Pamela felt quite alarmed at how relieved she was to see Nick. In fact, she’d been terrified since she’d awoken in hospital in pain. It took her some time to remember what had happened and when she tried to explain it to the nurse and doctor it had all come out garbled.
She’d never felt so alone. When she’d first come to Bath, she’d had the other women in the house to talk with and then when she entered Once Upon a Book, Addie’s store, she’d felt an instant bond. Adding Lottie to their friendship was a boon.
Now she’d cut them out of her life while she struggled with this problem, and Nick was the only person to whom she could turn. Even her brother would probably not be of much help since his wife was so adamant that she didn’t belong with them.
As much as she’d pushed Nick away—for his own good—he refused to be thwarted and she’d never been so happy to be wrong. She needed him and was grateful for his help.
He shouted orders to the nurse and doctor and then to the men who arrived to carry her on the stretcher to the hospital vehicle. She hid her smile at how everyone jumped to his orders. Even the doctor.
There was something about Nick, a man who was raised on the streets of London that commanded respect.
As they settled her in the hospital carriage, he took her hand. “I will be right behind the carriage on my horse. Once you are settled in my house, I will arrange to have protection.”
“Th-th-thank you.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, apparently not caring that they had an audience.
Even though the doctor had ordered pain medication for her, it was still difficult riding over the cobblestones and various gaps in the poor roads from the hospital to Nick’s house. Each bump brought another pain.
She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew the carriage had stopped, and Nick was shouting orders again. Strong arms lifted the stretcher and carried her into Nick’s house. All the movement was making her sick to her stomach and she hoped she would not disgrace herself by bringing up the little bit of food in her stomach. She found keeping her eyes focused on one thing helped.
An older woman hurried toward them as they maneuvered the stretcher up the stairs. “Take her to the second door on the right side. It’s the only room that’s made up.”
The woman, obviously the housekeeper, conferred with Nick as the men brought her upstairs. She really could have walked, but with her nausea and lightheadedness it was probably best to allow them to carry her.
She was jostled and bumped, but finally settled in a very large, comfortable bed. Nick bent over her. “Mrs. Fletcher will take good care of you. I will be out for a while. If you need anything at all, just ring this bell.” He placed a small silver bell on the table next to her.
Although she’d been raised with servants, the idea of ringing a bell while lying in bed just seemed a tad dramatic, but she said nothing. Again, he lowered his head and kissed her. Whatever was going on? Was he still pretending to be her fiancé? It was not necessary with the doctor and nurse nowhere in sight.
With a flurry Nick and the two men who had carried her left the room and closed the door. Mrs. Fletcher approached the bed. She was a pleasant looking woman—although Pamela reminded herself so was Mrs. O’Leary—and offered her a warm smile. “Good evening, Lady Pamela. I am Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Smith’s housekeeper. Mr. Smith told me very little of your situation, but he seemed to be a hurry to leave.”
“Th-thank you f-f-for l-letting me stay h-here.”
Mrs. Fletcher did not react to Pamela’s stutter which told her Nick must have warned the woman. She smiled softly. “My dear, this is Mr. Smith’s house. I am happy to do for you anything you need.” She picked up the small bell. “Just ring this and I will hear it. This time of the day I am finished with my duties and my room is right above this one, so I can hear it.”
“One th-thing you can h-h-help me with is th-the toilet.” She blushed furiously, even though it was a woman to woman request. Mrs. Fletcher was still a stranger.
“Oh, my dear. Of course. Can you stand? I’m not sure what your injuries are.”
“It s-s-seems my wrist was sp-sprained and I have a l-l-ot of bumps and b-b-bruises. But I b-b-believe I c-can stand.”
“Good, we have a toilet room right next to the bathing room at the end of the hallway. If you will allow me to assist you, I can get you up and help you walk there.”
Pamela groaned as she sat up with Mrs. Fletcher’s help. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stopped to catch her breath.
“I can fetch a chamber pot if it’s too difficult for you to walk,” Mrs. Fletcher said.
As much as Pamela preferred the privacy and lack of embarrassment in using the toilet, the nausea returned with her movement and perhaps a chamber pot was best. “Y-yes, I th-think a chamber p-p-pot is better.”
“Not to worry, my dear. In all my years I’ve handled hundreds of chamber pots. Just give me a minute.” She helped Pamela sit up against the bed headboard and left the room.
Pamela closed her eyes and the vision of the carriage coming at her immediately appeared. It was highly unlikely it had been an accident. And from the way Nick had behaved he didn’t think so either.
She shivered realizing that someone wanted to kill her. Or at least seriously hurt her. No. She leaned more toward murder. As much as she hated to think so, Mrs. O’Leary had to be part of what had happened to Lizbeth and the other girls that had disappeared.
Nick said he’d gained some information, but with moving her from the hospital and then his quick escape it might be some time before she found out what he knew.
The door opened and Mrs. Fletcher returned with the chamber pot. “Here you go, dear. I’ll just slip this under you and be back in a bit to collect it.”
Pamela bit down hard on her lip when she shifted to sit on the chamber pot, the aches and pains in her body seeming to grow worse. “Th-thank you.”
Once she was finished, and feeling a lot better, she used the little bell to summon Mrs. Fletcher even though she felt uncomfortable using it.
“All right, dear, now can I get you some tea? Or perhaps a bit to eat?” Mrs. Fletcher was a very cheerful woman who made Pamela smile in spite of her pain and worry.
“A c-cup of t-t-tea would be wonderful. I’m afraid m-my st-st-stomach would not h-hold any food right n-now.”
“I understand. Then tea it is. Also, the doctor left some laudanum for you to take, but Mr. Smith told me not to give it to you until he returned.”
“Do y-y-you know wh-where he went?”
Mrs. Fletcher crossed her arms at her waist and shook her head. “All he told me was to expect two men to arrive who will be staying here for a while. Protection, he said.”
Protection. She closed her eyes and sighed. That word sounded wonderful.
“Protection.”
Nick sat behind his desk at the club and tapped the desktop with a pencil and studied the two men sitting in the chairs in front of him. “I want twenty-four-hour protection for my house.” Jax and Monkey had been friends with Nick since they mud-larked together. Nick hired them on a regular basis to keep him attached to his roots and for occasions like this when he needed something done that could use their special skills and lack of concern about rules.
“A very special lady is staying at my house whose life I believe is in danger. She’s already been injured once, and I have no intention of letting it happen again. You are to keep her in your sights at all times. I have absolute faith in my servants, but I still want her food checked before it goes into her mouth. Any letters or packages directed to her will come to me first.”
“Hey guvnor, if this lady is like most, she ain’t gonna like having her mail and stuff going to you first.”
Nick waved his hand. “First of all, no one knows where she is, so anything that comes to her would be suspicious. Second, even if she objects, I override her.”
The two men shared an amused glance. Nick didn’t care. Let them think he was besotted with Pamela. He most likely was, anyway.
It felt good telling the doctor and nurse he was her fiancé. It seemed right, like it fit. Most likely once Pamela recovers, she’d throw something very large and very heavy at his head for being so presumptuous, but with her under his roof, he hoped to make that false statement a true one before she left.
“When do you want us to start?”
“A half hour ago.”
Both men stood and with a quick salute left the room. Now that Pamela was settled and he had protection on the way to his house, he allowed himself to consider what happened to her.
He played with the pencil in his hand as his thoughts consumed him. While they were preparing Pamela in hospital to be moved, he’d consulted with the doctor on her injuries. His gut twisted when the doctor said she could very easily have been killed by the carriage that struck her.
Although the doctor would not say, Nick got the impression that he believed it was no accident. From the few witnesses who stayed with Pamela until help could arrive the doctor had learned that the carriage had purposely jumped the pavement, heading directly at her. Were it not for one of the witnesses pushing Pamela away, it would have hit her head-on.
Nick rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Pamela had gotten herself into a mess and he would call in all his debts and contacts to take care of her.
He rose and pulled his jacket back on and blew out the lamps. The club was still going strong, but he had no interest in how much money he was pulling in. All his thoughts, worries and concerns were focused on one woman.
The woman he planned to make his.
The house was well lit when he arrived by carriage to his front door. Jax nodded to Nick from his place in the entrance hall when Nick opened the door. He removed his hat, scarf and coat and handed them to the butler. He pulled his gloves off and handed them off as well as Mrs. Fletcher came bustling down the corridor from the kitchen area.
“Dinner is ready, Mr. Smith. Shall I send a tray up to Lady Pamela?”
“No. I will take a tray up to her. Fix it and I’ll be in to fetch it in a minute.” He strode to the drawing room and poured himself a brandy. He looked around the room as he sipped on the fine French liquor.
He’d never been prouder of what he’d done for himself than he was now with Pamela upstairs in his house, under his protection.
When he’d made enough money to open the club, he spent time and money for tutors to teach him what he needed to know to be a gentleman. Maybe never by birth, but he was determined to be one by the way he lived.
He’d hired people to teach him proper English and manners, select his wardrobe, then decorate his house, purchase paintings, furniture, draperies, and other things of value to make his home a haven from the world he’d been brought up in, and had been forced to endure for years.
He was only a few years away from his ultimate goal to sell the club and buy a fine hotel and restaurant, or maybe even delve into the stock market, or railroads. He would be a businessman of worth.
His wife would never want for anything and his children would know all the pleasures of childhood that had been denied him.
Anxious to see Pamela, he downed the drink and headed to the kitchen to pick up the tray.
He knocked gently on the door to the room she’d been given. What he wanted was her in his room, in his bed, but he would never shame her in that way. Once they were married, he would have her near him all the time. No separate bedrooms for them.
Even if that was the way gentlemen lived.
The door was opened by a maid named Dorothy who he’d seen many times, mostly cleaning. “Good evening, Mr. Smith.”
Giving her a quick nod in return, his attention was immediately taken with the woman lying in the bed across from him. Pamela appeared to be sleeping, but when he moved closer, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
He nearly dropped the tray.
Yes. He was besotted.
“How are you feeling?” He kept his voice low as he moved toward her.
She attempted to shift on the bed and groaned. “A b-b-bit sore, I am afr-r-raid.”
He quickly set the tray down on the table next to her. “No. Don’t move. I will help you.” He wrapped his hands around her slim waist and moved her up. She wore nothing except a thin nightgown. The warmth from her soft skin heated his hands to where he felt as though they would burst into flames.
Once she was settled, he took a deep breath. “I brought you some dinner. Do you feel up to eating?”
“Had y-y-you asked me a few hours ag-g-go I would have said no. My st-st-stomach was quite upset fr-from the r-ride, but now I find I am quite hungry.”
He shook out the napkin Mrs. Fletcher had placed on the tray and tucked it under her chin. She flushed a bright red and he almost laughed at her shyness. He placed the tray on her lap.
“Have y-y-you eaten?” Her eyes wandered over the tray of thick beef soup with vegetables, bread, butter and a small tart.
“No. I will eat later.” He pulled up a chair alongside the bed and sat back, leaning his foot on his bent knee, watching her.
She picked up the bread and looked at him. “I c-c-can’t eat if you are g-g-oing to st-st-stare at me.” She grinned and took a bite of bread to counter her statement.
“Very well. I am hungry myself.” He turned to the maid at the door. “Dorothy, please fetch a tray for me from Mrs. Fletcher in the kitchen.”
The girl bobbed. “Certainly, sir.”
He turned back to see Pamela running her tongue over her lips. His male parts immediately responded. He shifted in the chair. “We have quite a bit to talk about, but I think that can wait until after we have eaten.”
Pamela nodded and swallowed a bite and wiped her mouth. “I g-g-guess what I n-n-need to know is what do I d-d-do now? I have nowhere to l-live and I still haven’t t-t-told you what else happened to m-m-me today.”
“Do not concern yourself with where you will live. I want you to concentrate on getting better and as soon as you are able, we are going to London.”