“I am sorry, Hart.” Lily sounded distraught. “I never supposed anyone would dare to come near to us with Hugh standing guard. No one ever has in the past, but the man approached us from behind, and he had a blade, which he threatened to use on Hugh.”
Wolf issued a stinging curse. “The streets are getting more dangerous than ever. First one of the Bradleys gets beaten to death just beyond our damned door and now this. Where is the bastard? Did you give ’im a plumper?”
Lily held up the small pistol she kept with her, which was perfectly sized for concealment in a lady’s reticule. “I shot at him through my reticule, and he went running.”
“Bleeding white-livered scoundrel,” Hugh spat. “I would’ve taken the blade if it meant protecting the ladies. But Miss Sutton acted before I ’ad the chance to do aught.”
Hart had no doubt the loyal guard would have. But that did not make him feel any better about what had nearly happened. The man could have done something far worse than merely attempting to rob them of coin.
And what would Hart have done then?
I would have hunted the bastard down and torn him apart with my bare bleeding hands.
“Lily, you’ll not be walking to the foundling hospital any longer,” he told his sister sharply. “And nor will Emma be accompanying you there. She wasn’t born into this dangerous world of shadows and sinners. She’s a lamb being led to slaughter.”
I am the one who led her there first.
He banished the thought, one he could not afford to entertain or allow to cloud his ambitions. Lady Emma would not be lingering much longer.
Mere days, and she would be gone.
And when she realized the extent of his plan, she would sooner slap him than find comfort in his arms as she was doing now.
But he was doing what he must, to find his brother.
“I am truly sorry,” Lily said, hanging her head. “The children love to see new faces. I was only thinking of them, and of course we took the baskets of extra bread and other foods from Chef…”
“It is hardly your fault, Lily,” Lady Emma was quick to reassure his dismayed sister. “You had no way of knowing such a rogue would accost poor Hugh. Are you certain the villain’s blade did not do you any harm, Hugh?”
Her tender concern for the massive beast of a guard nettled Hart. How could it not? Jealousy roiled in his gut, tangling it in further knots.
“The bastard didn’t get me before Miss Sutton shot at ’is arse.” Hugh grinned. “Miss Sutton is a crack shot, she is. It’s not every bit of petticoats I’d trust with a pop at my back.”
“Hugh, you come with me and we’ll see if we can find any hint of the thief,” Wolf said, his countenance promising vengeance for the would-be cutpurse, were he to be found. “Hart, you take Lily and your wench inside.”
Your wench.
What was it about Lady Emma Morgan being his that filled Hart with such a sense of rightness? He chose not to examine it as he shepherded his sister and Emma back into the safe haven of The Sinner’s Palace. Within, he delivered a stern, brotherly talk to Lily. It startled him to realize how little he knew of his sister’s affairs. Wolf and Hugh returned, without having found the footpad who had threatened to harm them. Hart ordered a tray of sustenance to be brought to his chamber, along with a bath for Emma, guilt still assailing him.
He had not had an inkling Lily had been traveling to the foundling hospital on foot. He had always supposed her jaunts had been with the use of the family carriage, as they should have been. And had he known she was going to lead Lady Emma into danger along with her, he would have put a stop to the excursion.
“I will take to the floor until Jasper and Rafe arrive later tonight,” Wolf volunteered. “You tend to the petticoats.”
Hart nodded. “Done.”
He needed to be alone with Emma. To touch her, to reassure himself she was not hurt. His feelings for her were stronger and more alarming than he had previously realized.
He led a still-shaken Lily and Lady Emma through the maze of halls within the hell’s private quarters. They traveled in grim silence. Lily remained apologetic as she disappeared up the narrow stairs leading to her attic rooms. When she was gone, he all but hoisted Emma over his shoulder and hauled her back to the privacy of his room.
The door was scarcely closed at their backs when he took her into his arms again, this time taking greater care not to disturb his stitches. His side ached, a deep, fiery burn radiating from the wound, but he paid it little heed. Her arms went around his neck, and she burrowed close, her full breasts and lush curves against him. She pressed her ear to his heart, and he wondered if she could hear how quickly it beat.
“You gave me a bleeding fright,” he told her, laying his cheek flat on the top of her head.
“It was not my intention. I am sorry, Hart.”
There was true contrition in her tone, sorrow that she had caused him worry.
What an arse he was.
“Of course it wasn’t. Promise me something, won’t you, Em?” he asked, tamping down the guilt. “Promise you’ll not go wandering about in the streets again while you’re here, regardless of who accompanies you. Especially if my bleeding sister suggests it.”
“I promise,” Emma said easily, her arms tightening around his neck.
It was a promise that would not matter soon. For she would be gone. Damn it, why did the knowledge settle in his heart like ice?
He swallowed, then pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “I’m the one who should be begging your forgiveness.”
For more reasons than you can possibly imagine, sweetheart.
But he did not make that admission aloud.
“Your brother called me yours,” she said.
Because you are mine, damn it.
He nodded instead of saying anything so bleeding foolish. “Aye, that he did.”