Chapter 31 Derek
Derek
Derek burst through the double doors to Ryker’s study, Kozington and Lady Elliot somewhere behind him.
Ryker froze in his pacing, blue-and-green gaze colliding with Derek’s
“Where is—”
“She’s in your private rooms.”
“And?” He let the question linger, and Koz and Lady Elliot hurried into the room during the pregnant pause.
Ryker’s jaw hardened, his eyes flashing with something so dangerous that Derek had to brace himself not to take a step backward. “My physician is on his way. I don’t know, Derek. It wasn’t pretty when I got to her.”
Derek’s eyes slid shut at the same time Lady Elliot’s whimper rang through the chamber.
“She’s alive, but unconscious.”
He swallowed hard. Kozington had briefed Derek and Lady Elliot on the way to The Devil’s Eye.
Ryker had eyes and ears everywhere, but especially around his domain.
Nothing got by him. It couldn’t with his business.
One of his crew spotted a blonde woman being carried to one of the private rooms that could be rented by the night.
Either unconscious or so intoxicated she wasn’t lucid.
That didn’t fly at Ryker’s establishment.
He'd investigated, and quickly realized he needed to intervene.
Recognized the woman as Miss Forester.
“And where is he?” Derek said softly, his tone promising retribution.
Ryker’s grin turned feral. “He’s in the cellar with Bruiser.”
Derek’s gaze shot to Kozington.
Kozington’s face was set in a hard mask.
“It’s been a while since Zavi’s last bout.
He was itching to punch something.” Xavier—or Zavi—was Kozington’s younger brother.
Better known beyond aristocratic circles as the Bare-knuckle Bruiser.
The man was deadly in the ring. A fact that would astonish anyone used to the affable, jesting young man who turned everything into a lark.
“Don’t worry, Dunmore,” Ryker said, watching him carefully. “You’ll have your turn at him. I made sure Bruiser knew to leave enough of him for you to play with.”
Something cruel and addictive coursed through Derek.
“But I thought you and Lady Elliot would want to see Miss Forester first.”
“Yes, please,” Lady Elliot said quickly.
“Follow me.”
Derek and Lady Elliot strode side-by-side behind Ryker as they made their way to Derek’s private rooms. Kozington stayed back in Ryker’s study. There was no reason for him to intrude on such a personal and traumatic moment.
“Mr. Drake,” Lady Elliot said quietly, her voice surprisingly steady. “Can you please relay what you know…? Of what happened. Of her condition.”
“I’m going to be blunt with you, my lady.
Because there’s no way to be delicate in a situation such as this.
I don’t know if he raped her. When I walked in, it was clear she was trying to fight him off.
I tore him off her. By the time I was back at her side, she’d lost consciousness.
” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
“Nearly squeezed the life from the man. But I thought someone else might like to have that pleasure.” His gaze flicked to Derek, and Derek nodded in the affirmative.
They paused before Derek’s rooms.
Pennington was a dead man.
And that honor was all Derek’s.
The chamber was eerily silent; the woman lying in Derek’s massive crimson bed unnervingly still. With every step, he gained a new detail, and his fury blazed hotter, more charged.
Torn bodice.
A bright red mark on her cheek.
Dried tear tracks staining her pale skin.
He ground his teeth to bloody dust trying to contain the riotous rage demanding to break free.
Lady Elliot stepped forward to examine her niece more closely, gently pushing back the loose strands of Miss Forester’s coiffure.
Ruined coiffure.
“I’ll be back when the physician arrives.” Ryker’s soft murmur came from behind Derek, and then the soft snick of the door echoed through the room.
Derek stepped up to Lady Elliot. He trailed his fingers over the wrinkled ivory fabric of Miss Forester’s dress, the hem dirt-stained.
Lady Elliot was murmuring softly, things Derek couldn’t hear.
Or maybe his hearing wasn’t working properly.
The only thing that filled his senses was an overwhelming buzzing. He fisted his hands.
Explosive.
Erratic.
Fury.
A small flicker drew his attention to Miss Forester’s face.
Her eyelids fluttered lightly, and Lady Elliot squeezed her niece’s hand.
Miss Forester’s eyes snapped open, and she shot up, arms swinging wildly, like that small squeeze had triggered a fight reflex.
Lady Elliot jumped back to avoid being hit, but Derek rushed forward.
He dodged flying fists and grabbed Miss Forester’s face, forced her wild, frantic gaze to land on his. “You’re safe, Livy. It’s Derek. And your aunt. You’re safe.”
She still clawed at him, fists landing weakly. Nothing like the first time she’d planted him a facer. Her blue eyes were oddly pale, looking at him but not seeing him. He shook her lightly.
“You’re safe, clever girl,” he choked out.
Her attempted attack on him softened, hands that had struck and clawed, gripped onto him for a different reason now.
“Derek?” she slurred.
He nodded, an odd sting building behind his nose. “Yes, clever girl. It’s me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “He’s gone. You’re safe now. He’s never going to hurt you again. No one will ever hurt you again. Understand?”
Fresh tears leaked from her welling blue eyes.
A sob escaped her, and he was on the bed in the next breath, pulling her into his arms. All the scorching fury that had built inside him vanished, replaced with a bone-deep hollowness.
He pulled her into his lap, clenched her to him as her body shook.
He pressed his nose to the crown of her head and inhaled a shaky breath, the faint scent of vanilla—of Livy.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his arms around her as if he could meld her into himself. He longed to hold her so tightly that he could absorb all the terror haunting her, leaving her free from this memory. From this nightmare.
But then the nightmare continued. Livy went rigid in his arms. Alarmingly still.
An uneasy groan fled her. And then her body convulsed, and he turned her just in time for her to empty the contents of her stomach all over the coverlet.
Her chest jerked, and she shook violently.
He did his best to maneuver her so she could cast up her accounts without risk of soiling herself.
He wasn’t entirely successful. His veins froze over.
Because her ivory skirts were now stained a deep crimson.
“She’s throwing up blood,” he barked, his voice as tight as his throat. Eyes wide, his gaze whipped to Lady Elliot. “Where’s the fucking physician!”
Lady Elliot’s hand landed on his upper arm, soft and reassuring, belying the worry glinting in her blue eyes. “She was drinking claret tonight, my lord.”
His shoulders sagged—but the relief was short-lived.
They snapped straight as Livy heaved in his arms again.
Bloody fucking hell. What had Pennington done to her?
A vision of Pennington handing Miss Forester a glass of wine in the drawing room came roaring back.
That bastard! He’d drugged her. Derek was going to murder that man.
And he was going to take. His. Fucking. Time.
When her body finally calmed, he lifted her to rest in his arms, her back pressed to his chest. Lady Elliot hurried forward with a wet cloth.
At some point she’d gotten a pitcher of water and a pile of towels from the bathing chamber.
She carefully cleaned up her niece and encouraged her to have some water.
“Just a small amount, Olivia love. Not too much, just a little at a time.”
At that moment, the door swung open. Ryker strode in, followed by…
the last type of person Derek would ever allow see to Miss Forester.
Derek’s arms instantly tightened around the slight woman in his arms, pulling her into him.
The man’s brown hair was tied back in a queue.
He had the body of a pugilist—Derek would have wagered he was Bruiser’s next opponent, not a physician.
More than his physique, though, was the mass of tattoos covering nearly every inch of the man’s exposed skin that put Derek on edge.
They covered his lower arms where his sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, and his neck above his cravat, even over one cheek.
But the man was carrying the telling black valise.
Lady Elliot did a hell of a job hiding any discomposure if she was feeling similarly to Derek. “We need new bed linens, Mr. Drake. And if you have any way of securing garments…”
Ryker’s gaze scanned over the bed, and he grimaced. “Poor dove. I’ll have servants attend to that immediately. This is Doctor Jones, my physician.” Ryker’s unnerving gaze met Derek’s. “I’d argue he is the most talented physician in London. Do not let his appearance fool you.”
Derek dipped his chin and relaxed slightly.
There were few people Derek trusted in this world, but Ryker was one of them.
Their work in The Harborage had solidified that.
It wasn’t an organization one could be involved in without trust. If Ryker said this man—Derek eyed him warily—was trustworthy and competent, Derek believed him.
Ryker disappeared out the door, and the physician halted next to Lady Elliot, placing his valise on the bed by Livy’s feet.