Chapter Four
Genevieve was probably suffering from hallucinations as she froze to death, and all because she’d grown too feeble to withstand a late autumn freeze.
She’d once read that the chilblains could result in odd symptoms. However, that information had also led her to believe that when one was overexposed to the cold, they grew numb and felt a sense of peace.
How unfortunate that her demise didn’t take away a rumbling tummy, tingling limbs, aches and pains, or body odor.
Dying, it seemed, felt a lot like her new, nightmarish life, except there was a handsome man squatting beside her, feeding Horatio tiny pieces of cheese. Her handsome savior, to be precise.
On second thought, maybe this was a dream with a bit of fantasy thrown in for good measure.
“Well, hallo there. Jonathan Davenport at your service.” Palm up, the man proffered the hunk of cheese.
She startled, and her muscles tightened. Pain shot through her, reminding her that she’d taken quite a beating from the boys.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “What’s your name?”
She bit her lip.
“I see.” His alluring green eyes studied her with a curious regard. “Let me guess. Anna? Or mayhap Ann?”
She gasped. Somehow, he had figured out that she was a woman. Surely her appearance and odor were far from feminine.
The blazing fire in the brazier silhouetted him in an angelic halo as his intense eyes bore into her soul. She looked away to search the alley for the pretty lady in the red pelisse. Since the woman didn’t seem to be anywhere close, Genevieve returned her gaze to her visitor.
“No?” he said. “Let me think… Maria?”
She knew she was rudely gawking, but she was beyond shocked. Not only did he know she wasn’t a man, but he’d also come back with food and stoked the fire. Since there was no need to keep the itchy, muddy cap on her head, she removed it and shook out her hair.
His gaze remained glued to hers as the strands, heavy with dirt, plopped against her shoulders.
“Hmm.” His brow rose and his lips pursed as if he were deep in thought. Eventually, he pulled a corner off the cheese and slid it beneath her nose. “Here. Eat.”
Grimy fingers on display, she plucked the sliver from his palm, popping it into her mouth. Jonathan tore off another piece and handed it to Horatio, who chomped it down in one bite.
“Your guard is easily bribed.” Jonathan grinned. “His loyalty can be bought with odiferous cheese. It’s all they had left at The Purple Rabbit at this late hour.”
Who cared how the cheese smelled because it was the most satisfying thing she’d ever eaten. Not that she could smell it over her own body odor. How unfortunate that they were both thinking about the stench of things when this man made her heart twirl as if she were an adolescent girl with a tendre.
“Is there somewhere I can take you where you will be safe and warm?” He feigned a shiver. “’Tis a cold one.”
If she had somewhere else to be, she wouldn’t be sleeping against a cold brick wall, accepting food from a stranger.
“Bloody fool,” he whispered as if talking to himself. “If there were, I suppose you wouldn’t be sleeping on the ground.”
Exactly.
He stood. “Come along, then.” He crooked his index finger.
Besides her jaw dropping even lower, she didn’t move.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m rather harmless.” He gnashed his teeth and chuckled. “As long as one doesn’t find my questionable sense of humor too offensive.”
Not only was Jonathan Davenport handsome, but he was also rather charming. Genevieve giggled.
“That’s better,” he said. “My mother loves company, and our cook is the best in London. Just ask anyone.”
Surely, he wasn’t taking her home to his aristocratic mother, because, in this current state, she was more a stray than acceptable company.
“After my sister married Lord Lionel, she left some frocks in her wardrobe. They might be too large for you, but they are yours if you want them. If you prefer trousers, you can have a pair of mine until we find you something that fits.”
Apparently, that was exactly what he meant, since he was letting her pick through his sister’s dresses and his bottoms.
“We have a bathtub, too,” he said.
She’d survived the elements to die from embarrassment.
Seconds later, and still very much alive, the promise of clean water prodded her onto her feet. Every inch of her body ached, and her legs quivered.
Interestingly, he still hadn’t mentioned his wife or fiancée.
“That’s a girl.” Jonathan removed his finely tailored greatcoat, settling it over her shoulders.
Succumbing to his kind gesture, she snuggled into the garment’s warmth.
“My carriage isn’t too far away.”
She pointed at Horatio.
“Of course.” Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “But only if he also agrees to a bath.”
She sent Horatio a pleading mental message begging him to consent to a thorough scrubbing.
Horatio yawned.
Genevieve slapped her thigh, calling the pup to her. His tail wagged as he climbed onto all fours and then stretched. She fell into step beside Jonathan. Horatio trotted along behind them.
“Elizabeth?” Jonathan asked.
It took her a moment to realize he was still trying to guess her name. She shook her head.
“Katherine.”
She shook her head again.
He handed her the block of cheese, and she nibbled on it as they trekked in companionable silence. Once they reached his vehicle, he assisted her into the carriage. The woman in red was still nowhere to be found.
“I’m ready to go home, Ivan,” he called.
“Yes, sir,” the driver said.
Horatio leapt into the carriage and then hopped onto the squabs beside Genevieve. Sprawling the length of the seat, he rested his chin on her lap. She offered him the rest of the cheese. He licked and munched as he stared up at her with adoration in his eyes.
Cringing, Jonathan sat opposite them. As horrifically dirty as they were, he didn’t voice an objection to the two of them stinking up the lush interior. He tapped on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward.
“I’ve got it,” Jonathan said. “Lilly.”
She felt more like rank dung than a Lilly. She wrinkled her nose.
“I dare say, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to come up with my own name for you.” Appearing contemplative, he rubbed his chin.
Perhaps she should worry that a man with nefarious intent was abducting her. However, he had food and a bathtub, and he looked more like a fairytale prince than a malefactor.
“Blue,” he blurted.
Nonplused, she stared at him.
“I’m going to call you Blue until you tell me your real name.”
But her clothing was various shades of brown, tan, and sludge. However, since she couldn’t answer him without making a fool of herself, she couldn’t and wouldn’t complain.
“Where in the devil did you learn to fight like that?” he asked.
She longed to tell him part of the truth—she’d engaged in pretend mills with Christopher and the boys in the village.
She’d take the rest of her truth to the grave—she’d used their games to learn both offensive and defensive techniques because she feared her father would eventually try to kill her like he had her mother.
There were also the two times Whale had let her sneak into the basement of the Purple Rabbit to warm herself.
Fascinated, she’d studied the pugilists as they prowled the ring.
Even if she could find her voice and talk to Jonathan, her aristocratic diction and elocution would betray her upbringing, perhaps leading him to her family.
And then there was her worst fear. What if she slipped and said, “I watched my father wrap his hands around my mother’s neck and squeeze until she gasped her last breath?
” Surely, the story would tumble out of her the second she could tell the tale.
Those invisible fists wrapped around her throat and squeezed.
“Parlez-vous francais, Bleue?” Jonathan asked.
Not any better than she spoke English most days. She shook her head.
“?Habla usted espanol?”
She slid her head back and forth.
“Sprichst du Deutsch, Blaue Augen?”
Her German was rather abysmal, but she knew enough to realize he’d called her Blue Eyes. How lovely that, as repulsive as she currently was, he’d noticed and focused on the color of her eyes. Perhaps he sensed an earl’s granddaughter beneath the muck and disguise. Be still her pirouetting heart.
“Me either. I fooled you with my stellar pronunciations, didn’t I?” He sighed. “Actually, those are the only words I know.”
His deep chuckle warmed her from the inside out.
“I have a confession,” he said. “And since you won’t understand what I am saying, it shall be quite easy to admit it to someone. Finally.”
As curious as she was, she vehemently shook her head, trying to dissuade him from trusting her with secrets she had no right to hear.
He didn’t seem to understand what she was trying to communicate because he leaned forward and whispered, “The truth is, I can’t speak all those languages.
Hell, my English is questionable some days.
I was a terrible student. Would have been thrown out of Bedford and Cambridge if it weren’t for my best friend.
And another thing, I spent most of today staring at ledgers.
They give me a blasted headache. Every single time.
” He waggled his finger at Horatio. “Don’t you tell anyone, Floppy, or no bacon for you. ”
Horatio’s lips quirked upward as if he were smiling.
Jonathan leaned back against the squabs. “Damnation, it felt good to admit that out loud.”
Genevieve swallowed a lump of guilt. This man was being so kind to her, and she’d deceived him. Not on purpose, but still. Why was she so defective?
“Let me see, what else have I been itching to get off my chest?”