She was shaking. As was he. They held each other in the narrow alley while the sky lightened overhead, while the city stirred to life around them, while the nightmare receded into memory.
“Are you hurt?” He pulled back to examine her face, her throat, searching for injuries. “Did he?—”
“I am all right.” Her voice wavered but held. “Edward, I am all right. You came.”
“Of course I came.” He cupped her face in his bloodied hands. “I will always come for you. Always.”
The sun crested the rooftops, spilling golden light into the alley. Voices echoed from nearby streets. A cart rumbled past. London was waking, and they could not remain here.
“We need to go.” Edward kept his arm around her as he guided her toward the hackney. “Before anyone sees us.”
The driver stood beside his horses, his face a mixture of relief and concern. He helped Sophia into the carriage without comment. Edward followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
“Home,” he called up to the driver. “Quickly.”
The carriage lurched into motion. Sophia sagged against Edward’s side, exhaustion written in every line of her body. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his ribs.
She was safe. She was alive. Nothing else mattered.
Hartley waited in the entrance hall.
The butler’s expression remained impassive as Edward escorted Sophia through the front door, but his eyes flickered over them both, cataloging the bloodied knuckles, the disheveled clothing, the evidence of violence and fear.
“Your Grace.” He bowed. “Is there anything you require?”
“Paper. Ink. Now.” Edward kept his voice low.
Hartley produced both from the hall table with the efficiency of a man accustomed to unusual requests at unusual hours. Edward scrawled a few lines, folded the paper, and pressed it into the butler’s hands.
He leaned close and whispered instructions with his voice pitched so low that even Sophia could not hear. Hartley’s brows rose a fraction, but he nodded without question.
“It will be done within the hour, Your Grace.”
“See that it is.” Edward straightened. “And not a word to anyone.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Hartley tucked the note into his pocket and disappeared toward the servants’ quarters.
Sophia looked at Edward with questions in her eyes. He shook his head.
“Later.” He took her hand. “You need rest.”
They climbed the stairs together. Sophia leaned heavily on the banister, her strength flagging now that the crisis had passed. Edward stayed close, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
They reached the landing and found Oliver waiting.
The boy sat on the top step in his nightshirt, his stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest, his face pinched with worry. Mrs. Palmer hovered behind him with an apologetic expression.
“I could not keep him in bed, Your Grace.” She wrung her hands. “He insisted on waiting.”
“Sophia!” Oliver launched himself off the step and barreled into her legs. “You came back! I could not find you, and I was scared, and Uncle Edward said he would bring you home, and he did!”
Sophia dropped to her knees and gathered him into her arms. “I am here, sweetheart. I am sorry I worried you.”
“Where did you go?” Oliver pulled back to examine her face with the intensity of a small prosecutor. “Why were you not in your room?”
Sophia smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I had to visit a friend who was not feeling well. I did not mean to be gone so long.” She pressed a kiss to his brow. “But I am home now. Everything is all right.”
Oliver studied her for a moment, his small face solemn. Then he nodded, accepting the explanation with the trust of a child who had no reason to doubt.
