“What woman of sound mind shoots a pistol at someone after they fired at her?” he ground out. “Then runs to aid the man who he was trying to shoot?” The words were said through his teeth.
“Me,” she muttered, removing the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck before leaving the office what now felt like hours before. “He would have killed you had I not.”
“How do you know I didn’t deserve to die?” He moaned as she tied the scarf tight to try and stanch the bleeding, just as her eldest sister had taught her.
“No one deserves to die. Be incarcerated, yes. Die, no.” She stood then lifted his leg onto the seat. His legs were long enough that they settled on the wall of the carriage. Elevated, just as she wanted.
“Are you one of those do-gooding types?”
He was hurting and likely growing weaker. She could hear it in his voice.
“Be quiet. You need to save your strength. I cannot lift you if you faint.”
“I do not faint,” he said in that slow, concise way people did when they were trying make sense.
Dorrie looked at him then. He wore no hat and had maybe lost it when he was shot. His hair was to his shoulders and a wavy nutmeg brown. Brows dark, nose big like the rest of him. Handsome, she thought as she acknowledged the little flutter in her chest. His coat was black and double-breasted. He was dressed as a seaman but said he owned the ship.
She detected an accent but wasn’t sure of the origin. His speech wasn’t rough; there was a cultured edge to it. His eyes were focused on her.
“You should not have done what you did.”
But she’d had to, Dorrie realized. Had to save him because of the scent in her nostrils and acid taste in her mouth. Both had told her she must.But why?
“Who are you?” Dorrie asked.
“Who are you?”
He was so close now, those eyes dark and fathomless. Their gazes caught and held, and Dorrie felt her stomach clench. Felt herself leaning toward him as he leaned in to her. Their lips were cold, and yet when they touched her entire body seemed to fill with warmth. One large hand held her jaw as he took her mouth in a deep kiss. Only when the hackney rocked to a stop did he ease back. His eyes inches from hers.
“You should not be here. Should never again come to such a place or anywhere alone. The world is too dangerous for someone as beautiful and kind as you.”
“Y-You don’t know me,” she whispered.
“I know that you are not from my world.” His breath brushed her lips.
She couldn’t deny that.
“I must leave now.” He moved away from her, and Dorrie wanted to grab him and keep him close.
“You will fall if you attempt to leave without my help.”
He threw open the door. “Baron!” he bellowed in a surprisingly loud voice.
“Let me out. I will help you.” Dorrie shook her head to clear it, then pushed against his back, but he didn’t budge. The man was as solid as a bloody oak.
Dorrie heard the sound of feet drawing near.
“You are hurt?” She thought that accent may be Jamaican. Dorrie looked out the window. A very large man stood there. Taller than any she’d seen. His face was dark, hair dark, and he had huge hands that reached for the man she’d helped.
“I was shot.”
“Let me help you then,” the man who’d just arrived said.
“One moment.” He turned, and her eyes went to those lips that had kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he rasped. “Even if it was a dangerous thing to do.”
“Every life is worth saving,” Dorrie whispered.
