"Her aunt leaves in the morning you said. I'm sure you've given Lord Barrington a dreadful fright and—"
"What makes you say that?" He sounded curious, yet defensive and again it struck her as odd.
"You pummelled the man to a pulp. He's probably gone home to lick his wounds and nurse his injured pride."
"I wouldn't count on it. I told you, the gentleman is obsessed with Caroline Rosemond. Everyone's talking about it. I'll drop you at Arlington Street while you collect a few things. Tonight, I'm afraid you will have to come home with me."
Chapter 4
The words had left his mouth before the logical part of his brain had a chance to dismiss the idea as ludicrous. But what other choice was there? If he had not noticed Barrington racing down the street, heaven only knows what would have happened to Grace Denton.
The lady was a menace unto herself. She appeared to have no concept of how dangerous the city could be for a young woman on her own. Parading around in such a state of dishabille, she'd have been lucky to make it down the length of James' Street without one young buck trying his chances.
Bloody hell.
He still couldn't believe he had agreed to help her.
Elliot glanced across at the woman who roused his ire as much as his desire and realised the carriage had stopped.
"It's a little further down, number twelve, but I'll walk from here." She sounded more confident now, as though she'd had a complete memory lapse and couldn't possibly be the woman who had just been attacked in the street.
As her hand settled on the door handle, he noticed the raw pink scar peeking out of the top of her glove. The area was littered with spots of dried blood, and he took a deep breath before taking her hand and turning it over.
"What's happened here?" He tried to curb his temper, tried to curb the sweet fire heating his blood at the mere touch of her hand. Thank goodness he'd never get the opportunity to lie with her, to cover her naked body with his own. He imagined all that would be left of him would be a sooty pile of charcoaled remains.
"I tripped and fell when Barrington chased me. It's nothing. It's just a little unsightly."
Nothing? She'd been injured whilst fleeing a madman. Anger bubbled away inside, and he glanced out of the window. Heaven knows how many gentlemen knew where Caroline Rosemond lived.
"You're not going in there on your own." He was starting to sound like one of the domineering patriarchs he despised and detested. "I'm coming in with you."
When they entered the hall, he'd not expected to find it so quiet, so cold and still. "Where are the servants?" he said opening one of the doors off the hall and peering into the darkness.
"Caroline only had a maid and a cook. I've not seen them for two days, either." She chuckled to herself. "Hence, the mess I made with my hair."
Loose tendrils hung about her cheeks and dangled down her back. He found he rather liked it. The style did look a little wild and messy. But it was natural and unassuming, just like everything else about her.
He walked over to her. "You have been here all alone for two days?"
When she nodded he had a sudden urge to ease her fears, to make everything right so she would never have to worry again.
"That's why I came to the masquerade," she said. "I rifled through Caroline's invitations until I found something suitable. I was desperate. You see, Mrs. Whitman is to call for me next week on her way back to Cobham."
"I assume this Mrs. Whitman has no idea she left you in the incapable hands of a courtesan?"
"Of course not. My mother believes my sister's a paid companion to an elderly matron. That's one of the reasons Caroline came to London."
Every courtesan had a tale to tell. Some chose wealth over integrity. Some chose a life of immorality over a life in the workhouse. But, judging by her sister's sweet temperament, he guessed Caroline Rosemond's story involved an unsolicited encounter with a scoundrel. He would wager a hundred guineas the elderly matron had a rake for a grandson.
A frisson of fear rushed through him when he imagined Grace Denton struggling against a man twice her size. Regardless of his own concerns, he would help her find her sister and see her safely out of London, back to the sleepy village of Cobham.
It was the only scenario his conscience would allow.
"You can tell me more about it later," he said, feeling a desperate need to drink. "Once I've checked the upper rooms, you may gather your things, and we'll be on our way."
He mounted the stairs two at a time, aware of her racing up behind him. "I'll come up with you. It feels strange being here alone in the dark."
"Come, show me your room," he said, waiting for her to catch up.