Page 16 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

W here was his princess?

Andre’s heart lurched. The space she’d occupied mere moments ago was now a void that screamed louder than words. Panic surged through him with a force that left him breathless. The world tilted, and his vision narrowed to a tunnel of urgency and fear.

The orangery doors swung open with a sharp click, the sound echoing through the quiet space as Stan stumbled out. His face, customarily composed, was drawn and pale, the absence of his coat revealing a hastily wrapped bandage stained with fresh crimson.

Andre’s heart lurched at the sight. A dash replaced Stan’s usually assured stride, his eyes wide with urgency. The sunlight streaming through the glass illuminated the stark contrast of blood against his white sleeve, each droplet a vivid reminder of the danger that lurked unseen.

“Where’s Thea?” Andre’s voice cut through the air, a mixture of fear and determination woven into each syllable. “She was just here.”

How could she be so close one moment and gone the next?

Stan grimaced, his expression a tapestry of pain and frustration. “Someone was inside and hit me. He ran away, and I came to find you. Where is she?”

The words hung heavy, pulling Andre into a harsh reality. The familiar warmth of the surrounding greenery, usually a sanctuary filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees, felt suddenly oppressive—the danger was anywhere. The distant chatter of birds seemed muted, the tranquil atmosphere disrupted by the moment’s urgency.

Standing beside Andre, Mary gasped softly, her hand instinctively reaching for support.

Andre’s mind raced the peaceful serenity of moments before, shattered by the intrusion of danger. The vibrant colors of the garden seemed to dull, the vivid greens and bright floral hues paling in comparison to the stark red of Stan’s injury. Fear coursed through him, sharpening his senses and urging him to action.

Andre’s resolve hardened, and the need to protect Thea overrode everything. His gaze met Stan’s, a silent promise exchanged—a vow to find her, to ensure her safety amidst the chaos that had descended upon their world.

“Stan,” Andre barked, urgency sharpening his voice.

Stan’s eyes widened, darting between Andre and the space where Thea had been. Understanding dawned, stark and cold. “I’m going to find her.”

He winced and Andre saw Stan’s tension originated from his shoulder.

“I’m going.”

“No, she is my sister.”

She is my Thea. Andre gave Stan a hard look. “We’re wasting time. And you’re hurt, it’ll slow you down.”

Stan nodded, scooping Mary up with his healthy arm, her jar clinking as she clutched it tightly. “Take Mary. Get inside. Lock the doors. Don’t open them for anyone.” Andre watched them retreat toward Cloverdale House’s orangery, the child’s questions trailing behind them like specters.

“Where’s Miss Thea?”

But Andre had already turned his back to Cloverdale House, his gaze sweeping the park, taking in every shadow and whispering leaf.

“I’ll find her,” Andre called, but he was already running along the hedge, past the giant oak tree, and onto the open grassy part of the park.

He moved, each step purposeful, the ground firm beneath his feet yet somehow distant. The park stretched wide and empty, a labyrinth of paths and hedgerows. He ran, his breathing harsh and ragged, but he dared not call her name. He couldn’t risk drawing attention, couldn’t risk his capture because there wouldn’t be anyone else to save Thea.

In the distance were a few men on horseback. Near the fountains, he could make out the silhouettes of women and parasols. But they couldn’t have gotten that far with Thea.

The air was alive with the scent of damp earth, the faint, sweet perfume of wildflowers, and the bitterness that Thea was missing. The sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows that danced across the grass. He pressed on, his senses honed, listening for any sign, any hint of movement that could lead him to her.

Ahead, a cluster of trees loomed like a dark giant with mysterious shadows, their branches whispering secrets he wasn’t privy to. Like so much in his life, he was excluded from something that mattered. Andre slowed, his heart pounding a relentless rhythm in his chest. He paused, straining to hear beyond the quiet rustle of leaves.

A muffled sound, barely audible, reached his ears. He pivoted, the motion fluid and intuitive. His gaze locked onto a figure moving swiftly through the trees, and his heart clenched with recognition. He followed. Shielding his face from the branches, he stepped out of the park’s sunlight into a corridor of darkness between the dense trees, his steps cushioned by the fallen leaves on the ground.

He hadn’t seen much of the highwaymen when they traveled back to London, but he smelled liquor and sweat just as he had that night. It was the same man, at least one of them.

In the dim glow of the tree shadows, Andre strained his eyes to discern the figures standing too close to Thea. The air was thick with anticipation, and each breath was laced with the scent of damp stone and tree needles. His mind raced with calculations—how many was he up against? The shadows seemed to multiply, an indistinct mass that shifted between the trees in the distance.

He approached cautiously. Cold sweat slid down the back of his neck, the clammy dampness clinging to his skin like a second, suffocating layer.

It was then that he heard it—a slight gasp that sliced through the oppressive silence. The sound sent a tremor down his spine, unmistakable in its familiarity. It was Thea. He would know her voice anywhere, her breath’s gentle rise and fall like a melody etched into his very soul.

Andre’s heart hammered in his chest, a mixture of relief and dread colliding within him. His vision wavered, narrowing to a pinprick focus on the point of dread before him while the rest of the world dissolved into a distorted blur. There she was, emerging from the shadows, her movements a blend of grace and urgency that he had come to admire. The sunlight caught in her hair, casting a glow around her determined features, beads of sweat forming along her hairline. She looked terrified but held her gaze stern and her back ramrod. Andre had never admired her more, and for a moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

Flanking her were men whose intentions were as clear as the sharp glint of steel at their sides. The sight of these shadowy figures, their menacing and purposeful postures, ignited a fire in Andre’s chest. The air seemed to hum with tension, and each second stretched taut with the threat of violence.

“I’m taking a turn,” one of the men said.

“ Ich zuerst !” Me first! The other pushed him.

That was the moment to strike.

Thea’s wide and unyielding eyes met his, and Andre found the courage he needed in that silent exchange. The fear that had gripped him melted away, replaced by the need to protect her, for she became more important to him than his own life. The subtle rustle of fabric and the muffled footfalls of the approaching figures spurred him into action.

His foremost strength was that the men hadn’t seen him yet.

Surprise was the best attack.

Every muscle in his body coiled with readiness, and his resolve settled over him like armor. The space between the trees seemed too narrow, focusing his attention solely on Thea and the danger surrounding her. The world beyond faded, leaving only the urgent rhythm of his heartbeat and his fierce drive to reach her and pull her away from the encroaching threat.

As he moved forward, the chill of the stone floor seeped through his boots, grounding him even as his spirit soared with the fierce need to protect. Andre’s spot between the trees became a battlefield of wills—his resolve clashing against the shadowy figures that dared threaten Thea, the one he cherished most. Despite his aversion to violence, he knew it was the only means to save her.

He moved silently, using every ounce of stealth honed from countless days spent in Delhi’s crowded bazaars. The ground softened beneath his feet, damp and yielding. His pulse thrummed wildly, propelling him onward.

As he closed the distance, he could see her struggle, the defiant tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes. She fought against her captors, her spirit unyielding even in adversity.

“ Ihr Bruder wird schon nachgeben, wenn wir sie ein wenig abnutzen .” Her brother will give in all right if we use her a little.

Andre understood every bit of the slurred German, nearly convulsed at the idea of those do-no-gooders laying a hand on Thea.

Still, he couldn’t tell precisely how many there were, but there were at least two.

“ Ich will zuerst ’ran! ” Me first! A different voice called out, a slight Prussian accent clashing with the other.

“ Noh! Zusmamen macht’s mehr Spass! ” No, together is more fun! The first voice again.

Three drunkards, Andre thought. His stomach churned.

Then a squeal.

It was Thea. He’d seen and heard her distress.

Andre’s breath caught a fierce pride swelling within him. There was no angle to surprise them, so he stepped into view, his presence a sudden, defiant interruption in the unfolding drama. One held Thea’s arms behind her back, the other bent toward her far too close for Andre’s taste.

Then, a twig broke with a loud crunch under his boot.

Fear flickered across the captors’ faces, a hesitation that Andre seized.

Andre moved with precision, each strike intentional yet reluctant. He ducked under a wildly swung fist, delivering an elbow to the man’s ribs before him. Even as his body responded with the speed and certainty of combat, his thoughts wavered, hoping that his blows were not causing irreparable harm. Though ruthless, these men were still human, and the nature of his heart was to heal, not hurt.

His eyes darted to Thea, standing at a distance, fear etched across her delicate features. That look drove him further, each punch and kick a vow to keep her safe. His instincts honed not for battle but for mending, now fueled his determination to protect the woman who had become so important to him.

The chaos of the fight seemed to stretch time, each moment heavy with consequences. Around him, the clash unfolded, but his focus remained unwavering—Thea was the only thing that mattered as he dodged another kick from his opponent’s boot. In the heat of the fray, every heartbeat echoed with the urgency of his mission, his oath to shield her from harm.

Andre ducked beneath a swinging arm, his counterattack swift and decisive, yet his mind was plagued with the hope that his actions wouldn’t leave lasting scars. The woods vibrated with the sounds of struggle, but Thea’s presence grounded him, her safety his guiding star.

As he subdued each attacker, a path to Thea cleared, and with it, a realization. Protecting her was not only about defending her body but also about safeguarding the tender connection that had grown between them. And amid the violence he hated, Andre realized he never thought he would feel this deep need to protect someone other than his family.

And then, it was over. The captors fled through the thick foliage. Andre stood, chest heaving, his gaze locked on Thea. Relief crashed over him, leaving him momentarily weak. The dim glow of the low afternoon sun lingered between the trees, casting long shadows across the secluded clearing where Thea lay crumpled on the earth floor, her gown torn. Her sobs were muffled as though afraid to disturb the heavy silence that had settled after the chaos. Andre knelt beside her, his fingers brushing tenderly against the damp streaks on her cheek. His heart pounded not with the exertion of the battle but with the fury that still roared through his veins, demanding justice for the affront committed against her.

He didn’t deserve her; he mustn’t love her, but even he knew that he was the one to console and protect her because of how he felt.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Thea’s eyes, wide and filled with panic and relief, met his. She furrowed her brow and then winced when she tried to stand up. She tried to speak, but words failed her, choked by the tremor of unspent fear. Her fingers clutched at his sleeve, seeking assurance that this nightmare was truly over. Andre’s gaze softened, though the storm within him did not abate. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into the fortress of his embrace, where he vowed no harm would dare trespass again.

“May I carry you?”

She nodded. And then she burst into tears.

As Andre lifted Thea into his arms, the weight of her vulnerability pressed heavily upon him. Her slender frame trembled, and as she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, he felt the warmth of her tears seep through his shirt. Each sob was a dagger of doubt, piercing his heart with the fear that perhaps he had not reached her in time, that her injuries were more grievous than they appeared.

The sun shone as if nothing had happened, as if it were normal to illuminate the brutality of the moments just passed, as he made his way toward Cloverdale House. He hated the violence that had brought them to this moment, the brutality that shattered peace and inflicted pain. Violence was a beast he despised, a force that left injuries both seen and unseen. Yet, he knew in his soul that sometimes, it must be confronted to protect what one holds dear. And from the violent encounter, he’d emerged with single-minded clarity: he, Dr. Andre Fernando von Dürer, was better for Thea than any man who’d hurt her—he’d lay his life down to ensure her safety. And even if he wasn’t the one who deserved her, there wouldn’t ever be another who’d cherish her as he did.

“Thank you!” Thea whispered.

“I vowed to protect you at all costs,” Andre said, but he wasn’t pleased with himself. He wondered if he could have done less damage in the heat of the moment. But that was the problem with violence. In the quiet, his voice emerged, a gentle murmur against the afternoon’s chaos. “You’re safe now.” Each word was a promise, a vow as unwavering as the princess in his arms. He tightened his grip, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, a rhythm that reminded him of her fragility and his duty to safeguard her.

As they neared the house, its silhouette a looming sanctuary, he hoped that Thea’s injuries were not severe. He could not bear the thought of her enduring further pain, regardless of whether it was physical or emotional. His mind clung to the singular truth that mattered: he would lay down his life to ensure her safety, to see her smile again, unburdened by the shadows of that day.