Chapter Fifteen
Violet bit anxiously on her lip as Jim muscled Rhys into the carriage. A low grunt of pain echoed as Rhys collapsed onto the bench, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. One hand pushed against the seat as he adjusted himself with a grimace of pain.
“Thank you, Jim.” She gave him a small smile.
Poor Jim had almost fallen flat on his back as she came barreling around the corner at top speed.
She had briefly explained how they had been attacked.
He had bundled her into the carriage, and George, her coachman, had pulled the coach up to the mouth of the alley in record time.
Violet turned to Rhys. “What is your address?”
Rhys’s lips thinned. His expression turned to stone.
“Rhys, we need to get you home and take care of that knife in your leg. What is your address?” She exchanged a confused look with Jim when Rhys continued to stay silent.
“35 Brook Street,” Rhys finally bit out.
Jim nodded and closed the door. A moment later, the carriage rocked as it started down the street. Rhys gripped the edge of the seat, his knuckles white and his eyes closed.
Violet studied him. “You didn’t want to tell me where you lived, did you?”
“I am a very private person. That’s all.” His expression still looked pained, but she wasn’t sure if it was physical pain or that he’d had to divulge information he hadn’t wanted to.
She tried to gather her scattered wits. All that had happened in the last hour had terrified her.
That man with the shaggy red hair had smothered her, pushed and touched her.
His breath had smelled of alcohol, the familiar scent freezing her with fear as he pawed at her.
She could hear Rhys fighting those men, grunts and curses flying through the air.
After the fighting stopped and that horrible man had been called off of her, Violet’s vision had filled with Rhys, his face and shirt splattered with blood.
Her fear became for him. He had been hurt trying to save her.
That blasted knife still stuck out from his thigh.
Her warrior. He had battled, had killed, trying to get to her.
No one had ever fought for her. Every man in her life had failed to stand up for her, to offer her safety. But her dangerous angel had slain for her; he had watched over her, had sung her to sleep when she didn’t want to be alone. She stared at him. Even covered in blood, he was beautiful.
She moved across to sit next to him. Rhys startled. Violet laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
His response was a low grunt, but he grasped her hand and weaved their fingers together. She kept quiet the rest of the ride to Brook Street. As they passed Hanover Square, she peered out the window. “This is where you live?”
They pulled up in front of no. 35, and she gaped. “This is only three blocks from my house.”
He sighed. “Yes, this is my house. I don’t generally allow anyone to know where I live. So I would appreciate your discretion.”
“Why don’t you want people to know where you live?”
“It’s a safety concern.”
Violet thought about the men who attacked them in the alley.
She supposed that it wouldn’t do to have your enemies know where you live.
The carriage door opened, and she alighted first. A dark-skinned man who had been leaning against the front door straightened and hurried over.
He set down his bag and helped Jim pull Rhys gingerly out of the carriage. “Boss, what happened?”
Once Rhys’s feet hit the pavement, he shook their hands off. “Newgate Boys.” He took a couple of steps forward with obvious pain.
Violet stepped in front of him. “Let them help you.”
“I’m fine. You can go home now.”
“You are not fine. You have a blasted knife sticking out of your leg!” Violet pushed a finger into his chest. “I am not going anywhere. I am going to make sure you take care of yourself.”
Rhys’s nostrils flared as he glared down at her.
But she didn’t care if he was angry. He had saved her life, and she would make sure that his wounds were tended to properly. Left to his own devices, he would probably let them fester. They stood toe-to-toe, staring at each other.
“Come on, boss, let’s get you inside.” The man who had been waiting for them took hold of Rhys’s arm. Violet stepped to the side as the two men made their way to the front door. Who was this man who called him boss?
She turned to Jim. “Go home and find out from Hodgins where my husband is and if he plans to be home for dinner. Please send Ginny over here with the information and the jar of salve from my chambers. She’ll know what I mean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jim replied.
“And please keep the events of the afternoon to yourselves.” She glanced up at George. “You will be rewarded for your discretion.” Lord, she was getting used to this bribery thing.
“That’s not necessary, ma’am. Discretion is part of our job. We would never think to gossip about you, mistress.” Jim bowed.
“That’s the truth.” George tipped his hat.
Violet let out a long breath. “Thank you.” Then she hurried up the walk to the front door and into the foyer of Rhys’s house.
Shutting the front door behind her, she turned the lock.
The first thing she noticed was a long staircase in dark mahogany that rose to the first floor.
Rhys and his friend stood at the bottom of the stairs. Violet hurried over to them.
“Is there anywhere for him to stretch out here on the ground floor?” she asked.
The man shook his head. “He hasn’t any furniture, save for the dining room table. I’m definitely not letting you get blood on that beautiful piece.”
“You forgot about the piano.” Rhys grunted. “I’ll be fine. I can make it upstairs.”
“What can I do to help?” Violet asked.
“Can you go find Louisa and get her to bring up some fresh water in a basin?” the man asked. Then he put his arm around Rhys’s waist, and the two of them started up the stairs.
Violet fretted. Would he be able to make it all the way up the tall stairs? She wrung her hands.
“Violet, go get the water,” Rhys said gruffly. “Louisa is probably in the kitchen. Back of the house. And if you see the dog, don’t pet him. Just be calm and avoid him.”
She nodded. He didn’t want her to watch him struggle up the stairs.
She turned and headed through the foyer to the back of the house.
There were two rooms flanking the front of the house.
She peered into the room on the left; it was the dining room.
Bare, except for a table, but without even a chair to sit on.
She continued down a short corridor, the walls also bare of decoration, and past two more closed doors.
At the end, she pushed open a large door.
Three stairs led her down into the kitchen.
An older woman came through the back door at the same time.
The woman froze with a basket of herbs in her hands. “Who are you?”
“I am Violet Sommerset. I just arrived with Mr. Seaton. He has been injured. We need a basin of fresh water to clean the wound, please.”
“Oh dear.” The woman bustled into the kitchen and set her basket down on the table.
An enormous mastiff rambled inside behind her.
His big, sad eyes stared at Violet for a long moment before he walked over to the hearth and lay down.
Apparently, the dog did not see her as a threat.
Violet was glad of that. The dog was massive, but with those soulful eyes, he didn’t scare her.
“What’s his name?” Violet tilted her head to where the dog had stretched out.
“Oh, he doesn’t have a name yet. I don’t think Mr. Seaton was planning on getting a pet. I’m Louisa, Mr. Seaton’s housekeeper.” She pumped water into a large pitcher.
“A pleasure to meet you, Louisa.”
Louisa sent her a quizzical look. “How about you get down that basin there in the cupboard?”
Violet unwound her scarf and then untied her bonnet. “Can I leave my things here on the table?”
“Oh, surely. Sorry, we never get guests; my manners are rusty.”
Violet smiled at Louisa. Then she peeled her gloves, soiled with blood.
Last, she undid the buttons and removed her cape.
There, that was better. The fire in the hearth ensured that the kitchen was warm.
She crossed to the cupboard and pulled the basin Louisa had pointed to from the shelf.
“Shall we bring some extra cloths as well?”
Louisa nodded. “We can stop at the linen closet upstairs.” She hefted the pitcher and headed out of the kitchen. The dog immediately rose and followed her.
Violet eyed the dog as he passed her to trail Louisa.
How funny he was. Perhaps he didn’t like to be left alone.
When they all made it upstairs, Louisa put a stack of linen towels from the closet into the basin Violet carried and then led the way to the end of the corridor, where a door was ajar.
The housekeeper and dog went right inside, but Violet paused in the threshold.
Rhys’s bedroom. Her gaze roamed past the big four-poster bed that dominated his room and over to where he sat propped up in a leather chair, his leg out in front of him.
The man tending to him tore the fabric of his trouser leg. He examined the area around the knife carefully.
“What have you done to yourself?” Louisa asked as she bustled across the room.
The dog walked over to Rhys and nudged his hand with a wet nose. Then he lay down next to the chair. “Got into a bit of a scrape, Louisa,” Rhys said.
Violet snorted indelicately. She finally entered the room. “He fought off four men to protect me.” She set the basin down next to the man kneeling in front of Rhys.
“Good, thanks.” The man smiled over at her. “I’m Zeke.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Zeke,” she responded automatically.
Zeke glanced up at Rhys, his eyebrows raised high.
Violet looked back and forth between the men. “What? That was the same look Louisa gave me when we were introduced.”