Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

She did not wait to be asked to give an account of herself.

Picking up her skirts, she dived out of the heavyweight’s claws and all but tumbled down the stairs and into the street.

Would he come after her?

He knew where she lived, and if he didn’t, Celeste may well tell him.

Her breath came in convulsive bursts as she dodged down an alleyway and into a courtyard. It was unfamiliar territory, amidst the rookeries of those who would slit her throat—or worse—for what they could find upon her person.

The clattering of harness and an indignant whinny heralded a hackney carriage which nearly drove over her, but she was nimble enough to escape harm, instead pulling open the door and leaping inside after shouting instructions to the driver.

It was unconventional but surely he’d take a woman, alone at night, and not consider that her unchaperoned status proclaimed her a whore—someone unlikely to pay the fare. With trembling fingers, she counted the coins in her purse, exhaling in despair to find she had only a couple of pennies.

Where else could she go for help but to Mr McTavish? He would help her.

“Stop!” She rapped on the roof. “The gentleman in this house will pay your fare. Please wait.”

His response was as expected. He was not happy as he grumbled that he’d wait two minutes for his money before coming in himself.

The offices of McTavish & Son were dark and shuttered. There was only a small chance Hamish would still be here, but it was the best chance Lily had.

When he opened the door, she all but threw herself at him, beyond caring that she was begging, when she’d never begged in her life. “Please will you pay the jarvey? Please can I stay here? Just for a few hours. There is a man who is after me, and I think he wants to kill me. The Russian I told you about. He was there. At Celeste’s. Madame Chambon’s. He grabbed me—”

“Lily?” Hamish put both his hands on her shoulders. His voice was soft and calming. She sagged against him.

“Come in, my dear. I’ll make up the fire. I fell asleep at my desk in fact.”

“He might be following me. I couldn’t go home because he knows where I live—” She was gabbling but she didn’t care. At last, she was with someone she trusted. Someone who believed her. Who wanted to help her.

“And you’re quite sure he’s trying to kill you?” His tone was deeply caring, almost as if he were comforting a child, as he drew her into the house.

“I think he murdered Mr Renquist. In fact, I’m almost certain he did!” She clutched at his arm, his attitude suddenly unnerving. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

With a smile, he gently pushed her into the small sitting room behind his office then settled her into a chair.

“Of course I do, my dear.” He knelt at her feet as he rested them on an ottoman and wrapped them in his muffler. “Now let me make up the fire so you can get warm, and then you can tell me all about it.” There was no urgency in his tone.

“We have to tell the police that we know who killed Mr Renquist!” she cried. “Before he kills someone else to protect himself. Like Celeste! Or me! Tell me you believe me?”

Hamish put one hand on her knee and cupped her chin with the other. “You’ve had a big fright, I don’t discount that,” he murmured. “And I want to help you all I can.” He looked more sorrowful than filled with the determined action Lily felt he needed to show. “But first, my dear Lady Bradden, I need you to tell me a few things about you.”

Chapter 21

It was nearly midnight. He made up the fire and found blankets and cushions and settled her, for she was clearly very frightened if she had to beg his protection in such a bold and unexpected manner.

He was tender and attentive, and Lily was quiet as he offered her all the bodily comfort she could need. He wrapped them both up warmly and held her close upon the sofa.

Not so long ago, she could never have imagined physical closeness like this.

But now she knew he would never offer what she truly craved.

Not now he knew she was Lady Bradden.

Lady Bradden had been locked up for a reason. Somehow, he’d learned her true identity, and it clearly hadn’t been hard to find people who’d given an embellished account of all that had led to Lily’s incarceration.

With a patience to match his, she held his hand as she protested softly, “It’s true, Hamish. What happened to me this evening was real. I visited Celeste. And then her…her Russian paramour burst into the room and tried to grab me.”

“And you escaped. And therefore, you believe he is Renquist’s murderer? With no evidence other than that he was menacing towards you?”