"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Taking you to a doctor."
"Why?"
"You're hurt," Jacob said, moving to the door.
"I don't want to go with you, it's cold out there."
"Actually, it's colder in here. Why do you not have a fire going?"
"What should I light it in? My clothes, perhaps? Or maybe the bed frame?"
Jacob looked around the room. "Excellent point, and another is that you will likely freeze to death if you stay here."
She sighed, her breath brushing his chin. She was light and felt ridiculously good in his arms. It was obviously time for Jacob to seek out another mistress. This woman was playing hell with his thoughts.
"I have plans to move as soon as I secure another position, but this is all I can afford at the present time."
Jacob knew what his money afforded him, and it was times like this that he felt the weight of his birthright. The fact that he'd always had a full table, warmth, and a comfortable bed was something he often took for granted. Yes, he had other problems, but his basic needs were always well met.
"Put me down, please."
"No, Patralina, I will not."
"That is not a name."
"I'm sure it is."
"However, it is not mine, and I wish to stay here. There can be no possible reason for you to help me. I am no business of yours except as a client."
All true, to be fair, but for some reason he was loath to leave her here alone and hurting in this small, cold room. Leave her with some money, Jacob thought.
"Let me help you."
"No, I have no wish for your charity, or anyone else's for that matter. I am young and healthy and can care for myself."
"Apparently not."
Jacob would like to go a few rounds with whoever was responsible for her current condition, and he would when he found him.
She attempted to glare at him, but it was a pathetic attempt.
"It is hardly my fault someone is trying to dispose of me."
The sound of footsteps had her tensing, and then she relaxed as a young man appeared in the doorway.
"Unhand her at once!"
The young man stepped into the room and glared at Jacob. Tall and thin, he had a head full of blond hair that fell straight, without an ounce of curl around his head. Eyes of blue were set in a pale, long face.
"He means me no harm, Niven."
"He's holding you." The man thrust out his jaw in a belligerent way.
"Put me down at once, my lord."
He didn't want to, but as she was wriggling, Jacob lowered her to her feet.
"Now listen to me, Niven," Miss March said, stepping between them. "This man is merely a... well he's a...."
"Friend," Jacob supplied, taking pity on her. He wondered what that long brown coil of hair would feel like if he wrapped it around his fist.
"Friend, exactly, and when I did not arrive at our... ah...."
"Arranged meeting at the museum," Jacob added.
"Yes, that." She shot him a look, and he wondered if she knew she looked entirely rumpled and unkempt. In fact, she looked like she'd just got out of the bed behind her, that she'd possibly shared with him. Well, at least that's what he thought Niven was thinking. If the fool before her actually cared to look closer, he would also see the pain in her eyes.
Her coat was creased, and her boots were unlaced. Jacob wondered if she'd simply come home from her work and fallen into bed.
Was she a prostitute? No, her pride would never allow that, Jacob knew.
"Yes, and when Paisley did not turn up, I came looking for her, worried she was unwell," Jacob said, seizing the opportunity to find out her name.
"Paisley? Who is Paisley, Poppy?"
"Forgive me, I meant Poppy. My dog is called Paisley. Sometimes I get confused," Jacob lied smoothly. He was incredibly skilled at making up stories. Her name was Poppy. Jacob hadn't thought of that one, and yet now he did, it suited her.
"You never mentioned him?"
"Why would I?"
Poppy was growing irritated, exacerbated, Jacob was sure, by the pain in her fingers and head.
"Because you and I, we're-"
"Nothing but friends," she interrupted him.
"Why was he holding you?"
The man had a belligerent look about him now that made Jacob's fingers twitch to smack it from his face. Stepping around Miss March, he instead put an end to the conversation.
"Mr.?"
"Hardy," Niven reluctantly supplied.
"Mr. Hardy, Miss March and I are old friends, and as she has hurt her hand, I am taking her to see a doctor."
"I'll take her home with me, and me ma will fix her up."
"No, she needs a doctor. Now leave, and I shall see to it she visits one."
"I-"