Chapter 5
“Cheap, arrogant, waste of—”
Caroline awoke to the sound of grumbling, then startled into a sitting position as the sound of splintering wood erupted from beyond her window. Still half-asleep and entirely confused, she pulled her blankets up over her, despite being fully dressed, and turned to look outside.
Her eyes widened, and her heart began to race as she saw Damien there in the early morning light, naked from the waist up.
He had an axe raised above his head, and as she was distracted by the chiseled slabs of muscle that formed his torso, he brought it down and split another log in two.
She jumped once more at the sound, but could not take her eyes off of him.
Dear Mary, Mother of God...
Though she had seen paintings and statues of naked men, she had never seen a real man shirtless before.
A blush crept into her cheeks as she took in his form.
His large forearms were laced with bulging veins, which traveled up into even larger, more muscular upper arms. Hard slabs of such muscle sat upon each of his wide shoulders, and even his shoulder blades and back rippled with strength as he brought the axe back down again.
She could not help but shiver at the raw strength of him.
Then, as if sensing her eyes on him, Damien turned his head, and a bolt of lightning seemed to run down the center of her body as they locked eyes.
Panting, he dropped the axe and started walking toward the window.
Her mouth fell open as he revealed his front, which was even more chiseled than his back.
As he drew closer, she also noticed droplets of sweat tracing down the cords of his neck, passing between the small valley of his defined pectorals, and flowing over the large ridges of his abdomen, where her gaze became fixated.
“Good morning,” his deep voice rumbled as he stopped just before the glass.
Caroline’s eyes shot back up to his face, and she blushed deeply as she realized how intensely she had been staring. She turned her attention to opening up the window.
“Good... good morning,” she muttered. For a moment, her mind went blank as she watched his muscular form rise and fall with panting breaths; she observed him raise one powerful forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Then one of those brows perked up curiously, and her senses snapped back into her.
“What... what are you doing?” she demanded.
“I did not know how long it would take you to deliberate,” Damien answered, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “I thought it wise to purchase some firewood if we were going to spend another night here.”
“We?” Caroline asked.
Damien let out a low chuckle, and he crossed his arms.
“Now that I have found you, I am not leaving your side, little mouse,” he replied. “I cannot have you scurrying away again.”
Caroline narrowed her gaze at him, suddenly no longer enraptured by the state of his undress.
“I would have gotten to it myself with my next wages,” she remarked.
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Now you do not have to. So, little mouse, where are we going today? Back to the modiste?”
“Stop calling me that,” she bit out, her annoyance growing.
“That is not an answer,” he remarked, smirking.
She glowered at him for a moment, then reluctantly turned her gaze to the rising sun. It was still quite early, most likely not even six yet, she wagered. Mrs. Parks’ shop did not open until nine, and she was not expected there until eight.
“I am going to the orphanage,” she replied, emphasizing her singularity as she drew her eyes back to him. “I need to apologize for missing my hours last night and see if they need help with breakfast for the children.”
Damien gave a terse nod.
“Then we shall go to the orphanage,” he said, clearly ignoring her declaration to go alone. “I shall stack the wood, then we will go.”
“You do not need to come—”
His amber gaze hardened as he leaned toward the window, looking downright predatory.
“What did I just say?” he all but growled.
Caroline’s heart beat faster at the sight of his aggression, but even so, she forced her lips into a sneer.
“Hurry up then,” she snapped. “I will not be late because of you.”
The hard frown on Damien’s lips lifted into a smirk, and he scoffed as he turned to walk away.
“And make sure you are decent and properly clothed!” she shouted, thumping the glass with her hand. Then to herself she muttered, “God knows what my neighbors think of me now.”
“This place is worse than that unfortunate cottage of yours,” Damien muttered, looking up at the dilapidated building that was the local orphanage.
Caroline shot her elbow into his ribs, satisfaction roiling through her as it earned her an ‘oomph’ from Damien.
“You will be kind in here, do you understand?” she whispered as she opened the door. “These children have enough to be frightened of; they do not need you to add to the long list.”
To her surprise, Damien halted at the open doorway, as if unsure whether he should actually go in or not.
Then, with seeming effort, he shifted his hardened expression into a blank one and stepped inside.
Caroline’s heart twinged with pity as she took in the state of the building.
The stairs to her left, which led to the children’s rooms, were crooked and decaying.
The hallway in front of her had mold growing near the ceiling and more near the floor.
“Where are the children?” Damien asked, his tone quiet as Caroline led him through the shabby dining room and to the back of the kitchens.
“They wake them only once breakfast is prepared,” Caroline answered quietly. “There are very few paid members of staff here, and it is easier to wrangle the children when they have a task already waiting for them instead of making them wait.”
Behind her, Damien only grunted. Caroline spared a quick glance at him and saw that his eyes were intently looking over the sagging walls and multiple cracks within them.
Caroline drew on a kind smile as she pushed open the door to the kitchens.
“Good morning, Miss Willa,” she began. “I wanted to apologize for...”
Caroline stopped talking as she observed the scene before her.
There was no food prepared on the work tables.
No other staff or volunteers were running around to prepare bread or oatmeal.
The kitchen was quiet, dark, and cold. Miss Willa, the orphanage matron, sat alone at one of the wobbly worktables, her head in her hands.
“Miss Willa?” Caroline breathed.
She raced to the table, sliding her hand around the woman’s chin to lift her head. She found tears falling from the woman’s eyes, her cheeks splotched with redness as if she had been crying for a long time.
“What has happened here?” Damien demanded.
Miss Willa’s slim shoulders did not flinch when she heard his voice, which surprised Caroline. Like her, the woman in her mid-thirties had a slightly nervous nature. Her lack of reaction to Damien’s sharp tone spoke volumes, revealing just how drained she was.
“They took them,” Miss Willa whispered, then drew in a shuddering breath.
“Who?” Caroline urged. “Who took what, Miss Willa?”
Then, suddenly, a terrifying thought erupted into Caroline’s mind, and her eyes shot to the ceiling.
“Are the children—” she began to ask, but Miss Willa quickly shook her head.
“The children are fine; they do not know,” Miss Willa replied.
“They do not know what?” Caroline gently asked.
“That we were robbed,” Miss Willa said, her voice breaking into a sob as she lowered her head again.
“I... I do not know who, but they came in late last night. They beat the poor old man and took everything. The food. The donations hidden in my office, anything of value. Thank God they did not go upstairs. They left the children alone.”
Fear trembled through Caroline, followed quickly by regret.
No matter how late Mrs. Parks had kept her, she should have made time to go to the orphanage, to at least check in.
Though what she would have done if confronted by the criminals was beyond her.
Her skills with the scissors had been subpar at best.
“Is Jasper all right?” Caroline asked, but as the question left her lips, a creaking sound came from the back of the kitchens.
Caroline looked up, only then noticing the sorry state of the broken door when Jasper, the kind elderly man who helped Miss Willa run things, hobbled in.
A large, ugly bruise spread over his left eye, which was swollen shut.
There was a cut on his withered cheek, and as he took another step inside, he winced in pain.
“I am all right, Miss Mason,” Jasper’s fatherly tone drifted into the tense air. “Takes more than a beating to put me down.”
“Oh, Jasper,” Caroline breathed, her heart hurting for the older man as he limped to the work table. “You do not look all right! Please sit down before you fall down!”
Jasper winced, his breath hitching as he fumbled with the back of an empty chair. Suddenly, Damien appeared, his large hand wrapping around the rung and pulling it out for the old man.
Jasper looked up at him and smirked.
“Oi, ain’t you a big one?” Jasper said with a raspy laugh as he took his seat. “Could have used you last night. Maybe I could have caught the buggers that did this.”
“You went after them?” Caroline asked, startled.
“Once I came to, I tried,” Jasper muttered. “It was no use, though. Lord only knows how long I was out before I found Miss Willa here shaking me awake. Tried to follow their tracks once I was up, but they were of no use once they hit the cobblestones.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Miss Willa sobbed, shaking her head as she took Jasper’s hand in hers and squeezed.
“Who would hurt a poor old man like this? Who would steal from orphaned children?” She shook her head woefully.
“I have run this place for ten years, and though we have had our hard times, no one has done something this awful.”