cobblestones made for difficult going. A slip jarred her ankle and a gasp of pain escaped before she could stifle it. Tears sprang to her eyes though she blinked them away.

Stupid, stupid.Now he’ll think you completely helpless.

Dr. Redchester’s arm tightened around her waist, his grip unflinching yet somehow careful. “Lean on me. I’ve got you,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument, though he averted his gaze, avoiding the intimacy of their position.

Abigail felt a peculiar flutter in her chest at the commanding tone. How long had it been since anyone had reassured her with such certainty? At Beacon House, she was the one who provided direction and comfort. At Reedley Manor, she was the spinster cousin, invisible except when needed for some tedious errand. But here, in this filthy alley with danger still lurking in the shadows, this man spoke as though her well-being were his only concern.

“This is most improper,” she murmured, even as she allowed herself to be supported while they made their way out of the alley.

“More improper than dying in an alley with your throat crushed?” One dark eyebrow lifted.

Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the lingering shock—a startled laugh escaped her and brought tears with a fresh wave of pain tore through her throat. The absurdity of worrying about propriety when she’d nearly been killed struck her suddenly, and she felt a hysterical bubble of mirth rising in her chest.

“You’re rather direct, Dr. Redchester,” she whispered, finding it easier to speak if she kept her voice low. The pressure against her throat had left a tender ring that would surely bloom into a livid bruise by morning. Another mark of shame to hide beneath high collars and ribbons.

“Graham.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name. It’s Graham. Since I’ve already compromised your reputation by touching your waist, we might as well dispense with formalities.”

His face remained utterly serious, but Abigail detected the faintest glimmer of dry humor in his eyes. She looked away, suddenly conscious of the solid warmth of his arm around her, the medicinal scent clinging to his coat.

Graham.It suited him—solid and unembellished, yet with a quiet strength. But saying it out out loud with him so closewas too intimate, too improper.Names invited familiarity, and propriety was the only armor she had left.

“May I ask what brings you to this part of London, Dr. Redchester? It seems an unlikely place to find a physician of your caliber.”

“I had another patient to see after the boy,” he replied. “An elderly man with consumption, living with his daughter off Blackfriars Road.” He paused. “I spotted you walking alone as I was leaving. You looked out of place. I intended to offer my escort, but you’d already turned down that alley before I could reach you.”

His words sent a peculiar warmth through her. He had noticed her, had recognized her vulnerability before she herself had acknowledged it. Had he felt some obligation to protect her, or was it simply the physician’s instinct to intervene where help was needed?

“How fortunate for me that you followed,” Abigail said, refusing to slow their pace. The sooner they reached the main road, the sooner she could escape this nightmare. “Though I’m thoroughly ashamed you found me in such a predicament. I’m usually more sensible than this.”

“Are you?” His tone suggested skepticism.

The question stung more than it should have. Indignation rose through her exhaustion and pain.

“You know nothing about me,” she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “One afternoon and a rescue don’t qualify you to judge my character.”

“True enough.” He agreed with a shrug. “Though wandering alone through the worst parts of London does suggest a certain recklessness.”

Abigail pressed her lips together, fighting a wave of bitter memories.The irony wasn’t lost on her. In fleeing one unwanted fate, she had sealed another. Her reputation in tatters, her prospects destroyed, she had become exactly what her father had predicted—a burden, an embarrassment, a cautionary tale whispered about in drawing rooms.

“Another mistake to add to my collection.”

After a beat of silence, he murmured, “We all have collections of those.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.The fading light cast shadows beneath his cheekbones, emphasizing the stern set of his mouth. A haunted look crept into his eyes.