No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(74)

She struggled to look behind her. “Where is Billy? Did you find him?”

“I’m here, my lady,” came a voice from somewhere nearby. Wraxall was moving quickly through the dark streets of Spitalfields, and she could not pinpoint the voice. But she knew it.

“Billy.” She reached out a hand, and the boy took it. His hand was the same size as hers but rougher. He squeezed it.

“Major found me, he did. Got me out just in time.”

“Thank God. I will scold you later for all the trouble you caused, but now I am so thankful to have you alive.”

“Could we save the speeches for when we’re safely indoors?” Wraxall muttered. “The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better.”

“What about Mr. Mostyn?” she asked, ignoring Neil’s injunction. “I thought I saw him—”

“Here, my lady.” He moved from behind Neil so she could see him and then back again. He truly did seem to always be at Neil’s back.

“Thank you,” she said to him. He gave a curt nod and went back to his position. They were all accounted for and safe, or nearly safe, at any rate. Slag was gone. His alehouse was gone. She did not know if Goring had survived or not, but she did not think he would dare show his face again.

But most importantly, Billy and the other boys were safe. She hadn’t lost one. She could rest now.

Leaning her head on Neil’s chest, she closed her eyes and dreamed of fire.

*

Neil had felt fear. He had known dread and profound loss, but nothing could compare to the terror he’d felt when he caught sight of Juliana and the street wench struggling with the knife. In that moment, the rank, muddy street in Spitalfields became a battlefield once again, and he was racing against time to save Christopher.

He raced to save Juliana, but in his mind, they had become one and the same. He hadn’t been able to reach Christopher in time, and he would not be able to reach Juliana. He would live the rest of his life with the image of her death imprinted in his brainbox—the way he stored the images of the deaths of so many of those who’d trusted their lives to him.

Neil knew if she died, he would not live long. This was one death he could not survive.

He’d begun to run, pushing through the crowd still heading for the Ox and Bull and the spectacle of the fire. When he’d reached the wench with the knife, he was certain he’d been too late. He’d pulled her off Juliana, prepared to rip her to shreds with his bare hands, when he’d heard Juliana’s voice.

The woman had been forgotten, and in that moment, there was only Julia.

He held her close and stood in the entryway of the orphanage. When they’d come in—just the three of them, as Mostyn had melted away once they’d reached the building—Jackson had bustled the older boys off to their beds, taking Billy by the shoulders and threatening a bath. Rafe had only glared at him, taking in his soot-stained face and clothing.

“I get all the worst missions,” he complained before leaving in a huff. Neil rolled his eyes.

The cook’s brows lifted and then she retreated to the kitchen to prepare something soothing, but Mrs. Dunwitty had seemed unperturbed. “She always was a trial, this one. I told her father on many occasions her life—and mine—would have been a great deal easier had she been born male.”

Neil supposed that would have made his life easier too, but he couldn’t wish for it. Not when he held her soft body in his arms, loving the way her curves pressed against him.

“Don’t just stand there, Mr. Wraxall; carry her to her chamber. I don’t suppose there’s a maid about,” she said as she ascended the stairs in front of him. “I imagine I will have to see to that as well. Ah, Jackson, there you are.”

Jackson had been shepherding the boys into their room, but he took a few steps into the corridor. “May I be of service, Mrs. Dunwitty?”

“Yes, you may. I need hot water for a bath and clean linen for a bandage. My lady is filthy and injured.”

Jackson glanced at Juliana, who looked relatively clean compared to Neil. “I will have Mrs. Koch heat water and bring it personally.” He gave Neil a direct look. “While the lady is bathing, sir, perhaps you might do the same downstairs.”

Neil frowned. He didn’t want to leave Juliana, but Mrs. Dunwitty would hardly allow him to stay while she bathed Juliana, even if he’d already seen far more of her than he ought.

“Very good, Jackson.” Neil looked at the former governess. “Shall I hold her until the water arrives? If I set her on the bed, the sheets will need washing.”

“No need,” came a small, quiet voice. Juliana moved in his arms. “I am awake. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shock and exhaustion, I imagine,” said her former governess. “Let us just hope you have not caught some dreadful disease of the lower orders whilst you were out and about in those dreadful streets.”

“You know I am never sick,” she told the woman, pushing out of Neil’s arms. He was forced to release her, his body protesting at the loss of her warmth and her softness.

“And I intend to keep it that way. Now, out of those clothes. Jackson will draw you a bath.” Mrs. Dunwitty gave Neil a pointed look.

“Excuse me,” he said and moved into the hallway. There, he was confronted by four sets of small eyes, each wider than the last. “What’s this?” he said. “I thought you were all in bed.”