Not her uncle’s voice. Just similar to his build, his way of moving. But dark hair instead of gray. Too young. Too American an accent. Too extravagant in his clothing.
Not her uncle. But still his image overtook her, that sneering voice ringing in her ears. The flash of a blade, the stain of blood, a dying sailor on the table before her, a stranger who stood in that coiled way of her uncle, ready to pounce.
A monster’s mouth stretched wide before her, teeth sharp as blades. And the darkness, the too-familiar darkness yawned wide as it swallowed her whole.
Eleven
Blast!” Thad shoved Nathaniel Mercer out of the way and leaped forward, managing to catch Gwyneth the moment her knees buckled and before the ream of mismatched paper could spill onto the floor. He had looked over at her in time to see her pupils dilate just before her face went blank.
When he had uttered a silent prayer for an escape from Mercer, this had not been the one he had in mind. Mother always said he ought to be careful what he prayed for.
Her head landed against his shoulder as he knelt, and her fingers knotted in his shirt. She must be struggling her way back to consciousness, but thus far there was no flutter of her lashes. So he loosened her bonnet and cradled her against him, the sweet scent of lilac teasing his nose.
A grating whistle sounded, and a moment later Mercer’s shadow fell over them. “How did I walk past that tempting armful without noticing her?”
Thad gritted his teeth for only a moment. Surely he received some divine credit for dredging up a smile before he turned toward the man. “She is unwell. Hatch, will you see what we have here and put it on my account?” He eased the paper from between him and Gwyneth and handed it over.
“Of course, of course.” Hatcher patted his considerable girth with one hand as he flipped through the sheets with the other.
Mercer clasped his hands behind his back in that too-still way of his, but, as always, calculation clicked away in his cold blue eyes. “Do you know her?”
“I ought to, as she is staying with my family.” Not that he was yet sure he did, but he had enjoyed the glimpse he had gotten on the walk here. She was a keen one, observant. Sharp, witty. With a quicker tongue than her exhaustion had thus far let her prove.
Even if that did mean she saw more than she ought and had no qualms about calling him on it.
“What is her name?”
He shot a glance at Mercer, who still studied Gwyneth with too much interest. In public he got on with the man as well as anyone, but always he was left with a skin-crawling distaste when they parted. Before, he had chalked it up to his hatred for the man’s chosen living, but now he might have to add his way of perusing Gwyneth to his list. As if she were naught to him but another slave to be traded.
No matter what Mother had promised her, he wasn’t about to declare who she was for all of Baltimore to learn by sundown, not with that whisper in his mind that advised caution. “Gwyn Hampton. A distant relation on my mother’s side, apparently.”
“Lucky you. Would that I could boast such lovely relations. Will she be in town for the summer, then?”
Her fingers twisted his shirt and her jaw went tight, as if she clenched her teeth. Thad held her closer. “Her plans are not firm. Hatch, could I take her into your back room until she recovers?”
The proprietor looked up from his tallying with a gentle smile. “You know you may, Captain Lane. I shall get this wrapped up for you in the meantime, hmm?”
Thad stood with her, frowning. When he turned toward the storeroom, he found Mercer blocking his way. “I could fetch her something to drink.”
“There is a pot of fresh tea in the back,” Hatcher said without looking up again. “And a plate of cookies. Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” Though his baser man wanted to sneer at Mercer, Thad instead smiled and nodded. “Do give your mother my regards when next you see her, Mr. Mercer.”
“I will.” If reluctantly, he nevertheless stepped aside. “I hope to see you and your lovely guest again soon.”
Of course he did, at least when it came to said lovely guest. With another nod, Thad carried her past the shelves and through the partially open door at the rear of the shop, easing it closed with a toe.
Gwyneth’s breath caught, and her eyes fluttered open. Thad used a foot to pull a chair away from the table and sat upon it with her in his lap. Not exactly what a London miss would deem a proper arrangement, but he doubted she would be able to stay upright in one of the armless chairs. “Gwyn, sweetheart, you must choose more appropriate times to take your naps.”
He caught only a glimpse of a small smile before she turned her face into his chest. “I am sorry for being so weak.” The words came out quiet and muffled against him.