street where the brothel was located.
Shouts filled the night air. Though she didn’t know if they were from pursuers, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Down one street. Left at the next, ignoring the sharp pain on her feet as she stepped on rocks and other debris. A painful hitch in her side slowed her progress, and she pressed a hand against her ribs to try to ease the ache.
“Where ye goin’ in such a hurry?”
With a gasp, she spun to see a man approaching her. Did she dare explain her situation and ask for help?
“Come here, pretty one.” His demand and extended hand were all it took to have her running again, ignoring his shouts to halt.
Was there no one in this city she could trust? No one who would give her aid? Hopelessness filled her as she turned another corner, bracing a hand against a brick building to keep herself upright as she staggered along. Shivers wracked her frame, a combination of the damp air, her sore, cold feet, and fear.
How could she have thought her life had reached its lowest point when she’d left her father’s grave to board the coach to bring her to London? Now she was lost with nothing to her name, nowhere to go, and no one to help her. Tears blurred her vision as despair replaced the panic.
Mayhap she should’ve stayed at the brothel. A night or two on these rough streets might see her dead.
DANIEL WALKER NARROWED his eyes at the ghostly apparition drifting toward him on the darkened street. Perhaps he’d had more to drink at the club than he realized.
Though he often walked home to wear off the effects of spirits he imbibed as well as to clear his thoughts before seeking his bed, never had he come upon an ethereal figure on the streets. Ruffians and a footpad or two, certainly. Those he welcomed as a way to test his fighting skills, much to the dismay of Pierre, his French valet, and savate instructor.
Daniel couldn’t explain his need to prove himself, but it simmered inside him all the same.
He could only hope his brother, Richard, the Earl of Aberland, never learned of his paltry attempts to ascertain his self-worth. Richard had served as a spy for England, something Daniel hadn’t learned until the war had been nearly over. The realization that his brother hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him still caused a pang of hurt. That lack of trust was undoubtedly one of the reasons behind his need to verify his worthiness.
Daniel slowed his steps as the apparition staggered then stopped, floating to the pavement. The crescent moon didn’t provide enough light to see much, and the streetlight was too far away.
He glanced about, wondering if this could be a trick by a footpad or the like, but no one seemed to lurk in the shadows. A low moan from the figure drew him nearer if only to ease his curiosity. He didn’t believe in ghosts yet couldn’t deny that the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was afoot.
Keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, he continued forward until he reached the white form. Awareness dawned that it was a woman in a nightrail, an odd sight given the fact that he wasn’t walking near Covent Gardens or the other rough parts of the city where prostitutes plied their trade.
“Miss? Are you unwell?” Had she overindulged in gin or was she hurt?
She gasped at his words and bolted upright with jerky movements, leaning against the wall of the building as she swayed slightly, one hand extended toward him with her palm out. “Leave me be.”
The cultured tone of her speech suggested she was an educated lady. Her shuddering breath told of a traumatic experience. He couldn’t begin to guess what had brought her to this street in such a state of dishabille. The scent of liquor didn’t taint her breath. He glanced over her, though the darkness hid the details of her features. She wore nothing on her feet, and he was careful to avoid studying the thin gown overmuch regardless of the darkness.
Despite her demand, he couldn’t leave her there. “Are you in trouble? Do you need assistance?”
To his shock, she dropped her hand and started crying, her entire body trembling. She looked over her shoulder with alarm. “They might be looking for me.”
“Who?”
“I must hurry.” She lurched forward as if to brush past him.
He grabbed her