Page 3 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

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T HE GUEST WING of Spencer Hall was so detached from the main family rooms that Christopher essentially slept in another county. He could scream bloody murder and no one would hear him.

Had he suffered from leprosy, they wouldn’t have sent him that far away. But no matter. He had a huge, four-poster bed all for himself, a room twice the size of the one in Eton, a study, a small dining room, and a spacious corner for dressing, washing, and shaving.

The earl had also allowed him to be served by a footman and a maid, who likely had been instructed not to talk to him, judging by how silently they’d drawn a hot bath for him and left without a word.

He removed his clothes, wincing as his tired muscles burned. He and Mr. Weston had travelled mostly by carriage from Eton. Nearly two hundred miles of bumpy roads and awkward silence. Not to mention the headmaster’s beating had left sore bruises on his body. They didn’t hurt as much as his pride. At least he hadn’t begged for mercy, even though the headmaster would have let him stay if he’d knelt and begged.

Sod him.

He sighed when he sank into the hot water. The servants had filled an old Oxford hip bath to the rim. The bathtub was deep and large enough for him to sit comfortably, but the water closet at the end of the corridor was so bloody cold that he’d asked to place the bathtub in the bedroom in front of the fireplace. It’d been the right choice.

Finally loosening his muscles, he reclined his head, water dripping from his wet hair, and closed his eyes. His past wasn’t free from mistakes and bad decisions, but he hadn’t minded studying at Eton. He’d liked it, actually. Damn good teachers. Father had to be furious about the expulsion.

Christopher had no idea what would happen to him. Or rather, he’d had enough of obeying whatever Father said and being sent around the country whenever it was convenient for his father. He was nearly old enough to do as he pleased, like find a job and live on his own terms. Find a place where he was only Christopher and not the ducal bastard no one wanted to be friends with.

He let the hot water wash away his tiredness. As for his frustration, he had to wait.

“Oh, good Lord!” The high-pitched, feminine voice jolted him so hard he kicked the bathtub, hurting his knee.

“What the hell!”

He flung his eyes open. Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room, holding a candle in her trembling hand. Her deep brown eyes, the colour of warm brandy, were fixed on him. Shock or curiosity froze her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, wiping his face.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I just wanted … I didn’t know you were … I’ll leave.”

Watching him, she took a few backward steps before pivoting with the speed of a spinning top and promptly tripping on the ottoman. She fell over, face first, with a strangled cry and a smacking thud against the floor. The candle toppled on the Hessian carpet, and the flame hissed with a flare.

Before he could yell a warning, the jute caught fire at an impressive speed, and the worst thing was that Elizabeth remained motionless on the floor.

“Bloody hell!” He jumped out of the bathtub and grabbed the tin bucket next to it.

After sinking it into the tub and filling it to the rim, he tossed the water on the burning carpet. Another bucket was needed to quench the blaze.

“Shit.” He covered his nose as the stink of burnt fabric filled the room. “Elizabeth?” He crouched and rolled her over. “Elizabeth?” He patted her cheek lightly.

When she didn’t reply, he gathered her in his arms and laid her on the bed. Some of the water had ended up soaking her, and half of her gown was drenched.

He opened the window to let some fresh air in and wrapped a towel around his hips. Just to cover the mess that was his scarred back, he donned a shirt as well, not bothering to button it, though.

She didn’t stir. He’d try to wake her up one last time. If she didn’t come around, he had no choice but to search for a servant, thus revealing her presence in his bedroom.

How in the hell he was going to explain the earl’s daughter was unconscious and wet in his bed, he had no idea. Not to mention the fire. No one would believe she’d come to his bedroom uninvited and had started a fire. He risked more than a sermon from his father.

He lit a few more lamps and leant over her. “Elizabeth, please wake up.”

A red spot marred her forehead, promising to become a large dark bruise. Great.

He exhaled in relief when her eyes fluttered open.

“What happened?” She touched her head but paused when she saw him. Sheer horror flashed across her gaze. “What’s this smell?”

“You fell, hit your head hard, and started a fire. I put it out and lifted you from the floor because you were unconscious. You’re welcome. Now please leave before the situation becomes more complicated than it already is.”

Wincing, she propped herself up on her elbows. Her gaze skimmed over the large burnt spot on the carpet and paused on his naked chest.

“You’re naked!” she said.

“Well, I tried bathing with my mackintosh, but it doesn’t work.”

She blinked and averted her gaze. “I feel dizzy.”

“Then wait a moment before going, lest you faint in the corridor,” he said. “If you pass out in the corridor, no one will find you until the next morning, and it’s better for you if I don’t escort you to your room.”

“I’m sorry. The surprise of catching you in the bathtub shocked me.”

“Trust me, I was shocked as well. Why did you come?”

“Goodness, it’s cold.” She rubbed her arms. “I wanted to talk to you and see how you were faring.”

He closed the window although the smell of smoke still lingered. “Why do you care about me?”

“Because everyone …” She pressed her lips together and brushed a wet curl from her cheek. “You’re a guest and …”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind putting some clothes on?” she said.

“You came here, and I was—oh, never mind.”

She cried out when he lifted the towel to put on a pair of breeches.

“I beg you!” she said.

“Don’t look, for crying out loud!” He donned his dressing gown for good measure as well although he was still wet. “There.” He tied the sash on the front tightly. “I’m decent.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her cheeks flaming crimson and her back straight. “I’m sorry about the carpet.”

“It’s yours. And I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.” He folded his arms over his chest.

“I simply wanted to be friendly. That’s all.”

“Friendly at night? Sneaking into my bedroom alone? I wish I had more lady friends like you.”

She shot him a glare. “I didn’t sneak. Not really. The problem is that my parents forbade me to talk to you.”

He nodded. “So you decided to disobey them for a nocturnal thrill.”

She flushed a deeper shade. “No. I genuinely wanted to know how you were faring.”

He closed the distance between them and loomed over her, annoyed that he was nothing but an entertainment for her.

“I have a theory. You wanted to talk with the ducal bastard again after your parents told you how deranged and dangerous I am and ordered you to stay away from me. Curiosity won, and you decided to take a look at me as if I were a circus freak, just to have something to gossip about with your friends.”

“No.” She shot up to her feet, ending up an inch from him. Her rosewood scent eluded the thick smell of smoke. “I …”

She tottered on her feet, and he held her by waist before she fell again. “Careful.”

She blushed a fierce red when she eyed his hands on her waist.

He released her. “What were you saying?”

“I felt sorry for you because the way my parents talked about you was so horrifying it made me wonder if you felt alone. They relegated you here, in a room at the end of the guest wing, forbidden to talk to us, and with no company. I didn’t think it was a compassionate manner to welcome you, and I wanted to show you that not everyone in this house was rude. Now move.”

Still unsteady on her legs, she bumped into him when she brushed past him. He was caught off guard, and he nearly lost his balance on his slippery, wet feet.

He suppressed a groan of pain as he hit the bedpost with his back and hurt a sore spot.

“I’m sorry.” She withdrew her hands. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s nothing. You’d better leave now.”

“But—”

“Leave. Please. For the sake of both of us.” He stepped aside as she brushed past him.

She reluctantly did as told, casting glances at him.

“It was a pleasure meeting you.” He couldn’t completely remove the sarcasm from his voice.

She paused at the door. “I’ve never thought you were a curiosity to sneer at. But you obviously have.”

She shut the door behind her, leaving him stunned but not in a terrible fashion.

He put his hands on his hips, surveying the disaster that hurricane girl had left behind. A burnt carpet, water everywhere, and the smell of smoke in the air.

And they said he was a menace.