A Candle in the Dark Read Free

confusion and revulsion.
    “You’re a doctor.”
    Cain frowned at the accusation in her voice. “Yes.”
    “He’s a doctor.” She turned to Davey, who looked suddenly nervous. “You didn’t tell me.”
    “I didn’t know!”
    “No.” She wiped her bloody hands on her skirt as if they had suddenly touched something vile. “No doctors—”
    “Duchess, there ain’t much time.”
    “Excuse me?” Cain looked from one to the other. Was he missing something here? He motioned to the bench next to him. “You’re covered with blood. Sit down.”
    She jerked away, even though he hadn’t touched her. “I’m fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong.”
    “You got no choice,” Davey said, his expression intent. Then, when the woman paid no attention: “I can’t get no one else on such short notice, gel. It’s either ‘im or Buffalo.”
    Him or Buffalo? Cain blinked, suppressing a sudden urge to laugh. Christ, he knew he was drunk, but surely even he looked better than Buffalo. What the hell were they talking about? The world was taking on sharp edges again, and he felt the familiar gnawing in his gut that told him he either needed another drink or a few hours in bed.
    He glanced longingly at the bar, and then sighed. Bed was the better choice, he knew. He looked at the woman and Davey arguing back and forth in low voices. Well, as long as she wasn’t hurt, he could go to bed with a clear conscience. Or as clear a one as he ever had. They could argue without him. He couldn’t even remember why Davey had brought her over.
    Cain rose unsteadily, planting his hand on the table to brace himself. He reached behind him for the crumpled frock coat he’d abandoned earlier.
    “It’s been pleasant,” he tried to say, though it came out sounding a bit slurred now that he’d abandoned the effort to appear coherent. “But I’m afraid—”
    They stopped arguing and turned to stare at him.
    “What are you doing?” The Duchess’s tone was suddenly harsh. Her eyes bored into him.
    “Leaving.”
    “But—”
    “No!”
    She and Davey spoke at the same time. Cain narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. He tucked his medical bag under his arm.
    “Thanks for the invitation,” he said. “But no thanks.”
    “But…” Davey scrambled for words. “But Duchess ‘ere, she thought you might like to ‘ave another drink.”
    Cain stopped.
    “Yes, of course.” She moved quickly, spreading her shimmering skirts and seating herself on the bench. “Another drink. Please bring a bottle, won’t you, Davey?”
    Cain stared at her, at the way she dismissed Davey as if she were royalty, at the poised and elegant way she seated herself, and he knew in that moment that she was even more trouble than he’d first thought. He wanted to say no to the drink, he really did, but suddenly his mouth was watering and his gut was churning, and there was nothing on earth he wanted more than that bourbon.
    She watched him avidly, leaning forward just enough to create cleavage between her small breasts. The black lace trimming her bodice dipped and swelled.
    Cain swallowed. “Whiskey,” he choked.
    She flashed a smile. “Whiskey, Davey.”
    Cain felt for the bench and sat, shoving his coat and bag aside. She was staring at him, and he suddenly felt as if she was seeing every imperfection: his olive skin and his too-long hair, and the way he wore only crumpled and stained shirtsleeves while his frock coat lay abandoned beside him. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to shrug into it again, and anger washed over him at the thought.
    “Duchess,” he said slowly, fighting to keep his thoughts and his words clear. “What d’you want with me?”
    Something flickered through her eyes, but it was too dark to see them clearly, and he was too drunk to care.
    “Davey said he could trust you.”
    “Why?”
    “Is he wrong?” A tight smile played at her lips. “You feel you’re not trustworthy?”
    “What’s it to you whether I am or