you have a name?â he asked.
She shook her head, a barely perceptible shake. She returned her focus to the road.
âNot the talkative sort, are you?â He nodded. âI understand. What a devil of a night this has been. Unfortunately, I am accustomed to these sorts of misadventures. I can frequently be found crawling out of windows or leaping from speeding carriages. It becomes old hat, Iâm afraid.â
She looked at him, and he gestured toward a street to their left.
âMy father,â he provided.
When she said nothing, he felt compelled to explain. âHe has a bad habit of subjecting me to his diversions by force, which, unfortunately, seem to become more unpleasant, not to mention more illegal, by the year. The truth is, it amuses him to humiliate me.â
They turned down a long, curved thoroughfare with no torchlight, and he glanced at her again. One thing was certain, sheâd never jeopardize their escape by making any sort of fuss. Even her footfalls were quiet on the gravel street. The hem of her shift barely rustled as she took two steps to his one.
âIâm called Bryson,â he said after a moment. âBryson Courtland. One day, God willing, I shall be Viscount Rainsleigh. My father is the viscount now, unfortunately.â
Bloody hell but that was chatty. He told himself that heâd heard this about prostitutes. That you could say things to them that you wouldnât ordinarily risk with someone you would see again.
âLikely youâve never heard of him,â he continued darkly. âThis is because my father makes no effort toward the title. Nor does he mind the property. His reputation precedes him, but only with enraged creditors, gamblers, addicts.â He looked at her and then asked, inspired, âOr perhaps you do know him?â
âI am not in acquaintance of your father, sir.â
Sir.
No one called him that, although, rightfully, they should. But there were very few servants left at Rossmore Courtâservants had to be paidâand he kept to himself at school.
They heard a carriage in the distance, thank God. He needed a reason to stop talking. It was probably nothing, but he held up a hand to stay her. They ducked around a corner and collapsed against the side of a building. Making no sound, he spidered his fingers across the brick until he found her hand, and he covered it with his own. The conveyance rolled past without incident, and he said, âHarmless,â and waved her back to the walk.
âWill your father be cross that you left him behind?â she whispered.
âI donât really care,â he said with a sigh. âMy main concern is getting back to school. My holiday, such that it was, is over, and I must be to Cambridge by Monday. After tonight, Iâd say that going home would be imprudent. But I will need my belongings. If I donât send for them, my father will sell them. Eventually I will go back, because I look after my brother, God save him.â
A cat skittered in front of them and disappeared under a rise of steps. He watched her follow it with her eyes. âAnd what will you do? What business do you have in Mayfair?â
âI have an aunt thereâin Grosvenor Square,â she said.
âI wish I had an aunt in Grosvenor Square.â He looked right and left and crossed the street, motioning for her to follow. âWill there be a doctor for your shoulder? In the care of your aunt?â
âYes.â
âAnd, perhaps . . . Honest employ?â
They rounded a corner before she could reply, and there it was. Blackfriars Bridge. It lay across the inky water of the Thames like an outstretched arm.
âIs this it?â she asked.
âIt is.â He squinted through the mist rising from the river at the bridge. âHmmm. More traffic than I had hoped this time of night, but we neednât worry. My father would never find it worth his trouble to come after