Read A Proper Scandal for Free Online Page B

please. If you can impart anything about where we are, now is the time to share it. Surely it’s clear that I’m not going to harm you. I only landed on your, er, head when the drainpipe snapped. I lost my hold those last three yards. Sorry.” He grimaced. “You broke my fall. For which I’m grateful.” He flashed her a smile.
    She looked away.
    â€œRight.” He sighed. “Let’s try a new tack. What’s happened to your shoulder?”
    She shuffled down the wall two more steps. “Stay back,” she whispered.
    He nodded. “Right. Very well. I’m back. What’s happened? A cut? Oh, God is it a . . . ” He forgot his promise to stay back and closed in on her. She cowered, flattening against the wall.
    â€œEasy,” he said. “I only want a look.”
    â€œPlease,” she whispered brokenly, “do not touch . . . ”
    â€œBloody hell, it is,” he said, marveling. “You’ve been branded. Is that it? A cattle brand burned into your shoulder?”
    She turned her face away and leaned her forehead against the wall.
    He peered over her, fighting the urge to pull away the blood-soaked shoulder of her shift. The wound was festering, angry, red and black.
    â€œHow far down your back does it stretch?” he whispered. He moved to take better advantage of the moonlight.
    Her face crumpled against the wall. She let out a broken sob.
    Bryson swore. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here.”
    He left her to cross the alley and look around a corner. They would have miles to walk in the cloud-filled darkness before they reached reliable civilization.
    â€œYou mentioned London. Is this where you would you like to go? I’ve a schoolmate there who might be persuaded to give me a ride back to Cambridgeshire.”
    Her head popped up from the wall. “London—yes, please. I’ll need only the direction to Mayfair. To Grosvenor Square.”
    He craned around. “Mayfair? What business do you have in Mayfair?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œRight,” he said. He wouldn’t pry. “Mayfair. That is as good a place as any for me to start. We can hardly stay here.” He looked left and right. “The last thing I remember was my father’s carriage rolling over Blackfriars Bridge. If we are near Blackfriars, we can walk to Mayfair by morning. Assuming we can find the direction of the bloody Thames.”
    â€œThe river is to the left,” she said. She took a step from the wall.
    â€œAh, that was going to be my guess. Great minds think alike.”
    â€œIt was the smell.”
    â€œGreat noses, then.”
    â€œIf you please,” she said, louder now, “I cannot be found out. I cannot be taken back. I’ll die before I go back.”
    â€œThen we really do think alike. Can you manage if we begin at a run?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI meant with your wounded shoulder.”
    â€œMy legs are well.”
    â€œRight.” At the mention of her legs, his eyes roamed, unbidden, down her body and up again. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Let’s put a little distance behind us, several blocks or so. Then it should be safe to stay parallel to the water but not in the full view of the bank.”
    He shoved off in that direction at a trot, and she darted behind him. He’d planned to lope for a quarter hour and then allow her walk, but she kept an enviable pace, and he felt safe enough to slow down to a walk after just two blocks. They breathed in unison, deep, hard breaths. Bryson stole a look. He wondered again about her age.
    Her face, furrowed now with fear and fatigue, was quite pretty—beautiful even. It was not often he saw a female with unbound hair. Not even a braid or a pin to keep it back from her face. Red-gold waves fell down her back like a cape. He fought the irrational urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
    He cleared his throat. “Do