“Are you lost?” The voice spoke with a condescending British accent.
Alex turned toward one of the junior aristocrats, wearing a striped bow tie in the blue and white colors of Harrow.
She slipped her bandaged hand behind her. “Looking for the bar.”
Her heart raced, but she wore her most confident grin as she steered herself toward the bar. She ordered a Coke and picked up a few nuts from a cream-colored Wedgwood bowl. When she turned to leave the room, the boy followed.
“Why don’t you join us?” He and three other guys in suits surrounded her before she could leave.
“No, thanks.”
They all glanced at one another with big smirks.
“American? I don’t recall seeing you in our class. I’d have remembered you.” He brushed his hand through her pink hair, resting it against the bare skin of her neck.
The caress reminded her of the last man who thought touching her was his right. The memory sent chills through her veins.
“Who did you come here with?” another asked.
By the look on their faces, they knew she was an outsider, a party crasher.
They were blocking the exit, so she backed up toward the bookcases. Her legs barely held her up, and her heart raced into her throat, preventing her from speaking.
A trespassing charge against her would be disastrous. She’d end up in Luc’s custody before being processed.
“I bet you’re quite nice-looking under that makeup,” someone to the side of her said.
“Gentlemen.” The professor’s voice boomed across the room, genteel, yet firm. “I think the lady prefers to dine with people closer to her own class and caliber, so I must request that you boys head to dinner without her. We will discuss your behavior after the recess.”
Her tormentors’ faces fell from smirk to grimace, and they backed away. The easygoing manner she’d seen on him earlier had faded a bit, revealing a side of him intent on lifting each of the boys up by his neck and throwing him out the door.
“Sorry, Professor, we thought your guest would want to meet everybody,” one of the instigators called out.
“I’m sure the lady appreciates your hospitality. Now if you’ll excuse us.” The professor stood a few inches taller than them, and his solid physique made it clear that he could best each and every one of the little snots in a fight. Not that he would, especially over a trespasser.
Her mouth dropped open to say something as her body began to sink to the ground. The professor stepped forward and clasped her elbow. The knot that had twisted her insides all afternoon subsided a bit, and she was tempted to lean into his arms and absorb some of his strength. He never spoke, but his possession of her caused the boys to back away.
Without a word or apology to Alex, the boys strolled out of the room, leaving her standing in the corner with her empty glass, her heart pounding, and a champion.
The professor released her. His eyes softened. “Care to join me for dinner?”
How could she find trouble so quickly after leaving the pub? He’d throw her out when he realized she didn’t have an invite.
“In a minute.” Holding back tears of frustration and hiding her injury, she plastered on her brave face and smiled.
“Take your time.” He gave her a slight bow before he departed, like an actual English lord and not a schoolboy who pretends to be a gentleman and then harasses women when he thinks he can get away with it.
Alex returned to the bar on trembling legs and asked for another soda. She’d make it through the night. She had to.
…
Henry pushed aside a pile of ungraded exams and three articles to be reviewed for the Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford to make room for his glass of scotch. The newest professor in the department, he’d been suckered into three introductory courses and two seminars for the current year. Most of the other professors were nearing retirement age, not thirty years old with a brand-new PhD. They’d earned their lighter workloads. Or so they claimed. Tonight, he didn’t want to think of the work burying him. He wanted a good book and his pillow.
At least the dinner with his students had been a success. Except for the pack of wolves circling the lady in his study. She may have dressed like a troublemaker, but her eyes had told a different story. She’d worn an expression seen in people who had nothing left to lose. A desperation born of hard times and bad choices. A look he’d observed in many of the people he’d helped over the years, yet something about this petite woman with pink hair tugged a bit differently at him. Maybe his thoughts stayed with her because she’d disappeared before dinner. Was she okay? Did she need help and hadn’t been able to ask? He couldn’t save everyone, regrettably. With luck, she’d made it home without any problems.
The clock chimed once, signaling Henry’s bedtime. He finished his drink and rose. Straightening his favorite beige cardigan and securing his glasses on his nose, he ambled down the hallway and paused outside his bedroom. Something wasn’t right. Perhaps it was the light from his bedside lamp, beaming through the open door. He always turned the lights out and preferred his bedroom door closed. More likely, however, it was the human-size lump in his bed.
He eased into the room in silence thanks to his bare feet, until the old wooden floor creaked.
The girl from the party, still sporting a worn leather jacket and black combat boots, jumped up, poised for a fight. Her hands clenched into fists, and she positioned her legs into a martial arts stance, one foot forward, the other slightly back.
She mumbled something in French about bathroom windows and bloody socks. The warrior image faded as her body swayed backward. Her face turned white where it wasn’t painted black, and her eyes opened wide and flashed him a vivid blue-green glare. Scanning the room for another exit, she crossed to the opposite door, but it only opened to his bath.