“I saw him as he left,” one of the other girls said. She wiped at her cheeks. “When he opened the door. There’s a torch in the hall. He was so handsome.”
“He was wearing a mask,” a third one said.
“He was still handsome.”
Jasper closed his eyes. The room spun slowly about him, thanks to Little Hook flipping him head over arse and landing him on the floor, not to mention stabbing him.
“Sir, what will happen to us?” the first girl asked, her voice soft. “We were never alone with any men. I swear.”
“We’ll see you returned to your families,” Jasper said, opening his eyes. That was usually Clementine’s department, but his men knew the routine well enough. “Unless you need somewhere else to go?” His men could take them to Second Hope.
“I’d like to go to my family,” one said.
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” another offered in a small voice.
Again, Jasper looked to his people. “Take care of it,” he said. The spinning in his head seemed to amplify by the moment.
“Yes, sir.” Despite his agreement, Jasper’s man didn’t move. “Are you sure you’re well, sir?”
“Well enough.” The hand Jasper pressed to his side felt hot and sticky. He needed to sit down. Free hand on the wall, he made his way to the chair placed behind the wide, delicately carved desk. A nice piece. Expensive. Jasper slumped into the chair. His blood would ruin the light blue brocade. “Bring me someone to question.”
“Yes, sir.” His man nodded but didn’t move. “If I may, sir, I’d like to send for a doctor.”
Jasper nodded, though it somehow seemed rather an effort. “Make sure these young women are away from here before anyone else arrives, even the watch. We didn’t go through all this trouble to see their reputations ruined.”
“Yes, sir.”
His man’s face wore a look of concern. The young women peered at Jasper with worried expressions, as well. He grimaced and sat straighter in the chair. He would be perfectly well. The wound wasn’t deep, and his head would stop spinning in time. He felt much improved now that he was seated.
Physically, at least. His gut roiled with deep, simmering anger that they’d failed to capture Madam Dequenne. They may never have so good a chance again.
“All right.” Jasper nodded at one of the men who’d come up the steps at gunpoint. “Bring him forward.”
As Jasper questioned the ruffian, getting nowhere, two of his men took the girls away and another went to fetch Doctor Carter, a doctor on Amber Street known for his discretion, and a man whose mother was one of the few who did not shun Jasper’s mother.
Jasper was forced to explain what had occurred to the watch while standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, with his arms stretched out at shoulder height, so Carter could bandage his side. Despite the pain and what felt to him like a lot of lost blood, the wound proved shallow, though long. Madelina had deliberately sliced Jasper’s side rather than ram the blade in.
He didn’t know if he should take that as affection, but at least it proved she didn’t want to kill him. After the anger in her voice when she accused him of coming to save Madame Dequenne, and the ferocity with which she’d fought, he’d wondered.
Jasper kept the version of events he supplied the watch truncated, to avoid questions about how he’d known where to find Madam Dequenne, and the fate of the abducted women. He also swore, in all honesty, that he’d no idea who the young women were. He then remained while the watch questioned Madam Dequenne’s men. The watch’s methods, though far less civilized than Jasper’s, yielded a similar lack of results.
The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Jasper strode back into his chamber at the Aspen. He stripped off coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and inspected the heap of ripped, blood-stained garments. Likely a loss, especially the thickly embroidered waistcoat, but perhaps he’d give them to one of the girls to attempt a restoration. One of them had plans of becoming a seamstress. Kitty, he seemed to recall, though she hadn’t made recent mention of the idea.
In the mirror, Jasper studied the white wrapping of bandages, a stark contrast to his black trousers, taking in the line of blood that had soaked through. He glanced at the garments again. Maybe the coat, at least, could be saved, dark as the fabric was. Yes, he’d give it to Kitty. Perhaps, if he paid her for her work, she’d rediscover the desire to learn a trade.
If he could, he would turn all the women Clementine oversaw to less subservient trades. Every time one left for Second Hope, another young woman came in off the streets of London to take her place. Some of them never left. Clementine often reassured him that some women were born to her trade; enjoyed what they did.
The door to his chamber clicked open and Clementine strode in. Closing the door, she glided across the thick carpet to stand between him and the mirror.
“They told me that vicious Little Hook knifed you,” she said, her voice honeyed with concern.
“It’s little more than a scratch.” Jasper endeavored for a casual tone, but tension twisted through him. For as many times as Clementine had seen him in a state of undress, it now seemed inappropriate.
“The men said they summoned Doctor Carter to examine you?”
“Yes.” Jasper glanced at his wardrobe. He should don a clean shirt, at least.
A warm, long nailed finger traced a line across his chest. Jasper went still, his mind blank of any notion how to let her know her attention was no longer welcome. She sauntered in a slow circled about him, finger gliding across his upper arm, along his back. There, she halted and slid both arms around him, her palms splayed across his chest as she met his gaze in the mirror.
