Page 5 of The Honorable Rogue (The Notorious Nightingales #5)

CHAPTER FIVE

V iolet pushed aside the fact her list was now gone and she could no longer look at her dear friend’s writing every day, instead she focused on the man in pain at her side.

Mr. Thomas had earlier run into her, which she had to admit, if only to herself, was her fault also. Then he had come to her aid, and now she was coming to his when no one else had. Before today, she’d never spoken a word to the man.

Was it wrong of her to be in this hackney with him and her maid? Probably, but she could not have left him alone. Besides, as her brother always said, “Violet is an old maid now and not going to wed. She will spend a few months with each of us every year, eating our food and giving our children bad habits, until she dies.” Ambrose was extremely lucky she loved him because he could be excessively annoying.

“Are you feeling lightheaded, Mr. Thomas?” The man was sweating now, and while he was fighting not to show his pain, he was close to fainting, Violet was sure .

“No,” he gritted out. The breath then hissed from his throat as the hackney stopped suddenly.

“We shall be there soon,” she soothed.

“I know where I live,” he snapped.

“Is there a particular reason you are rude, or is it your natural state?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Forgive me, I dislike being ill or injured in any way, and I’ll add to that you were rude earlier.”

I fear being ill. She remembered the day a man had spoken those words to her. Violet often looked around her, wondering if he was one of them. The man that had taken time to talk to her that day she was upset.

“Not many do like being ill,” Violet said, ignoring the comment about her rudeness, even if it was true.

“You’ll need some laudanum before that shoulder can be set,” Miss Dabbers, Violet’s elderly maid, said.

“No, I do not take laudanum,” he said slowly.

“You are in pain, sir. That will help.”

“I do not take laudanum,” he said again, lips in a hard line.

It was not the most comfortable position to be in, sitting close to a man she had only just met, holding up his arm, but she knew this was easier on him. Besides, were it any member of her family, she hoped someone would have done what she was.

He was large and took up much of the seat they sat on. Not exactly brown or black, his hair was a mix of both. Cut short, it accentuated a strong jaw, and his handsome face framed deep blue eyes. She was surprised to feel a flutter in her pulse. No man had done that for her but Tobias, and even then, theirs had been a comfortable love, not a great passion.

“Thank God,” he said, dragging her mind from her thoughts, as they rolled along a street lined with houses in varying shapes and sizes. An odd collection of grand and not, she thought. There was a park in the middle, and she noted the road circled at the end.

“Open the door, Miss Dabbers,” Violet directed as the hackney stopped. “I am going to release your arm now, Mr. Thomas.”

“I can take it from here,” he said. “Thank you.” His voice was tight with pain.

“I shall step out then.”

“You stay in and go home,” he said.

“As I do not share a breakfast table with you, sir, I do not take orders from you either.” Violet climbed from the hackney.

A large three-storied redbrick house with a pleasant garden sat behind a brick fence. The front door opened and hit the wall with a thud, and the largest man she’d ever seen appeared.

“Why are you stopped here?” He barked out the words like they were bullets fired from a gun.

Scottish, Violet thought, and angry. His thick brows were drawn in the middle over a fiery pair of blue eyes. This she knew because he’d stormed down the path to stand on the other side of the gate.

“Well?” He glared at her.

“Mr.—”

“What the hell has happened to you?” the Scotsman said cutting her off, his eyes now moving to the hackney.

Turning, Violet watched Mr. Thomas gingerly step from it, and she rushed to help him. He took the hand she held out, gripping it tight as he stepped down. That he did so told her just how much pain he was in. Because even on short acquaintance, she knew he was not one to ask for help from others.

“Allow me,” Violet said when Mr. Thomas opened his mouth. “He was tripped attempting to apprehend the two men who stole my reticule. I then had a hackney called, and we, my maid”—she pointed to Miss Dabbers—“and I, brought him home, as he is in a great deal of pain.”

“No, I’m not.” Mr. Thomas’s words were spoken through his teeth, and as he stumbled forward, he instantly discredited them.

The large Scotsman moved with remarkable agility for his size and opened the gate. He then stepped to Mr. Thomas’s side.

“Mind his shoulder,” Violet said quickly. “It’s dislocated.”

“Och, this household,” the large man muttered. “Come along with you all then.”

He waved everyone forward, and it was a slow procession that walked to the open doorway. Mr. Thomas protested the entire way, stating he was fine when clearly he was not.

Men, Violet thought. Her brother and father carried on like that.

“Hello, what’s going on here?” Another man appeared in the doorway.

“This fool has hurt his shoulder,” the Scotsman said.

“It was not deliberate, I assure you,” Mr. Thomas said in a tight voice.

“Anna,” the man in the doorway called. “Collect Mr. Greedy, my sweet.”

“Yes, Uncle Bram.”

Violet watched a little girl slip out the door. She had blond curls and a sweet, round face. She hurried to Mr. Thomas.

“Are you hurting terribly, Charles?”

“No, I am well, sweetheart.”

This was a lie, but he was attempting to smile for the child.

The girl’s eyes then went to Violet, curious who she was. Seconds later she was running out of the gate .

“I am Bramstone Nightingale. This is Mungo.” He pointed to the large burly Scotsman.

“Miss Violet Althorp, and my maid, Miss Dabbers,” she said.

“One of Lord Chippington’s daughters?” the man asked, and Violet could see he was trying to place her, which was usually the case. Unlike her siblings, she had not entered society when she reached the age to do so, as she’d been engaged to Tobias. This was only her second season, and the first had been a disaster.

“Good man, your father. Now come along, Charles.” Bramstone took his other side as Violet moved out of the way to let Mungo closer, and between them, they started for the door.

“How is it you are with Charles, Miss Althorp?” he asked.

“I was robbed in the street today, and Mr. Thomas came to my aid,” she repeated. “He was knocked to the ground by Baron Ellington while doing so, and I felt I needed to assist him home.”

“What? You never mentioned Ellington before,” Mr. Thomas gritted out.

“I’m sure he did not do it on purpose, but it appeared he stuck out his leg,” Violet said at his angry words.

“I will be speaking with Ellington,” Bramstone Nightingale said.

Shooting him a look, she noted his face appeared angry now.

“Have I said something to offend you, Mr. Nightingale?”

“No, of course not, Miss Althorp. It is merely that Lord Ellington is not a favorite of our family.”

“I must admit, he is not a favorite of my family’s either. My brother, Ambrose, said he is a sniveling rodent.”

“Your brother is accurate in his assumption.”

“We need to return to your house, Miss Althorp. ”

She’d forgotten about Miss Dabbers. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the woman was following. Her lips were folded in on themselves, disapproval evident.

“And we will soon, Miss Dabbers,” Violet said.

“And you were not hurt, Miss Althorp?” Bramstone Nightingale asked her.

“I am well. Only my reticule was stolen.”

“Miss Dabbers, I will get you some tea. My wife is here also for propriety’s sake.”

“Well, just for a few minutes,” Miss Dabbers said.

“I believe Miss Bud, our cook, has made an apple pie,” Mr. Nightingale said, winking at Violet.

There was kindness in those eyes, she thought.

They made it inside with no moans of pain and only a few hisses from Mr. Thomas.

“He is not comfortable with pain,” Violet said, which had him shooting her a foul look.

“Men generally aren’t,” Mr. Nightingale said. “Will you make it up the stairs, Charles?”

“He will with our assistance, Bram,” Mungo said. “He needs his bed and will more so once the shoulder’s set.”

“I shall not be long, Miss Dabbers. I will just assist Mr. Thomas. If you will wait here, please.”

“Good Lord, what’s happened?” A small brown-haired woman rushed forward.

“Charles has injured his shoulder, my love. Anna is collecting Mr. Greedy. Perhaps you could run up to his room and prepare it?”

“Of course!”

“Miss Althorp, this is my wife, Ivy. It was she who assisted Charles home to us, my love.”

“Hello.” She raised a hand at her husband’s words and then ran up the stairs.

“Right now, take it slow, Charles,” Mr. Nightingale said. “ Mungo will stay beside you, as will Miss Althorp, and I shall be behind in case you stumble.”

He gripped Violet’s fingers once again as they moved slowly up each step. Only when they reached the top did Mr. Thomas exhale loudly with relief. Soon they were entering a room that had a large bed, a comfortable chair under a window, and a stack of books on the bedside table.

“Sit on the bed now, Charles,” Mr. Nightingale directed.

“I shall leave you now,” Violet said.

“No,” Mr. Thomas whispered. “Please.” His eyes were desperate as they looked at her, the grip on her fingers tightening. Until that moment, she’d not seen his fear, and for the first time in a long while, Violet felt a softening in the region of her heart.