Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(22)

But hell and damnation...it wasn't going to be easy.

CHAPTER 5

Vivien curled up in one corner of the acre-wide bed, fuming and worrying until she finally drifted into a fog of oblivion. But there was no peace to be found in sleep, only a bizzare dream that became increasingly sinister.

She hurried through a shadowed street, pursued by faceless strangers. Occasionally she paused to laugh and taunt them, then turned and ran just before they reached her. Approaching a bridge, she climbed onto the embankment wall, surmounting a pier topped with a bronze statue of a river deity. The men below her clamored to reach her, climbing after her, but she laughed throatily and kicked them away. Suddenly, to her horror, the massive bronze statue beside her began to move. Huge metal arms wrapped around her, imprisoning her in a cold merciless embrace.

Crying out in terror, she fought the statue, but it clutched her, turned toward the river...and plunged into the black, bitterly cold depths. Its weight pulled her down quickly, the surface receding far above her. She screamed beneath the water, but no one could hear her, and the choking liquid filled her mouth and throat--

"Vivien. Dammit, Vivien, wake up."

She started awake, still fighting the arms around her...then saw Morgan's face above hers. He wore an anxious scowl as he hauled her into his lap, one hand smoothing the damp hair back from her face. His upper torso was covered only by a thin linen shirt, open at the neck to reveal the hollow at the base of his throat.

Disoriented, Vivien fought to catch her breath. She glanced at their surroundings, realizing they were on the floor.

"You fell off the bed," Morgan said.

"I-I had a nightmare."

"Tell me," he said softly. As she remained silent, he stroked the ruffled arc of her eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. The intimate gesture somehow moved her to speak when words would have failed. Vivien gnawed her lower lip nervously. "I dreamed I was drowning. It was so real...I couldn't breathe."

A gentle, sandpapery sound came from his throat. He patted her back in a soothing rhythm, rocking her as if she were a child. The heat of his body permeated the layers of clothing between them, warming her. For a moment she was tempted to push him away, the memory of his distasteful accusations still fresh in her ears.

But she stayed motionless against him. Although he was hateful and arrogant, he was also large and safe. At the moment there was no more appealing place in the world than his arms. A delicious scent clung to him, a blend of brandy and salt and linen...smells that reminded her of something...someone...whose comforting image was locked deep in her memory. A father or brother, perhaps? A lover she had held dear?

Confused and frustrated, she chewed harder at her lip as she strained to remember.

"Don't do that," Morgan said, touching her mouth with gentle fingers. "Try to relax. Would you like a drink?"

"I don't know."

He held her for a moment longer, cradling her in his lap, until the frantic jerking of her heart slowed to a normal pace. His hand slid over her leg and hip and settled at the curve of her waist, and in a despairing flash, Vivien sensed that his touch was somehow familiar and natural. As if she belonged in his arms, against his body...as if they had indeed been lovers. She moved her face, blotting her tear-dampened cheek against his shirt, and she felt his mouth brush over her hair.

Carefully Morgan lifted her from the floor and placed her on the bed, and busied himself with straightening the tangled mass of sheets and blankets. Going to the bedside table, he poured a small quantity of liquor into a verriere glass etched with leaves. "I had a feeling you might need some of this during the night," he said. "You'll have dreams about it from time to time. Occasionally one of them will be so damned vivid you'll wake with a scream in your throat. It happens after one comes close to dying."

He sounded quite knowledgeable on the subject, Vivien thought, accepting the verriere. She sipped the rich, slightly fruity beverage. "Have you come close to death before?"

"Once or twice."

"What happened?" she asked.

"I never discuss my exploits." A self-mocking smile touched his lips, softening the angles of his face. "It's tempting for a Runner to develop a habit of boasting, and then we tend to spend all our time spinning elaborate tales...so it's better not to talk of work at all, or nothing gets done."

"I'll find out anyway," Vivien said. She took a larger swallow of the brandy, the pleasant fire spreading through her veins and restoring her shattered nerves. "Mrs. Buttons told me there have been a few ha'penny novels published about your adventures."

"Trash only fit to use as kindling," he said with a snort. "You won't find those in my house."

"Yes, I will. Some of your servants collect them." "The devil they do," he muttered, clearly surprised at the information. "Crackbrains. Don't believe a word any of them tells you."

"I've embarrassed you," she said with a trace of satisfaction, and buried a fleeting smile in the verriere glass.

"Whom have you been talking to? Mrs. Buttons? One of the maids? I'll have someone's head if they've been gossiping."

"The servants are all quite proud of you," Vivien said, delighted at having found a way to needle him. "It seems you're a legend. Rescuing heiresses, tracking murderers, solving impossible cases--"