Washed his hands of her.
Her book would not be printed now.
Maybe never.
She stumbled along the side of the street, unable to think of anything else. Then an icy gust of air brought her back to her senses. The wind cut right through her pelisse and evening gown.
She was so far from her cozy little garret and with no money to hire a hackney. What good would it do to complain to the watch about Ratherford having stolen her money? He was an established man of business and property. They would take his word over the word of a twenty-one-year-old harlot?
A sound echoed on the wind. It sounded a little like her name. She turned and her hair sloshed into her face. She whipped it away.
A tall man holding an open umbrella was striding quickly towards her.
“David.”
He quickened his pace. And then he was with her.
A large, heavy garment fell over her shoulders and swallowed her up. Still warm from his body, it smelled of wet wool, spicy-citrus cologne and him. The rain drummed on the umbrella. He touched her cheek.
“Come, Jeanne.”
Still a bit shocked, confused, she let him lead her, putting one foot in front of the other. Her slippers were soaked and her feet were fast becoming frozen. Her steps slowed. He stopped, handed her the umbrella, and swept her up into his arms. She’d never been carried by any man except for him. The air was cold and he was warm. She buried her face in his evening jacket. It felt so natural, so right to be in his strong arms. As if she’d always been there.
The drum of rain stopped. She pulled her face away from his broad chest and opened her eyes to the radiant chandelier light. They were in the lobby.
He lowered her until her feet touched the floor. She let the umbrella drop. She was dripping all over and she glanced about nervously. A couple of elegant, colorfully dressed women were talking to a small group of young men.
David took her hand. “I’ve called for my carriage. It will be here soon.”
* * * *
David helped Jeanne into the carriage. Warmth instantly surrounded her, making her bones melt in blissful relief. The interior was well lit. Fine velvet seats of royal blue. Jeanne became aware of her clothes, her dripping hair.
She wasn’t fit for such a fine conveyance.
David removed his greatcoat from her shoulders and replaced it with a dry blanket. He sat beside her, took her hands, and pulled the gloves from them.
The driver closed the door. David reached into a compartment near the braziers and retrieved a flask and a cup. He poured steaming liquid from the flask into the cup and handed it to her.
She clutched it and more warmth soaked into her frigid hands.
“Have a good deep drink of that.” David’s deep voice was gentle. “Who was that man who handled you so roughly?” His terse tone made him seem like a stranger again.
She clutched the silver cup. “He was my publisher.”
“Was?”
“He has just told me that he will not publish my works now.”
“Why not?”
“Because of that cartoon.”
David’s jaw tensed. A motion so brief, she almost missed it. He tapped the cup. “Drink that.”
Jeanne lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The brisk tea tasted divine and she took a deeper drink. The sharp aftertaste of brandy burnt her throat like fire and she struggled not to choke.
“Slowly,” he said. His expression softened.
Gradually, she drained the cup.
“Jeanne, you must allow me to furnish you with a house and carriage. It is a larger matter than you or I. In order for me to be effective politically, my reputation must without question be that of a man of honor and breeding. If it is known that I allow my mistress to live in squalor, well then I don’t appear very respectable, do I?”
“I think most people will assume that girl in the cartoon was a passing fancy and not your regular mistress.”
“I don’t like to take chances with such matters.”
“I think you are using this whole matter to try and manipulate me into accepting the house.”
“You’ve also become a target of my political opponents. The cartoon makes that obvious. I would prefer if you were under my protection.”
“They have already done the worst possible thing they could do to me. It’s too late for your protection now.”
He folded his arms over his chest and sat back. His powerfully built frame seemed to dominate the carriage interior. “Any other woman would jump at my offer. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I don’t want any obligations.”
“Who says anything about obligations?”
“All men place obligations on their help. You’re a man like any other.”
“Well, they are certainly not any onerous obligations.”