Dreaming of You Read Free

hall, filled with stained glass, blue velvet, and chandeliers. But of course Mr. Craven would not want to show himself like this in front of the club members. After she guided him to the side of the building, they descended a short flight of steps that led to a heavy wooden door.
    Derek grasped the handle and pushed the door open. Immediately they were approached by Gill, one of his employees. “Mr. Craven?” the young man exclaimed, his gaze darting from the blood-soaked handkerchief clutched to Derek’s face, to Sara’s apprehensive eyes. “Good Lord—”
    “Get Worthy,” Derek muttered. He brushed by Gill and made his way through the small panelled antechamber. The winding staircase led to his private apartments. Contemplating the six-flight climb, he motioned abruptly for Sara to join him.
    Surprised that he would want her to help him up the stairs, Sara hesitated. She glanced at the young employee, who was already walking away from them, disappearing down a wide, carpeted hallway.
    “Come,” Derek said gruffly, motioning for her again. “You think I ’as all night to stand ’ere?”
    She went to him immediately, and he draped a heavy arm across her shoulders. Together they began the walk up the steps. “Who is Worthy?” she asked, sliding an arm around his hard waist to steady him.
    “Factotum.” Derek’s ribs seemed to cut through his innards like dull knives. His face burned like fire. He heard himself talking, all the years of tutoring dropping away to reveal his thick cockney accent. “Worvy…does ewerything…’elps me run the club.Trusts ’im…wiv my life.” He stumbled on the landing and gave a whimpering curse.
    Sara tightened her arm on his waist. “Wait. If you fall, I couldn’t stop you. We must wait for someone strong to assist you the rest of the way.”
    “You’re strong enow.” He began the next flight, his arm gripped around her shoulders.
    “Mr. Craven,” Sara protested. Clumsily they ascended another two flights, Sara was terrified that he might faint and fall down the stairs. She began to encourage him, saying anything she could think of to keep him moving. “Almost there…Come, you’re stubborn enough to climb a few more…Stay on your feet…”
    She was breathing hard from exertion as they mounted the last step and came to the door of his private apartments. They crossed the entrance hall and came to a drawing room decorated with acres of plum velvet and rich brocade. Her astonished gaze took note of the gilt-embossed leather on the walls, the regal parade of French windows, and the splendid view of the city outside. Following Mr. Craven’s mumbled directions, she helped him to the bedchamber. The room was lined with green damask and elaborate mirrors. It contained the largest bed she had ever seen in her life. Blushing deeply, Sara reflected that she had never been in a man’s bedroom before. Her embarrassment was washed away in concern as Mr. Craven crawled onto the bed, boots and all. He sprawled on his back with a gasp and became very still. The arm clamped over his ribs relaxed.
    “Mr. Craven? Mr. Craven—” Sara hovered over him, wondering what to do. He had fainted. His long body was unmoving, his large hands half-clenched.Reaching down to his throat, she unknotted his stained cravat. Carefully she unwound the cloth and pulled the handkerchief away from his face.
    The slash went from his right temple, across the bridge of his nose, and down to the edge of his left cheekbone. Although his features were blunt, they were strong and even. His lips parted to reveal startlingly white teeth. Coppery smears of blood covered his swarthy skin, crusting in the thick lines of his brows and in his long eyelashes.
    Spying a washstand across the room, Sara hurried to it and found cool water in the pitcher. After pouring a few inches of liquid into the basin, she brought it to the bedside table. She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his face, wiping away the blood and