The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(74)

"May I administer the medicine?" I said. "I'm a trained nurse," I added as inspiration struck. "That's why I'm companion to his aunt. She requires nursing from time to time."

He hesitated.

"Come now, sir. What do you think will happen? Your constable has checked me for weapons, Mr. Glass is incapable of standing, let alone fighting, and I am a mere woman surrounded by policemen."

"Sir, it looks like he has stopped breathing," the constable at the door said.

The blood drained from my face. I bit on my lower lip but couldn't stop it wobbling.

"Open the door," Nunce said. "Let her in."

The constable seemed to take an age to find the right key hanging from the ring at his belt. Finally he placed it into the keyhole and unlocked the door. I pushed it open myself and ran to Matt, stretched out on the floor on his side. The red gash on his lip and the blue-black bruise around it stood out starkly against his deathly pale face. He was so still, I feared it was too late. Then he exhaled, albeit weakly.

I heard the policemen come in behind me, but none spoke as I pressed the watch into Matt's hand. I cradled his head and shoulders in my lap. With my back to the policemen, and his hands covered by my skirts, his exposed skin was shielded from sight.

Inch by inch, his body warmed, beginning with the hand that held the watch. I kept his fingers wrapped around it so that he didn't drop it, and watched as the glow chased away the sickly pall all the way up to his hairline.

His chest expanded. He sucked in a deep breath and spluttered. I felt the breath against my throat and smiled through my tears.

"Thank God," I whispered. I held him close, not sure if I should let him go yet. If he was still glowing, Nunce would see. Besides, it felt so good to hold him. I had never held a man like that before.

His body felt warm now, alive with his steady breathing, and no longer limp. His free hand closed over mine, so solid and wonderful. Neither of us wore gloves.

Nunce cleared his throat. "That's some strong medicine."

Matt withdrew his hands from mine and slipped the watch into his pocket while his body was still hidden from view. His veins immediately stopped glowing. He looked up at me and smiled the most dazzling smile, which tugged something deep inside me. I smiled back. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

"Give me a moment," he said to Nunce. "I've just been brought back from the dead by a beautiful angel. Forgive me if I'd like to savor it as long as possible."

One of the policemen chuckled.

"Get up, Glass," Nunce said in his monotone. "Miss? If you please."

Matt stood and held out his hand to me. I took it and allowed him to assist me to my feet. He stroked my wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "I knew you would save me one day," he murmured. "I just didn't think it would be today."

"It wasn't me," I said. "I didn't tell them you were the Dark Rider." I wanted him to know. Needed him to know.

He touched my chin. "I believe you."

"All right then, out you go, miss," Nunce said, coming to stand beside us. "Constable Stanley will escort you."

I shook my head. This was all wrong. Matt couldn't be the Dark Rider. I had no evidence to refute his claim, except for the feeling in the base of my stomach. I rounded on Nunce. "He's innocent," I said. "You have no evidence against him, except some malicious gossip."

"That's enough from you, miss." He shooed me off with his hands.

"I will not leave! This is an outrage. You're holding an innocent man—"

"India." Matt grasped my shoulders and forced me to face him. He looked healthy, his color normal, but exhaustion still shadowed him. He needed to be home, resting properly. "There's no need to create a ruckus. Once Commissioner Munro knows I'm here, he'll see that I'm freed." He glared at Nunce. "As long as the commissioner is told, that is."

"The commissioner's too busy to listen to stories," Nunce said. "If I sent for him every time a perpetrator asked, he'd never get anything done."

Ruckus. I'd heard that word three times in as many days, whereas I'd only ever heard it used once before that, and it was in reference to a riot in America, reported in an English newspaper. The reporter, however, had been an American at the scene.

I stared at Matt. He stared back at me and frowned. "I know who it is," I whispered, feeling sick yet relieved too. "Ruckus."

At a nod from Nunce, one of the constables took my elbow and steered me toward the door. The one with the keys held it open.

"India?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Matt. He was still frowning, concern etched into every tired groove of his face. "You'll be free soon," I told him. "I know who the Dark Rider really is."

"Who?"

"Dorchester."

Matt's face darkened. "How do you know?"

"That's enough," Nunce said. "Get her out of here, Stanley."

I planted my feet on the floor and folded my arms. Constable Stanley didn't come closer. "There's a fellow going by the name of Dorchester," I told Nunce. "He's the Dark Rider." He had to be the Dark Rider and not the sheriff fellow. The sheriff had no need to hide his accent from the world and sneak around the city.