Married By Morning (The Hathaways #4)(92)

“Slowly,” Leo cautioned, tightening his grip on the rope as he watched the movements of her small, bare feet. “Do it exactly the way you did before.”

She inched toward him, her back to the wall. “I don’t remember doing it before,” she said breathlessly.

“Don’t look down.”

“I can’t see anyway.”

“That’s just as well. Keep moving.” Gradually Leo gathered the excess rope, as if he were reeling her in. Closer and closer she came, until she was finally within arm’s reach. Leo stretched his hand as far as possible, his fingers trembling with effort. Another step, another, and then he finally had his arm around her, and he dragged her inside.

Cheers erupted from the brothel, and the multitude of windows began to close.

Leo sank to the floor with his knees splayed, his face buried in Catherine’s hair. Tremors of relief ran through his body, and he let out a shuddering sigh. “I have you. I have you. Oh, Marks. You’ve just put me through the worst two minutes of my entire life. And for that you’re going to spend years atoning.”

“It was only two minutes,” she protested, and he choked on a laugh.

Fumbling at his pocket, he pulled out her spectacles, and placed them carefully on her nose. The world became clear again.

Harry knelt beside them and touched Catherine’s shoulder. She turned and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “My big brother,” she whispered. “You came for me again.”

She felt Harry smile against her hair. “Always. Whenever you need me.” Lifting his head, he glanced ruefully at Leo as he continued, “You’d better marry him, Cat. Any man willing to put himself through that is probably worth keeping.”

It was with the greatest reluctance that Leo surrendered Catherine to Poppy and Mrs. Pennywhistle when they arrived back at the hotel. The two women brought her to her room and helped her to bathe and wash her hair. She was exhausted and disoriented, and infinitely grateful for the soothing attention. Clad in a fresh nightgown and dressing robe, she sat before the fire while Poppy combed out her hair.

The room had been cleaned and tidied, the bed changed and freshly made. The housekeeper left with an armload of damp toweling, allowing Catherine and Poppy some privacy.

There was no sign of Dodger anywhere. Remembering what had happened to him, Catherine felt her throat clench in grief. Tomorrow she would ask about the gallant little creature, but for now she couldn’t quite bring herself to face it.

Hearing her sniffle, Poppy reached around to give her a handkerchief. The comb moved gently through her hair. “Harry told me not to bother you with this tonight, dear, but if it were me, I would want to know. After you left with Leo, Harry stayed behind until the police came to your aunt’s house. They went upstairs to find your aunt, but she was dead. They found raw opium paste in her mouth.”

“Poor Althea,” Catherine whispered, pressing the handkerchief against her welling eyes.

“You’re very kind, to have any sympathy at all for her. I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“What about William?”

“He ran off before they could arrest him. I heard Harry and Leo discussing it—they’re going to commission a runner to find him.”

“I don’t want that,” Catherine protested. “I want them to let him go.”

“I have no doubt Leo will agree to whatever you ask,” Poppy said. “But why? After what that dreadful man did to you—”

“William was a victim, as surely as I,” Catherine said earnestly. “He was only trying to survive. Life was brutally unfair to him.”

“And to you, dear. But you made something far better of it than he did.”

“But I had Harry. And I had you and your family.”

“And Leo,” Poppy said, a smile in her voice. “I would say you have him without question. For a man who was so determined to go through life as an observer, he’s certainly been pulled back into the stream. Because of you.”

“Would you mind if I marry him, Poppy?” she asked almost timidly.

Poppy hugged her from behind, and rested her head briefly against Catherine’s. “I’m sure I speak for all the Hathaways in saying that we would be eternally grateful if you would marry him. I can’t imagine who else would dare to take him on.”

After a light supper of toast and broth, Catherine went to bed and dozed for a while, waking every now and then with a fearful start. Each time she was reassured to see Poppy reading in a chair by the bed, her hair gleaming like mahogany in the glow of lamplight.

“You should go back to the apartment,” Catherine finally mumbled, not wishing to seem like a child afraid of the dark.

“I’ll stay a little longer,” came the soft answer.

The next time Catherine awoke, Leo was sitting in the chair. Her drowsy gaze moved over him, taking in the contours of his handsome face, his serious blue eyes. His shirt was partly unbuttoned, revealing a shadow of chest hair. Suddenly desperate to be held against that hard, strong chest, she reached for him wordlessly.

Leo came to her at once. Wrapping his arms around her, he reclined back against the pillows with her. Catherine luxuriated in the feel and scent of him. “Only I,” she whispered, “would feel so safe in the arms of the wickedest man in London.”