Strangely enough, although he had every right to her body since he’d paid a veritable fortune for it, Mr. Porter had been nothing but considerate thus far.
She cringed when she heard the sound of more cheers.
Yes, quite the gentleman…
She rolled her eyes and told herself that if Amos wasn’t going to stop this nonsense, then she would be forced to do so.
She stomped toward the pit intending to throw the dagger at something orsomeonewhen she halted midstride. A break in the crowd showed the larger man lying on the ground while his sweat glistening opponent, with blood running down his chest, had his hand lifted into the air by a congratulatory onlooker.
Fleur would have been furious if not for the calm expression on Mr. Porter’s face. He didn’t look as though he’d just won a losing battle. Instead, he looked rather uninterested in all the well wishes as he climbed out of the pit and headed toward Amos to retrieve his things.
As the larger man was lifted and carried away by no less than four sturdy men, Fleur watched with a mixture of horror—and fascination. She couldn’t believe that he had been felled by a man like Mr. Porter. However, when she recalled the scars that had covered Mr. Porter’s torso, she realized that he hadn’t won every fight and he did so now because he had learned to win the hard way.
A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked back to the present. Her escort was standing before her with his shirt and shoes back on, although he held his jacket in his hand. “Time to go.”
She nodded her head, not about to argue.
He took her hand as they made their way back up the steps to the first floor of the pub and if possible, it was rowdier than before. Men that she wouldn’t want to see in the bright light of day were gambling, drinking as if the ale was made of water, while half-dressed whores graced many of their laps.
She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to blot out the scene from her mind. Although she liked to believe that she had lived a difficult life until that point, she realized that it was nothing more than what the man at her side had witnessed. She was shocked by the improper manner of these people when the pub in Greenwich had held better morals.
Fleur could feel her head starting to spin and as Mr. Porter led her out the back door of the pub, she wrenched her hand from his grasp and pulled the concealing shroud from her face. Leaning against the brick wall in the dismal alleyway, the dagger still clutched in her other hand, Fleur wretched. She would have felt bad if it wasn’t for the other refuse that was present there as well.
After the worst had passed, she took great heaving gulps of air in an effort to calm herself. She didn’t know she was shaking until she tried to wipe her mouth and her hand trembled.
A blurry, masculine hand came into view as the dagger was gently removed from her grasp. She was grateful that he didn’t say anything, just allowed her the time to recover.
Fleur wanted nothing more but to tumble into bed somewhere, to sit in the silence of the darkness and forget that this day had ever taken place. She straightened and said firmly, “I’m ready.”
Rather than speak, Mr. Porter grasped her hand. She found she was grateful for the warmth and the support as he led her along until they saw a passing hackney. He quickly waved it down and they climbed inside.
Fleur didn’t ask questions as to why they weren’t returning to his residence on foot, but neither did she care. She just wanted to go to sleep and then wake up and pretend that what had happened today was nothing more than a bad dream. She wanted to wake up, safe and sound, in her little cottage in Greenwich. She wanted to go back to the orphanage and teach Latin. And she wanted to see her brother. She had never missed him as much as she did in that moment. Since they were twins, she had always felt a strong attachment to him. She knew the feeling was mutual. At least, most of the time.
She had carried them through too many storms to count, and yet, she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to make it through this one. Already she was starting to feel as though she was drowning. She wished she’d never dared to come to London to rely on a woman’s help she hardly knew. Her memoirs should have been enough for Fleur to know that no one was spared from Harriette’s determination. While she might not have given her a reason to retaliate against her, she had given Harriette the means in which to regain some of her luxurious life back.
For years, Fleur had been strong, taking the whole world onto her shoulders so that she might be able to fulfill her promise to her parents. Now she wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake by trying to safeguard Flavian. She certainly hadn’t done herself any favors.
Fleur jumped in surprise when a handkerchief was handed to her. She blinked. Until then, she hadn’t realized a single tear had slid down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away and lifted her chin in defiance, refusing the offering. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” She was upset with herself that she’d given in to a brief moment of vulnerability. No doubt Mr. Porter believed her to have a weak constitution, that she was unnerved by the fight. She hadn’t liked it, certainly, but it was her life that had suddenly erupted in shambles that bothered her more than anything else.
He didn’t seem concerned one way or another, just took the handkerchief and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. He had yet to put the garment back on and while they were sitting there, Fleur found her attention drawn to him. She hadn’t allowed herself to appreciate his strong physique earlier but now she recalled that his arms and torso were quite defined. After such a fight, he didn’t appear to have any lasting effects. He wasn’t groaning in pain or breathing heavily. He was just calm and sitting there as though he didn’t have a care in the world. But that is what concerned her the most.
This man not only knew the meaning of danger. He laid down next to it every night. It was his constant companion. “How do you do it?”
Those silver eyes slid to her. “What?”
Fleur hadn’t really meant to speak aloud but now that the words hung in the air, she couldn’t resist knowing the answer. “How do you live each day with such nonchalance when it is obvious that you have lived a harsh reality? Doesn’t it bother you?”
He hesitated, as if considering his reply, and then said evenly, “There is no point in bemoaning what is lost. The past is where it shall always be and nothing I can do will ever change that. I prefer to look ahead to the future instead of dwelling in a dark place that won’t become any brighter.”
She pondered his words for a time. “That is very insightful.”
He glanced out the window at the darkness beyond. His expression showed nothing of his innermost thoughts, although his jaw clenched visibly, proving that he wasn’t completely without emotion. “I have had many years to ponder about my existence and my purpose for being here.”
“Does there have to be a reason?” she asked, curious as to his answer.
His gaze shifted back to her and she shivered. Again, it wasn’t entirely to do with apprehension. “It seems pointless to endure all of this for nothing.”
He was cynical but Fleur wasn’t surprised. If she had grown up with the hardships he had faced, there was no doubt she would be the same. “I don’t agree that it’s for nothing. I believe it’s for the people we meet and the lives we touch along the way.”
