“Lady Walridge,” he said softly. She didn’t respond. Tears flowed down her dirty cheeks. “Lady Walridge,” he repeated, and still nothing.
“Naomi,” he tried, using her Christian name, which he had found out during his cursory investigation after she had requested a meeting.
That seemed to wake her from her fog of terror, and she focused on him. “Yes?”
“Are you injured?” he asked.
She shook her head at first, then worried her lip. “My knees hurt.”
He caught his breath. He’d hit her with all his weight in an effort to prevent her from being shot. When she slammed into the ground, he had no doubt it had hurt.
“May I look?” he asked.
She stiffened and color entered her cheeks. It actually gave him a little hope to see it. The return of modesty meant she wasn’t utterly lost to terror.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He caught the now-dirty hem of her gown and gently slid it up. He was trying to focus on examination, but it was difficult when, beneath her black mourning gown, the woman was wearing red sheer stockings that covered truly lovely legs. He brushed her calf as he folded her skirt up to her knee, and her breath hitched.
Suddenly the room felt very small, and he looked up at her to find her pupils were dilated and her lips slightly parted. Focus. He had to focus. This woman had been shot at not five minutes before. He couldn’t let himself notice that her skin smelled like vanilla. That her startling green eyes were the same color as fine emeralds.
He forced his gaze back down as he lifted her skirt above her knees. Desire fled as he looked at the torn stockings and scraped skin on the shapely knees and equally lovely thighs that were just above them.
The door behind them opened, and he started as he looked back to find Everett entering the room. He stopped at the scene before him and his gaze flitted first over Marcus, then over Naomi. His jaw set and his eyes lit with an expression Marcus knew very well.
One that did nothing to temper the desire that now increased in his body.
Naomi’s hands fluttered down, catching the hem of her gown as she tried to force it over her legs. As she did so, Everett closed the door and came forward.
“Did that happen when you hit the ground?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She seemed confused at the shift in his attitude toward her. Her hands stilled as she glanced up at him. “Y-yes. Did you…did you find the person who shot at me?”
Everett’s face fell and Marcus got up. “No?”
Everett scowled. “They were gone before I reached the park. There were only ladies on their midday stroll. No suspects.”
Naomi made a soft sound in the back of her throat and dipped her head as she settled her hands over her scraped knees. Her shoulders shook as she stared at the floor with the same empty expression of fear that she’d had on her face when Marcus first brought her back inside.
It hurt his heart to see it. To know what that kind of terror felt like. To know how empty and lonely it could be.
“This changes everything,” Everett said softly.
Marcus returned his attention to his friend and nodded. “I agree. She could be the target. Were the other murders failed attempts?”
“What?” she asked, jumping up to look at them. Her green eyes were wide. “What are you saying?”
“If death has followed you for several years, my lady,” Everett said, as straightforward as ever, “there is a possibility that you have been its target all along. Whoever is responsible for the death of your latest husband may have actually been trying to get to you. And this attempt is the escalation.”
She covered her mouth with her hands and staggered. Marcus watched as Everett stepped forward and caught her elbow, drawing her a little closer and steadying her as she stared up at him.
“The target…me? Not my husbands?”
Everett nodded slowly. “Possibly.”
“Oh God, then…then it would be my fault. My—my fault that they’re dead.” Marcus watched as her shoulders began to shake. She seemed truly devastated by the idea that her husbands had potentially died because of her. Any remaining suspicions he had toward her softened at that genuine response.
“Don’t be foolish,” Everett responded. His voice was gruff, but his gaze soft. Still she stiffened at the inartful words. She drew a few breaths.
