Christmas in the City - Jill Barnett Page 0,3

“Then suddenly she was just there. I—I—"

"She's not dead, Benny." D.L. scooped the woman into his arms. "I'll carry her to the house. Take the carriage and get a doctor. Quickly." He turned and crossed to the wide sidewalk, where streetlights spilled yellow gaslight onto the ice and mucky snow.

He heard his carriage rattle past him, but it was a distant sound, as if the world had fallen away, leaving only himself and the woman in his arms. The feeling was so foreign to him that he looked down at her.

There were no answers in her features. Her skin was almost as pale as her blond hair, a sharp contrast to the dark blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth and from the red scratches on the side of her face.

Her scarlet hat hung limply over his arm, still tied beneath her chin with black velvet ribbons that were shredded on one side, the same side on which her dress and jacket were torn from skidding over the rough brick pavement.

Her breathing was labored, short and tight, but she made no sound, no moan of pain, nothing. The faint scent of lemons seemed to drift around her, and it struck him as odd, very odd, for a woman to smell of lemons, to smell clean rather than cloying.

A moment later he was in front of the stately marble mansion that served as his home. He ran up the stairs and kicked hard on the front doors.

Nothing happened. He swore, then awkwardly leaned down and pressed the door handle with an elbow. The massive door clicked open.

An instant later D.L. was inside and he called out, "Gage!"

The butler's name echoed up three open stories to the gallery above. Gage came running into the foyer, then stopped at the staircase, gaping.

D.L. pinned him with a hard stare.

The butler merely stood there.

"Gage!"

His man shook his head and recovered. "Sir?"

"I pay you a bloody fortune to open doors." D.L. gave the library doors a pointed look.

"Yes, sir." Gage shot over to the doors, then paused. "Mr. Wallis is waiting in the library."

"Good. Perhaps," D.L. muttered as he looked down, "he'll know what the hell I should do about this."

Her head was killing her. Almost as badly as the time she had flown headfirst into Jacob's ladder. And one side of her face burned terribly.

Someone touched her shoulder, and pain shot up her neck. She heard an anguished moan. It sounded like her own voice.

She could feel the presence of others—standing over her, around her—but she couldn't quite find the will to open her eyes. It seemed an effort to merely breathe.

"She's coming around," a man said in a gentle tone.

"Find out who she is." There was no gentleness in this second voice. It was the dark, strong voice of a man in command.

"God?" she whispered. "I know that voice. You are God."

Someone behind them laughed. A difference voice. Someone new.

"She called that right. D.L. Stewart, the Money God."

Someone cynical.

"Be quiet, Karl."

She felt the tension of the others around again and opened her eyes, but she saw only darkly blurred images standing over her. She licked her lips, which felt dry and swollen, then whispered, "My face..."

"Yes, my dear?"

"It burns."

"I'm certain it does, but you'll be fine. Just a few scratches. I'm a physician." A rough but gentle masculine hand touched hers. "Can you tell us who you are?"

"Lillian."

"That's good, Lillian." The kind man shifted away, then said to the tall dark blur standing next to him, "It appears she has no serious injury. She knows who she is."

"Lillian who?" came the strong voice.

"Just Lillian. Lilli."

"Where do live?"

"Heaven."

There was a bark of sharp laughter again, and the cynic said, "At least we know she's not from New York."

"Shut up, Karl."

"I'm only trying to add a little levity to a tense situation, D.L."

"I fell," she muttered.

"No, my dear." The kind man gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance. "You were hit by a carriage."

"No. No..." she said. "You don't understand. I've fallen." She could feel the tears coming. She could feel the horror of what had happened. She had been thrown out of Heaven. Oh, the shame she carried. "I didn't mean any harm. I didn't. Really."

"This accident wasn't your fault, my dear. You did nothing wrong. A carriage hit you."

"No! I just wanted to be like everyone else. They all do it so easily. I'm so ashamed." She felt the tears spill from her eyes, drip over her temples and into her hair.