Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(47)

Ahead of them, the two men stopped in the street.

Then, they began to turn.

For all that Lily did not comprehend who these men were, or why on earth they were following them, her viscera intuited one thing: She and Julian must not be seen.

Julian’s gut evidently agreed. His arm shot around her waist. Yanking her off her feet altogether, he whisked her to the side of the street, pressing her into the darkened doorway of a shop. He anchored her to the far corner of the alcove with his hips, putting his body between her and any threat. His free hand clapped over her mouth to silence her.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes as she adjusted to breathing through her nose. The aroma of his glove leather overwhelmed her senses, pungent and sharp. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air. The instinct to struggle was strong.

Lily fought back panic by reminding herself this was Julian. She knew this hand that muffled her. She’d watched him use those long, dexterous fingers to play the pianoforte, shuffle cards, pen letters with graceful ease. But never, until this moment, had she realized just how much strength they had.

Long, agonizing moments passed. It was the worst sort of torture. She had no idea what was happening in the street. She couldn’t detect any footfalls or voices to let her know if the men were leaving or coming in pursuit. She didn’t even know what sort of men they might be. Harmless drunkards? Dangerous footpads? Julian could tell her nothing. She couldn’t even make out his facial expression, much less any words he might speak. But the frantic thumping of his heart and the labored huffs of his breath against her cheek were not very reassuring signs. They were in true peril, or so he believed.

What in the world was going on?

Finally, after an agonizing minute, Julian’s brow met hers. Butter-soft leather caressed her cheek as he cautiously slid his fingers from her mouth, then replaced them with his lips.

A kiss. I’m sorry.

Tearing his lips from hers, he pressed hard against her shoulders, pinning her to the shuttered door.

A demand. Stay here.

Keeping one gloved hand on her sleeve, he stepped back and turned, looking into the street.

“Did they see us?” she whispered. “Are they gone?”

He tapped her shoulder, warning her to stay back. Then he took two steps into the street. A distant streetlamp traced his handsome profile in gold. As she stared at him, Lily felt her breathing slow to a steady, calmer rate. She was still terrified. But she was also strangely relieved to be here, sharing the fear with him. No more sitting up alone at night, worrying about Julian’s whereabouts. His whereabouts were hers. If some grave misfortune befell him, it would befall them both.

Julian’s chest deflated with apparent relief. For the moment, fortune seemed to be on their side.

He turned to her and stretched out a hand. She took it.

He led her into the street, immediately turning her in the opposite direction of the way they had been walking. Julian set a slow, falsely casual pace, and he kept her close, tucked securely under one arm. They walked about a block before he stopped, directly under a street lamp, and turned to her.

“Are you well? Your leg … It’s not hurt?” As he spoke, he shrugged out of his coat.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Come quickly, then. And be silent.” He settled his coat about her shoulders and resumed walking.

She stopped him short, keeping him in the light. “Julian, what’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe.”

That was all he would say. Together they walked swiftly for another block or two, then turned down a narrow lane … emerged into a larger street … and then made a series of twisting turns. Lily didn’t recognize any of these streets or landmarks, and due to the circuitous nature of their journey, she no longer had any idea in which direction they were walking. She tried to take comfort from the warmth and scent of his coat, for she was well and thoroughly lost.

Finally, they approached a coffeehouse. The door was open, but the windows were dark. A woman in a white-lace cap was shooing a man out the door and into the street, sweeping him along with a broom as if he were a heap of ale-soaked rushes.

“Oy!” the man protested, jumping at another prod of the broom. “I’m on my way. No call to be rough.”

With her broom handle, the woman tapped a sign on the window. Lily squinted at it. It read, “Closed.”

As she and Julian approached, the woman caught sight of them. Her brow wrinkled with displeasure, and again she tapped the broom to the sign. Closed.

Julian was undeterred. Releasing Lily, he approached the landlady. As he moved toward her, he made a gesture with both hands.

The older woman stopped, peered at him.

Julian removed his hat to aid her examination.

The landlady froze. Then she threw down the broom in the street and flew at him. Julian reeled from the collision, disappearing into a mass of doughy bosom and starched lace.

Lily gasped, suddenly alarmed. Who would have guessed Julian would escape those two brutes, only to be smothered by an aged matron in a lace cap? She darted forward. Perhaps she could grab up the broom, use it as a weapon …

But as she neared them, it became apparent that Julian was not being attacked. He was being hugged. When the landlady finally released him, Julian gestured to indicate Lily. Lily nodded her head in greeting, and the older woman returned the gesture with a tearful smile. After wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron, she opened the coffeehouse door and waved them both inside.