Chapter 7
Rafael spun around at the sound of Kyra’s cry. He saw her tangle with the urchin and go down, but what with the jumble of crates and the press of onlookers crowding in, it took him a moment to reach her side.
“What happened?” he asked as he reached down to help her up from the muddy ground.
She brushed away his hand. “Never mind me—please, you must save the dog!” she gasped. “They mean to harm it!”
“Those little spawns of the devil are always making trouble,” added the man at the neighboring stall. “They hared off that way.” A wave of his pipe indicated one of the alleyways heading toward Seven Dials and the rookies of St. Giles.
“Please!” repeated Kyra
Gentlemanly scruples made him hesitate, but the note of emotion in her voice persuaded him. It was far more than anger, far more than outrage.
It was desperate need, as if saving some forlorn little animal was sort of penance for the past.
“Stay here,” he ordered. Dropping the heavily-laden basket beside her, he turned and pelted off after the urchins.
Pushing his way free of the crowd that had gathered around them, Rafael swerved through the parade of shoppers, ignoring the aggrieved curses and the pain shooting through his own injured limb.
Dios Madre, if it would bring a smile to her face, he would run to the very depths of Hell and back.
The alleyways began to narrow and twist like the Devil’s own tail.
Clenching his teeth, he lengthened his stride.
The uneven cobbles gave way to malodorous muck, making it even harder to keep his footing.
His boots were slipping and sliding, yet still, through the grimy shadows he could see that he was managing to close the distance between him and the three urchins.
The leader of the pack ventured a glance over his shoulder and, seeing their pursuer closing in, he squeaked out an order to abandon the chase and darted down a side passageway, his companions following hot on his heels.
Rafael slowed, and then swore as a rotten apple sailed out from the gloom in a parting shot and knocked his hat into a mound of foul-smelling garbage. After taking another squishy step or two in its direction, he decided to leave it where it was.
Chest heaving, he sucked in a lungful of the fetid air and slowly looked around.
Now that the predators were dealt with, time to find the prey.
“Imps of Satan,” exclaimed Kyra in a ragged gasp as she stumbled to a halt behind him. “Oh, I fear your hat is quite ruined.”
“My hat is not my primary concern at the moment,” replied Rafael.
To his eye, she appeared too pale beneath the flush of exertion, and she looked to be favoring her bad leg, though she was taking great pains to hide it.
“You should have stayed in the market.” He knew it would only add to her agitation to mention her injury. “This area is not safe for a lady.”
“Be damned with my safety,” she uttered under her breath. “It’s horrid that a defenseless little dog be frightened half to death by those boys.” Tears pearled on her lashes. “And now the poor thing is hopelessly lost?—”
“We’ll find him.” It was, he knew, a reckless promise to make but at that moment he was ready to take apart the surrounding rookeries brick by crumbling brick.
Kyra looked around uncertainly. “But I don’t see how, sir.”
“Nonetheless, we shall try.” Taking her hand, he led the way a little farther into the stygian depth of the alleyway. All around, the shadows seemed to take on menacing shapes, and the creak of the overhanging eaves bounced evil echoes off the sooty walls.
The threat seemed so palpable that it seemed like a fist pressing against his chest. But he was not afraid of confronting physical danger.
He let out a little whistle and called to the dog in Spanish. “Hallooo, Amigo!”
Was it his imagination, or did a faint woof sound in answer?
Kyra, too, cocked an ear. “Did you hear something?”
Rafael called again.
The sound was a little louder, and seemed to be coming from just beyond the next turn.
“This way.” Keeping firm hold of her hand, he edged forward, muscles tensed, his senses on full alert for any lurking menace. They rounded the bend, only to find the tumbled-down ruins of a wood and brick storage shed blocking half of the way.
A timid bark, follow by a whimper.
Kyra dropped to her knees, heedless of the ooze seeping through her skirts. “I think I see him,” she said, peering between the splintered slats. “He looks to have fallen through a hole in the floor boards.”
Woof, woof.
“I-I fear he may be trapped.”
One look at her stricken expression and without a word, he stripped off his coat. “Kindly hold this.” The gap in the rotten boards was just large enough for him to try squeezing through it.
“You mustn’t, sir,” she protested, casting a dubious look at the sagging timbers. “It’s too dangerous.”
Crouching down, Rafael surveyed the wreckage. On close inspection, there looked to be a way to crawl through the jumbled wood and brick without bringing the whole structure toppling down.
“I’ll be careful.” He had already rolled onto his back and was inching under the jutting beam. Was he mad to risk his life for a mangy mongrel? Saving a nameless stray wouldn’t bring Jack back from the dead.
And yet, against all reason, the task had become a touchstone, a talisman of sorts to prove that hope could triumph over despair.
Holding his breath, he slowly slithered through a treacherous tangle of broken rafters. The dog’s woofs had stopped, and the ensuing silence only amplified the ominous cast of the ink-dark shadows shrouding the depths of the wreckage.
Just a little farther, he calculated, making his way by touch rather than sight to the spot where the animal was trapped. Slowly, slowly. The mud was chill, the splinters sharp against his fingertips, but he dared not rush.
At last, his hand brushed up against a coarse curling of fur. He felt the dog stir and as a wet warmth licked against his skin, he chuffed a sigh of relief.
“Si, si, amigo, I am happy to meet you, too. But let us leave off formal introductions until I have you safely out of here.” Rafael felt around and found where the dog’s paw had become trapped within a crack in the floorboard. “Try to stay still.”
The dog whined but ceased its struggling.
Splinter by splinter, he gingerly pried away at the half-rotten wood, slowly widened the opening just enough to release the prisoner. The dog scrabbled forward and nuzzled Rafael’s cheek, and despite his bleeding palms and bruised shoulders, he couldn’t repress a grin.
“I’ve got him, all is well,” he called to Kyra. Which was, he admitted wryly, a bit of an exaggeration. To retreat without bringing the heavy timbers crashing down on their heads would be no easy feat.
“Oh, please be very careful,” she whispered softly, as if afraid the merest breath would cause the wreckage to collapse.
“I—” One of the beams shivered at the touch of his boot, and emitted an ominous groan. “I assure you, I have no intention of sticking my spoon into the wall just yet.”
Holding the dog tight to his chest, Rafael backtracked with painstaking precision through the maze of debris. His shirt suffered several rips, his trousers were caked in mud, and his cravat caught on a loose nail and was lost along the way. But somehow he emerged unscathed.
“You had better keep your distance until my amigo and I have had a bath,” he said dryly as he levered to his feet. “Or maybe two. Dios mio, it will likely take a hogshead of soap to scrub the stench?—”
Ignoring his warning, Kyra flung her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, sir, you are a true hero! You deserve a medal for valor!”
A muffled bark seemed to second the accolade.
Her smudged smile was reward enough. Rafael knew what an odd picture they must present, standing there spattered with grime, hugging a half-starved stray. Still, he couldn’t help feeling absurdly proud of himself.
“Hardly.” Mindful of ruining her clothing, Rafael tried to gently fend her away. “There is nothing heroic about crawling around in the muck.”
Her eyes flared open at the sight of his scraped and bleeding hand. “Dear Lord, you’re hurt!”
“Just a few scratches. It’s nothing.”
A strange heat suddenly thrummed against his skin as Kyra pressed her palm to his cheek. It was as if some powerful magnetic force was holding them flesh to flesh.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak.
“Y-Your face is cut, too.” Kyra had only meant to brush a bit of dirt from the nick on his cheekbone. But an elemental current seemed to take hold of her, and before she could think, before she could react, it drew her closer, closer . . .
Close enough to see the subtle play of hues swirling in the depths of his sapphire blue eyes. Close enough to be mesmerized by the sweetly sinuous shape of his mouth.
Close enough to find her lips hovering just a hairsbreadth from his. “I’ve never seen anything more heroic in my life than what you just did. It was quite wonderful.”
You are quite wonderful.
Kyra wasn’t sure whether it was Rafael or she who moved—or whether some invisible magic brought them together in a gossamer kiss. For one exquisite instant, she simply savored the sculpted contours of his mouth, strong yet velvet-soft, and the sense of gentle warmth that suffused her senses.
Then, thank heavens, reason reasserted itself in the form of the squirming dog.
Shame made the wondrous warmth turn in a flash to a wicked burn. Ducking her head to hide her flaming face, Kyra fumbled with freeing the rescued stray from the tangled folds of fabric.
Through the scrim of her lashes, she saw that he, too, was looking embarrassed.
And with good reason. Though he was too gentlemanly to say so, he was probably horrified at having a wanton jade wrap herself around him.
At that moment, she would have given all the tea in China to have the ground beneath her open up and drop her straight to Canton.
“Halloo, sweetheart,” she crooned, stroking the dog’s floppy ears to keep from meeting his gaze.
“He needs a proper name,” said Rafael.