TheCharmer (21 page)

An hour later, the river was so loud that Rose began to wonder if she'd gone deaf, for she could hear nothing else—not their footfalls or her own breathing or heartbeat.

Collis turned to say something to her, but she didn't hear. At that moment, she realized that her feet were wet from more than spray. There was an inch of water coming over the ledge!

Her horrified gaze shot up to meet Collis's equally appalled one in the dimness. Rose lost his next words in the rumble that slowly grew, traveling right through them, vibrating teeth and inner ears.

In front of Rose the Prince whirled to gaze back down the tunnel past them, his face slack with horror. "The rain!" His shout was a mere whisper. "The storm!"

Flood
. Rose picked up her skirts and ran without a word, Collis right behind her. The Prince ran ahead, kicking up his thick legs like a carriage horse. The lantern wobbled, creating confusion and shadows in their vision, but it didn't matter. There was only one direction in which to run.

The only question was… how far until the next ladder?

The water, fed from a thousand streaming drains set into a hundred streets, rose so rapidly that it soon reached her ankles. Her skirts, sodden and heavy, wrapped around her legs under the water like some sort of subterranean beast, ready to pull her off the ledge and down into the depths for its tea.

Ahead, the glowing blob that represented the Prince stopped. Rose would have screamed at him to keep going, had she the breath to so much as whisper. Why had he paused? Was he ill? Heart seizure came to mind instantly.
Oh, bugger, we've killed the Prince
!

The answer came when she saw him rise from the water, his lantern drifting upward in jerking motions. Had he found a way up and out?

"The ring ladder!" Collis shouted back to her. "We can make it!"

He sounded so sure to Rose's air-starved mind. Who was he trying to fool? She was going to die sometime in the next five steps. Yet somehow she was suddenly there, clinging to a rusting iron ring that led somewhere blessedly up.

Collis clambered past her to take the lantern before George fell from his one-handed grip. With his bad arm hooked through a ring, he hoisted the Prince higher. Below him, Rose kicked her skirts aside to feel for the rings with her feet. The freezing water was past her knees, pulling at her heavy skirts like a winch.

So cold. Her mind felt slow, like a stream choked by swiftly forming ice. She could hear little over the rush of the water, but Collis and the Prince seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the climb.

The roar of the water suddenly swelled to nearly drown out her very thoughts. The current yanked her feet from beneath her and jerked her arms to full extension.

She watched with horror as her numb fingers began to loosen their hold on the gritty iron ring. "
Collis
!" She knew she was screaming, but she couldn't hear her own voice.

Oh, God. Which hand would let go first, the left or the right?

Ah, the left, of course. Always weaker, the left hand. Just like Collis, except that Collis's left hand was stronger than both of hers, for all the damage. Collis's left hand.

Her panicked ricocheting thoughts suddenly recalled the previous day, when she'd pressed Collis's hand to her breast. The left or the right? She watched her right hand's grip begin to slip.
The dirty rotter
, she thought with hysteria. That had been his right hand after all. She called for him, over and over.
Collis, Collis, Collis. Rose, Rose
—

"Rose!" Collis's bellow sounded over even the rush of the water. She blinked at him. The lantern must be fixed somewhere above them, for light was shining on his dripping hair like a halo.

"Rose, help me!" Collis was halfway in the water, hanging from the ladder with one hand fisted around a ring, muscles bulging beneath his wet shirt. His other arm was stretched out, his big hand clamped around her wrist.

"Rose, I can't hold you! Wrap your hands around my wrist!"

Poor Collis. Her thoughts moved like cold jelly. It was true. His left hand wasn't much good for holding. He dropped things all the time. He hated dropping things. So embarrassing. She understood that. She'd broken many a dish and vase during her days as a clumsy, nearsighted housemaid.

He didn't want to drop her. She saw her wet wrist emerging from his grip, one fragment of an inch at a time. Oh, no. He was going to be so upset.

Poor Collis.

«
^
»

Collis was close to panic. He was losing her. Oh-dear-God-in-heaven, he was losing her! He'd tried pulling her to him, but his bloody hand couldn't seem to hold and pull at the same time. He'd almost let go.

He willed himself to tighten his grip, no matter if he broke her wrist, but he couldn't feel her, couldn't even see their hands in the rising water. She went under, her dark hair disappearing beneath the darker water. For one eternal fraction of a second, he couldn't even be sure he still held her. But then the agonizing pull on his other stretched arm assured him that he did. She emerged from the water, bobbing up with a gasp he saw more than heard. He watched in horror as her wrist emerged still farther from his grip.

"Rose, you have to help me! Help me, Rose!"

She turned dull eyes to his, blinking sluggishly against the drops hitting her face. Her lips moved.
Collis
.

"Rose, snap out of it, damn it!" Collis cried, his voice hoarse with fear. "Are you a hothouse flower, to give up after a little chill?"

A spark lit her eyes for a moment at his taunt. Good. "Common as a weed, isn't that the way of it?" He watched her struggle to draw her other hand against the current to grip his. It slipped away, circling his wrist like a delicate manacle, then falling away. He was losing her.

"Come on, Thorny Rose!" he shouted. "What, can't you handle a bit of water without a mop in your hands? Poor little Rose, has to struggle so hard," he mocked viciously. Her hand rose again, creeping toward his. She faltered. He'd thought he couldn't be more afraid, yet every moment drove him deeper into panic. "I'll let the Liars know you gave up, Rose! I'll tell Clara you quit on her!"

Light flared in her eyes and he saw her hand wrap firmly around his wrist. He pulled again, and this time she came with him, closer, closer, until he could drag them both one rung higher on the ladder. Then another. Their feet free of the water at last, he crushed her to him with his aching right arm.

She hung limply, so cold—and nearly unconscious by the look of her. He pressed his face into her icy neck for the duration of one broken breath.
Safe
.

His precious, beloved Rose, by God, safe in his arms.

Rose awoke in a nest of warmth and softness. Soft bed, soft, warm covers, coals glowing on the hearth before her. She blinked and rolled her head on the pillow. She was lying in a large chamber draped in absolutely miles of sapphire-colored satin and furnished in gleaming black wood. The sensuous combination made her think of both fornication and sloth. Given time, she could probably come up with a few more sins.

What a singularly wicked room. Luxurious to the extreme, but wicked. Were those golden wrist cuffs hanging from the bedpost?

"It looks like a whore's boudoir," she muttered to herself as she propped herself up on her elbows. Her head pounded.

"It is. Mrs. Blythe's Palace of Pleasure, to be exact."

Collis unfolded his long self from a purple upholstered chair by the fire. He was dressed in black trousers that made him look lean and dangerous, topped by a flowing shirt made of silk that draped over his broad shoulders and clung to his flat stomach. She didn't know where he came by such clothing, but as her throat went dry, she abruptly decided that he shouldn't be let out in public wearing it. He came to sit on the mattress beside her, as familiar as a lover. Rose shifted uneasily away.

What could he mean by such an easy distance? She looked down to see that she herself was wearing a filmy nightdress that looked perfectly at home in this den of sin. Were those her nipples showing through? Hastily she sat up to grab the linens and hide what the gown failed to cover.

A large warm hand came up to cradle her jaw gently for a moment, then her forehead.

"No fever," Collis said softly.

His touch was so soothing. She wanted to lean into him, give herself up to his care… but this was Collis. She didn't dare. She pulled her spine straight with effort, belatedly remembering to cover her front with the bed linens.

One thing at a time. "Mrs. Blythe?"

He allowed his hand to drop away slowly. Then he grinned. "Do you mean to say there is something about the Liars you don't know? Our patroness, of sorts. Mrs. Blythe is the proud owner of this fine establishment, and has previously been of aid to the Liars. James and I came here once in pursuit of a missing prostitute."

Click
"Oh, yes. Fleur."

"Mrs. Blythe has since been useful to Dalton's search for French recruiting agents." He frowned at her worriedly.

"You aren't going to lose consciousness again, are you?"

"Lose consciousness? Did I do that before?" She blinked at him. His gray eyes looked so… concerned? And close. Very, very close. "The only time you've ever been this close to me was when…"

"When you were tossing my arse to the mat," he reminded her softly.

"Well, yes." She drew in a breath, unable to look away from his eyes. "This is very odd."

He nodded slowly once. "And then earlier this evening."

She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. "This evening?"

"Yes. You needed bathing, you know. We both did."

The tub by the fire
. White-hot horror seized her. "You
bathed
me?" Various humiliating and titillating images flashed across her mind. Oh, no.

But she had undoubtedly been bathed.
Oh, yes. Sorry you missed it
?

His eyes narrowed and his smile became very wicked. "What, you don't think I could handle a flannel and soap and you, all at the same time?" He breathed a deeply satisfied sigh. "Good times, Briar Rose. Very good times."

She punched him hard, right in the pectoral. "I'll kill you if you ever breathe a word—"

He backed off and rubbed his chest with his good hand, his smile gone wry. "I didn't bathe you, if it makes you feel any better. A couple of the ladies here did that. I was only called on to help put you in bed when they were done." He smiled. "Still, a very nice time." He leaned closer and sniffed. "Fresh Rose. A favorite perfume the world over."

She snorted and made another fist. He grinned at her, but there was something in his eyes…

"The mission!"

Collis shook his head. "I sent word to Denny. He'll bring Lord Liverpool and some of the guard here. We can't take the chance of George being seen out on the streets." He smiled down at her. "And I, for one, do not want to see another tunnel for, oh, perhaps the rest of my life."

Rose relaxed slightly. But Collis still looked worried. About what? They'd made it free of Louis's men, free of the tunnels—she and Collis and George.

George
. She sat up again in horror. "Oh, God. His Highness! There's something wrong, isn't there?"

Collis put a gentle hand on her shoulders and pushed her back down. "He's fine. He had his bath and his dinner and now he's being entertained by Mrs. Blythe herself."

"Entertained?" The mental image of George in the throes of entertainment—no, best not to dwell there. "Ew."

Collis raised a brow. "They've been at it for hours. Still going strong at his age. One must admire his stamina." He shrugged and leaned back to wrap his good arm around his raised knee. "Probably something in the air. This place is alive with Eros. I've heard no less than four orgasms in the last hour." He waved his hand around the room. "One from each wall. Mrs. Blythe does excellent business here."

A knock came at the door. Collis rose to answer it. "Food!"

He turned back to her with a tray. "I have tea and toast and ginger jam," he said brightly.

Rose wrapped herself in a blanket from the bed, feeling much recovered at the thought of food. She glanced askance at the tray and shook her head. "Spare me the aristocracy. All that money and no idea how to eat. Where's the meat? The mash? Crikey, no beer?"

He looked down at the ladylike fare arranged on the tray. It was the sort of thing his mother had always asked for when she was sick. "Damn, I wish I'd thought of beer."

She sighed. "Never mind." She snapped up the toast and bit down on it with predatory accuracy.

"Uh, Rose?"

"Mmm?"

The first piece of toast was gone. He handed her the second, mindful of his fingers. "Are you hungry?"

She swallowed, then snorted. "I am not hungry. I am famished. What's today?"

"Thursday."