“What will you do?” she asked.
“I’ll commandeer O’Rourke’s carriage and escort him to the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court to lay charges against him.”
“Very well.”
When her gaze shifted, a pang of dismay shot through her. Heath’s cheek was still bleeding from the gash his opponent’s meaty fist had inflicted.
“Heath, you are hurt. Your cheek…”
She raised her hand gently to his face, but he drew back, avoiding her touch. “It is no matter.”
Just then his two servants appeared, reporting that all the bruisers had fled, including the one his lordship had shot. They had abandoned their employer when confronted with superior force.
Heath gave his orders to the footmen, who led the prisoner from the room. His head bowed, O’Rourke didn’t so much as glance at Fanny, although she followed his retreat with an odd mix of anger and sadness on her beautiful features.
When O’Rourke had gone, Lily returned her attention to Heath’s injured cheek. Reaching down, she lifted the hem of her gown of pale green silk-the same stylish confection she had worn to Roslyn’s wedding that morning, which was now stained with Basil’s blood-and tore a strip from her chemise.
“Here,” she said, raising the linen to Heath’s face. “You gave your handkerchief away.”
To her puzzlement, Heath again pulled back abruptly, as if he couldn’t bear her touch. He took the scrap from her, however, and pressed it to his wound. “See to Eddowes, Lily. He needs your compassion more than I do.”
His cool tone took her aback. Lily regarded Heath in silence, trying to hide her own emotional turmoil: Gratitude that he had been willing to help her when she desperately needed him, without question or pause. Awe that he had risked his life to save her friend. Relief that he’d emerged relatively unharmed. Nerves from the danger they had faced. Pain from his coldness.
For the space of a heartbeat, she stood there awkwardly, wanting to say something more to Heath. But as soon as she nodded in agreement, he turned and followed his servants from the room, leaving Lily to stare after him, feeling strangely as if she had just been delivered a powerful blow to her chest somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.
Chapter Nineteen
I never thought it would hurt this much to lose him.
– Lily to Fanny
At their wits’ end with worry, Fleur and Chantel were overjoyed to have Fanny home safely-and appalled by Basil’s trouncing. The elderly courtesans fussed over him even more than they fretted over Fanny, settling them both in their cozy sitting room and fortifying Basil with pillows, hot tea, and a liberal dose of brandy.
When Basil looked embarrassed by their coddling, Fanny assumed control of his nursing, bathing and tending his wounds and bandaging his right hand herself.
He endured her tender attentions with more fortitude, yet he still seemed dismayed by her concern. No doubt, Lily suspected, because he thought his physical injuries made him appear weak in Fanny’s eyes, even though she and the Cyprians praised his heroism numerous times.
Lily was also extremely proud of Basil, although she wasn’t quite as profuse in expressing her admiration just then; in part because her nerves were still unsettled from their brush with danger, her emotions still shaken after watching Heath risk his life for her sake. She badly wanted to see him again, to reassure herself that he was all right. Yet she knew there was an even greater reason for her present agitation. The truth was, she couldn’t bear the way they had parted.
To distract herself and Basil as well, Lily kept him company for the remainder of the afternoon, reading to him from Byron’s latest epic poem, The Prisoner of Chillon, and engaging in a half-hearted argument over that scandalous lord’s latest exploits abroad, all the while pretending an interest she didn’t feel. But she kept a close eye on the door, hoping Heath would arrive soon.
However, when he at last appeared at the boardinghouse that evening to check on Fanny and to report on O’Rourke’s arrest and incarceration, Lily had no chance to be alone with him, since Fanny asked to speak to him privately.
They left the sitting room together, and when Fanny returned, Heath was not with her.
“Lord Claybourne took his leave already?” Chantel asked, sounding disappointed. “But we wished to ask him to stay for dinner so we could properly thank him.”
“Yes, his lordship has gone,” Fanny answered. “He said to convey his apologies but he had business that required his attention.”
Lily felt her stomach sink further. She knew exactly why Heath had left without even saying farewell: because he was shunning her.
Not stopping to debate the wisdom of her actions, she sprang up from her seat to go after him.
There was no sign of him below in the entrance hall, Lily saw when she reached the first floor landing, so she quickly ran down the stairs and flung open the front door.
He was just climbing into his coach, she noted with relief. When she called to him, he froze for a long moment, before finally turning and walking slowly back toward her. Even from a distance she could tell that his face was completely shuttered, not an encouraging sign.
Lily hurried down the steps and along the sidewalk so that they met halfway, out of hearing of his coachman and footmen. When Heath halted before her, though, the sheer remoteness of his expression gave her a chill.