My Aunt Threw Me Into The Freezing Street Because The Wealthiest Man In Town Gave Me His Scarf — She Didn’t Expect What He Did Next
Part 2
I stood on the pavement, the cold rain instantly soaking through my thin bonnet and matting my hair against my skull.
The wind whipped my wet skirts around my legs as I clutched my battered leather trunk.
I had tied my three shillings in a handkerchief, hoping it would cover a cheap hackney to the east side of the city.
I knew a former governess who rented a room above a baker, and it was my only desperate plan.
I began to walk, the trunk banging awkwardly against my shin with every step.
The biting numbness crept up my toes as the wet cold seeped through the soles of my boots.
The smell of soot and horse manure rose from the street, a grim reminder of my new reality.
I was completely unmoored.
After two blocks, my arm gave out completely.
I set the trunk down on the wet pavement and leaned against an iron railing, gasping for breath.
The rain ran down my face, blinding me and tasting of city grime.
A heavy, rhythmic splashing sound broke through the drone of the storm.
A massive black enclosed carriage was thundering down the street, moving far too fast for the slick cobblestones.
The lathered horses struck the ground with violent intent.
The carriage violently swerved toward the curb, the iron-rimmed wheels grinding against the stone.
Before the vehicle fully stopped, the door was thrown open.
Craig stepped out into the torrential rain in just his shirt sleeves and a rumpled waistcoat.
His dark hair was instantly plastered to his forehead, and he looked absolutely furious.
He crossed the damp pavement in three massive strides.
He looked at my meager trunk sitting in a puddle.
He looked at me shivering violently against the railing, soaked to the bone and wearing his charcoal scarf.
A muscle flexed in his jaw so hard it looked as though the bone might snap.
He reached down and effortlessly hoisted my trunk with one hand.
His other hand clamped around my upper arm with that same firm, pragmatic grip from the carriage.
He growled a command to walk, his voice cutting through the noise of the rain.
My legs obeyed before my brain could protest.
He marched me to his carriage, practically tossing the trunk onto the floorboards before shoving me up the steps.
He climbed in right behind me and slammed the heavy door, shaking the entire vehicle.
He roared at the driver to move.
The interior was dark, heavily upholstered in black leather, and suffocatingly warm.
I collapsed onto the bench, shivering so violently my teeth audibly clicked together.
He dragged a calloused hand over his wet face, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
He told me he had placed a man to watch my aunt’s house since the theater.
He offered no apology, only grim efficiency as he explained the watcher reported my eviction twenty minutes ago.
I asked him if he had orchestrated this to isolate me and claim me as a mistress.
He froze, his eyes darkening with a sudden, volatile fury.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us until we were mere inches apart.
He warned me not to insult him or myself.
I cried out, asking what he wanted from a ruined, destitute spinster.
He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper.
Why did the wealthiest, most intimidating man in the city suddenly pull a discarded chaperone into his carriage in the middle of a storm?
