Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“This is terrible,” she said through her tears. “What if the carriage caught fire? Or was overtaken by the crowds? Or…or…” She sniffled, struggling for breath. “What if they’re still there looking for me?”
“I don’t think that’s possible, as the smoke would have driven them away. In fact, I fear it may be some time before it’s possible to ride back. Where is your home, miss? Where do you live?”
She hesitated before she told him. “West of the theater, near Grosvenor Square.”
Grosvenor Square? This pretty young actress had a serious sponsor then, a wealthy one. No doubt the man was someone he knew, someone who moved in aristocratic circles.
“I know that area,” he said aloud. “Your name?”
She balked, as if he might be some charlatan prying for information. Well, his hair was loose and wild, and he was riding bareback through London in his shirtsleeves, fresh from a sex parlor.
“You needn’t tell me your real name,” he said with a shrug. “Your stage name will do.”
“I don’t have a stage name.” She touched her cheeks, the theatrical creature. “I’m La—Miss Layton.”
Silly, that she didn’t trust him enough to reveal her real name, but the popular novels of the day were all about murder, mayhem, and kidnapping for ransom, actresses and infamous ladies being the victims of choice. He had no liking for murder, and no need for ransom money, so she needn’t have worried. He only wished to get her somewhere warm and less smoky. Even here, curls of ash wafted on the wind.
“Will the fire still come?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“I don’t think so. They’ll run it toward the river, and it’ll burn itself out before it reaches these streets.” Now that Wescott’s horse was refreshed, he guided it into a walk along a quiet lane.
“I’ve never been in a fire before,” she said.
“Nor have I, nor do I ever wish to be again.”
“The smoke was terrible. I thought I would die.” She held his stallion’s neck as she spoke, apparently at ease on horseback. Indeed, now that she wasn’t sniveling, her elocution marked her as a woman of elegant manners, which might explain how she’d secured such a wealthy patron. “Thank you for helping me, and escorting me from danger.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Layton. I was raised to assist those in need.”
“And…sir…who are you?” she finally asked.
He was used to meeting women in formal introductions, at dinner parties, or in ballrooms. No need for such pomp here.
“I’m Jack,” he said, giving her his childhood nickname. “Mr. Jack Drake.” He decided not to intimidate the chit with his full, toplofty name and title, although he wondered if he outranked her rich patron. Why did he care? Because you’re playing the hero, Wes, and she’s charming.
And talented, probably in more ways than one.
If only he knew the name of her patron, he’d have an idea if this woman was the type to suit him in bed. Now that they’d made their dramatic escape, he pictured an inn, a small room, the two of them together, and her eager to thank him for rescuing her from the fire…
By God, what was wrong with him? At times like this, he understood why the society gossips had fun changing his surname from “Drake” to “Rake.” This wasn’t an opportunity for flirtation or seduction. Both of them were filthy and tired, and he’d already had plenty of sex for one night.
They rode awhile in silence, his well-trained horse stepping delicately on the unevenly cobbled road.
“Where are we going, Mr. Drake?” his actress asked. “If we can’t return to our homes?”
“We’ll stop at an inn, as soon as we come across a reputable one.”
“I don’t…” She looked on the verge of tears again, brushing at the soot-stained ruching that festooned her theatrical skirts. “I can’t stay at an inn, sir. It…it wouldn’t be proper.”
He subdued the urge to chuckle. Playing the proper lady, was she? With her garish costume and wig, and the carriage meeting her outside the stage door, to escort her to her lover’s nest near Grosvenor Square? “It’s hard to be proper in such circumstances,” he countered. “Would you rather sleep outside in the lingering smoke?”
She started trembling again, whether from fear or embarrassment, he didn’t know. Did she worry he’d take advantage of her? Tempting as it was to plan a seduction, no fantasies could be acted out this night.
“You’ll have your own room, Miss Layton,” he assured her, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I haven’t any money for a room. I’ve just come from—from onstage.”
“I’ll pay for the rooms, and a warm bath too. Please, calm yourself. You’ll be kept perfectly safe until the air clears and we can return to our respective homes. I’ll deliver you to Grosvenor Square by morning light, if that will do.”
“That would be…that would be very kind.” She blinked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Drake.” Her voice was roughened, perhaps by tears, perhaps by damage from the smoke. “I promise you’ll be repaid for your assistance.”