his damaged face. With his good arm, he reached toward her face. She took hold of his hand before he touched her, then pushed the hair from his forehead, catching the first glint of its actual color—golden-blond. He was a young man, not past thirty.
What on earth is he doing here this time of day? Perhaps he had not yet returned home from an evening of entertainment that had ended badly. Oh, England, she mourned, do you not see what you are allowing to happen to your legacy?
“There must be someone I can call on for you.”
He shook his head and closed his eye, sending a tear to track through the drying blood on his face.
She felt her mother’s heart rise up in her chest—all the love and protectiveness she’d have given to her own child bursting forth like it had so many times before when someone in need crossed her path.
“No one would come,” he whispered.
No one? Could that be true? Unfortunately, Sabrina had known enough dissolute young men of society to know that it absolutely could be true. The poor foxes who did not outrun their hounds.
“I am Lady Sabrina,” she said, wanting to give what comfort she could and earn his trust.
“S-Stillman,” he said. “Harold Stillman.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
Handsome, blond, blue-eyed. Just as she remembered him from years ago when they’d first met. Just as she’d pictured him when she had been sitting on the opposite side of the wall during their transaction that very morning. He did not seem to have recognized her name the way she’d recognized his, but he was only semiconscious, and they had been introduced only one time six years in the past.
She ran her eyes over his broken body again and felt a second hitch in her breath. He’d likely been attacked shortly after their meeting to still be so close to the snuff shop location. Had Malcolm followed Mr. Stillman this morning? Jack always made a trek of winding through streets; perhaps he had lost them before he had reached The Lost Tartan. How else could Malcolm have intercepted Mr. Stillman in this particular part of the city at this specific time of day? Mr. Stillman had not left his friend’s house for nearly a week for fear of this very thing happening, but she’d insisted on the in-person meeting as she did with all her clients, regardless of their concerns.
Mr. Gordon had warned her often enough about the risk of interfering with the business of these predatory lenders. But Mr. Stillman owed so much money and had already defaulted on his loan, which had spurred Mr. Gordon to issue an even greater warning when they had first considered him.
Sabrina had discounted his concerns because this would be her last case for the Season, and she owed Mr. Stillman a debt from all those years ago. And now Mr. Stillman had been left for dead a short distance away from their meeting place. She felt sick. Was the beating meant to be a lesson for Mr. Stillman or Lord Damion?
Mr. Stillman was still holding her hand, clinging to her as though she were his only hope in the world. Perhaps she was, and it was fate that had brought her to this particular place amid the labyrinth of alleyways and streets of this part of the city. She was a woman who dealt heavily in numbers and equations, and the likelihood of her finding him here was very low indeed. Thank goodness she had, however. She covered their joined hands with her other black-gloved one and considered the possible options.
Mr. Stillman did not know she was Lord Damion—nor did any of the staff at Wimbledon House since she conducted Lord Damion’s business only when she was in the city. Taking Mr. Stillman to Wimbledon would get him out of London, hide him from Malcolm, provide him with care he desperately needed, protect her investment in his ability to pay back what he owed Lord Damion, and make up for this having happened to him. The risk to herself if she helped him was minimal compared to the risk to him if she did not. Her decision was made in a fraction of a second.
“I’ve a carriage and a driver just down the way,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “I can take you to my house and have your injuries tended to.”
He tightened his grip on her hand as more tears leaked from his closed eyes. “Thank