Page 17 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)

CHAPTER TEN

J ames climbed into a hackney that would take him near Lady Hardwicke’s town house.

He peered out the window and noted the illumination of the streets from the moon.

While the vehicle rattled along, he wondered if Charlotte would even meet him, and cursed himself for being a selfish, pompous arse by tempting her, an innocent, with his proposition.

When James was around her, he lost all good sense and could not get enough of her. She was like an opium addiction, and he kept crawling back for more. She was a hard habit to break.

The hackney stopped at a side street not too far away from Lady Hardwicke’s home, and James hopped out. He paid the driver half the fare and instructed him to wait. Once he approached the alleyway behind the town house, he heard a man’s voice slice through the stillness of the night.

“You bitch! I finally found ya, and yer gonna rot in ‘ell!”

James quickened his pace and pulled out the dagger he kept handy.

“I’ll kill you!” shouted a woman’s voice.

An eerily familiar woman’s voice.

James swiftly approached the source of the sound and moonlight filtered into the alleyway.

There stood Charlotte with her hair askew, pointing a pistol at a man on the ground who grasped a dagger. The look in her eyes was hard to read, but she must be frightened.

“You won’t do it,” the man snarled. James froze, not wanting to cause a misfire by surprising Charlotte.

James recognized her look—he had seen it in some of his men. It was a past trauma suddenly reemerging, causing a person to freeze.

James jumped into action at the same time the man realized Charlotte was frozen. The ruffian sprung to his feet, clutching his dagger. James gave a warrior’s cry while running toward the two of them.

The rogue held his dagger at her throat and eyed James. “Who are ya? One step and she’s dead.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. The blade dug into the front of her neck, and a trickle of blood dripped down her throat.

James met her gaze to give her a look of reassurance, though he was not optimistic with only a dagger in his hand. Then, out of the corner of his eye, James spotted the pistol Charlotte had dropped.

“I don’t know this wench. Why don’t you just blow the grounsils with her? No need to waste such a pretty thing,” James said, and relaxed his arm that was wielding the blade. He had to outsmart this bastard, and there was only one thing he thought would work.

One terrible thing.

The man contemplated what he had just said. “No, this chit ?as to die. She tried to kill me.”

“Why can’t we have a little fun with her? If you won’t, I want a turn before you finish your business,” James taunted.

“What do you ?ave to do wit’ anything? I’m the one who gets ?er.”

James shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “You don’t seem to want her.”

Charlotte flinched. The knife at her neck had moved while the man was thinking. James used all his might to not move and rip the blade out of the bastard’s hand and give him the slow and painful death he deserved.

“I’m gonna fuck this strumpet.”

“I’m glad you grew some bollocks. You get her on the ground, and I’ll hold her for you. I don’t want her screaming.”

The scoundrel pushed her onto the ground. She landed with an oomph that shattered James’s heart. He could not make any mistakes.

He sprung toward Charlotte’s pistol.

“You son of a bitch!” Charlotte screamed. As James had hoped, she fought the man tooth and nail, though he had not expected the litany of expletives with which she verbally thrashed him.

James reached the gun; it was primed.

The blackguard had foolishly turned his back on James in order to straddle Charlotte. James wanted to shoot him in the back. The bastard deserved no honor, but there was a chance the bullet could pass through him and hit her.

James quickly maneuvered so that the man could see him.

“You’ll never dishonor another woman again,” he said.

The blackguard paused his bungled attempt to lift Charlotte’s skirt and looked up at James. His eyes narrowed after he saw the pistol trained on him. “You?—”

James yanked the man off Charlotte with his free hand and threw him to the ground.

Boom.

The man crumpled, and James turned away, cold and unfeeling.

Charlotte stared at him with a mix of disbelief, fear, and shock on her beautiful face. Blood trickled down her neck.

“Damnation! Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

He quickly ran his hands over her body, which was mostly covered in a cloak, and then looked at her throat.

He knew the wound was not deep; she was still breathing, and the blood was not spurting from the vessels in her neck.

From what he could tell, it was in fact a shallow cut.

James searched Charlotte’s face, and he saw an empty look in her eyes.

Shock was setting in.

James reached underneath her dress. His hands rummaged around until he felt her petticoats. He ripped off a strip of fabric and pressed it to Charlotte’s neck. He lifted her hand to the cloth.

“Hold this,” he ordered. She left her hand in place and stared blankly ahead. James was used to her sharp tongue, which made the silence unsettling. A stirring in the mews caught James’s attention. The gunshot had likely awoken the stableboys. James needed to get Charlotte out of there.

He scooped her up, suddenly realizing her lightness.

She had such a bold personality that it often made James forget she was quite small in comparison to him.

With her clutched to his body, James rushed down the alleyway and back toward the hackney.

He reasoned that the best place to take her was their original destination: Gabe’s mistress’s town house.

He knew Charlotte was alive, but her silence caused his mind to play tricks on him and doubt her wellness. He reached the hired carriage and maneuvered inside and positioned her on his lap. He shouted the address and added, “Go! Quickly!”

To James, the hackney could not move quickly enough.

He had never been the religious sort, what with his life seeming like an endless hell, yet now, his curses were intermixed with prayers for Charlotte’s safety.

He would go to church every day and twice on Sunday if it meant the woman he loved would be well.

James pressed her closer to his body, and his heart skipped a beat as he felt Charlotte tuck her head into his chest. Her hand still held the fabric at her throat.

Maybe there was a God after all. He would take any improvement in her condition as a sign of hope.

The gravity of what he had just thought wormed its way into James’s mind.

Love? Did James really tell himself he loved Charlotte? The hackney made a turn, and he instinctively pulled Charlotte closer to his body.

It could not be.

She was being courted by a duke, and for James to think there could be anything between them was futile. He was a lowly naval officer, who was a bastard per his uncle and did not deserve to be within five feet of Charlotte.

But he could not deny what he felt, especially after seeing her in that glorious rage with a pistol trained on another man’s head.

Guilt surfaced.

It was his own fault she was put into this situation. She was bleeding from her neck and in shock. If James had not proposed this late-night tryst, she would never have been out near the mews.

But one question nagged at James. Was the ruffian there by chance or was this a targeted attack? Charlotte seemed to be running from something, and he had a gut feeling it was no coincidence that a nefarious man lurked outside her home.

Mayhap he should not feel guilty and instead feel thankful he was there to save her.

The shock on Charlotte’s face before she could pull the trigger was undeniable.

James was glad he could do the deed himself.

He had never been innocent—his uncle swore he was born in sin, after all, so what was another death on his hands?

It was nothing.

James’s ruminations were broken when the hackney slowed down a few streets away from Gabe’s town house.

Despite the urgency of getting Charlotte inside, he had to make sure no one saw her; otherwise, she would be ruined.

If James did not deserve her before, he certainly was not worthy of her now, and could not risk her being forced to marry him.

James gave the driver his payment and hurried along until they reached Gabe’s property.

James opened the rear garden gate and made his way to the back of the house.

He had to ensure there would be no cause for tongues to wag.

He eased open the door as quietly as he could while supporting Charlotte’s body with his other arm.

Gabe had told him his staff was tight-lipped and loyal to a fault, all necessary characteristics when housing a member of the ton ’s mistress.

James hurried up the servants’ stairs from the basement to the ground level. The butler appeared.

“Dawson?” James said.

“Yes, Captain. We’ve been expecting you.” Dawson did not bat an eye while James held a limp woman in his arms.

“I need water, clean rags, bandages, brandy, and some cheap alcohol. Lady Charlotte has been injured.” This time, there was a flicker of emotion on the butler’s face before he smartly turned on his heel to retrieve the requested items.

James addressed a maid hovering nearby, “I’m taking Lady Charlotte upstairs.” The maid’s head bobbed, and she grabbed a chamberstick to lead him up the central staircase.

James strode behind her. His arms finally started to feel tired, his body knowing they had reached their final destination. He took a deep breath and made his way up the stairs for one final push. Once he reached the unfamiliar landing, the maid paused and looked at him expectantly.

“To Lord Carrington’s chambers.”