Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 8
She watched the leather of his dark gloves tighten around it with an audible rasp. “Thank you,” she said, still hoping that he would prove himself her savior and not her murderer.
But he dashed that hope the very next instant. “Do not thank me yet.”
Warily, she backed away. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“You may thank me when you are safely home.”
She offered a feeble smile and then, to distract herself from imagining all the nefarious things he might do to her, she scoured the road for her spectacles. But she was none too pleased when she finally discovered them. “Quite ruined!” She shook her head as he drew up beside her to examine the spectacles cradled in her palms.
“Quite,” he agreed with a desultory air. “Well, never mind, spectacles are far less costly—and more easily replaced—than your life.”
She nodded, trembling with shock.
“Do you always take late night strolls in the middle of the street?”
The question was repeated again before Emma blinked her shock away enough to answer. “No, I…” It was then that the events that preceded her fateful fall came rushing back. “The gypsy! He attacked me and I fell!” Dear God, she would never forget those eyes!
“I wonder that you saw anything in this infernal fog.”
Emma did not let his unsympathetic response give her pause too long. “It…it was an old man, I believe—unaccountably strong and tall. I don’t remember what he said…well, he didn’t say much…that is to say, he didn’t have to say anything. He smiled and lifted his hood away and I saw…” She shuddered to think what he might have done to her. Those deathly pools had glistened like white, watery graves. “His eyes were monstrous!”
Her rescuer’s lips tightened beneath the shadow of his brim. “It is very dark tonight, and it seems you took a fearful tumble, Miss…”
“Oh! Emma Rose.” She’d never had to introduce herself to a stranger before. This night was turning out to be the oddest of her life. And now he likely thought her a maundering twit! Not that she cared what he thought of her.
“Well, Miss Rose, I do not doubt you’ve had a terrible fright and the fog can play such wicked tricks on the eyes, but wheresoever your gypsy is now, I assure you he is far from here—of that you may be sure.” Out came the smile again. “I am rather a fearsome creature myself when I wish to be. I frighten even gypsies.”
As imposing as his figure was, she did not doubt it. “Did I scream?” She thought she had—she must have! Surely her screams would have penetrated even her uncle’s impaired hearing.
“The Bow Bells, madam,” said he. “Your screams were overcome by the tolling of the hour and the thundering of hooves.” He drew out his pocket watch. “It is getting very late, you know; on nights like these the witching hour comes early. And witches are vicious creatures.” His smile became feral, almost defying her not to believe him. “You must allow me the honor of escorting you home.”
She studied what little of his features she could make out and wondered again if she ought to be scared and run away. Doubtless he would catch her easily. At any rate, why would he offer assistance if he only meant to exsanguinate her later? Besides, he was well dressed and the lower half of his face was very handsome, very unlike a mad butcher.
She released a long steady breath. “I do not fear witches, or vampyres, or any such impossible nonsense. Only wicked monks are to be feared.” Had she lost her senses somewhere in the fog? Why else was she standing in a deserted street, shrouded from reality, alluding to The Monk with a complete stranger whose face was all but shadowed?
“Nothing worse than wicked monks,” he said. “I avoid their society at all costs.”
“I confess I did fear you might be one, but as you have risked your life to rescue me and are not wearing a cassock, I must consider that you might be something else entirely.”
His teeth flashed behind his smile. “Miss Rose, you have quite piqued my curiosity. What is it you think I am? Surely I am not a vampyre, for you have just told me that such things are impossible.”
“No, not something as fatuous as that.” As she watched his impenetrable smile curl a little higher, her flesh rippled in response.
“What then am I? Come, come, do not keep me in suspense any longer, I beg you.”
“A knight errant, of course.”
“A white knight or a black knight, I wonder?”
“I wonder that too,” she said. Until she saw his eyes she would not be able to fathom the color of his character clearly, nor see the lamps to the soul. Then it occurred to her that the footfalls she’d heard dogging her earlier might just as likely have been this gentleman’s and not the dread gypsy fiend who’d attacked her. In which case he was not to be trusted after all. A black knight then.
“I see you are trying to make out my character,” he said.
“Yes, but it is hard to do so in the dark.”
“Some things are best done in the dark, Miss Rose.”
“That is just what a wicked monk would say.” If nothing else, she was grateful for the darkness that concealed the crimson flush overspreading her cheeks.
“Then allow me to play the knight errant and convey you safely home before I forget my manners again. We really ought not be dithering in the street like this…alone.”
“I should be most obliged to have your company, but only if you promise not to exsanguinate me.” Heavens, she really hoped she wasn’t flirting with the mad butcher himself! Only Emma Rose