Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series by Nicola Claire Page A

you, but I’ll manage. I made it here, unaided, did I not?”
    “Why do you do this?” he demanded, grasping my wrist and pulling me to an abrupt stop. I didn’t look up at him.
    Slowly he reached under the parasol and took hold of the handle, lifting it up high enough for him to step under. It was uncomfortably intimate, in such a public setting. My heart beat too loudly inside my chest.
    “Why do you scratch with your claws?”
    I arched my brow at him.
    “Why do you push me away?” The words were out before I could stop them. I sucked in a deep breath, but the damage had already been done.
    Opening myself up to this kind of pain was something I had promised myself I would never allow to happen again.
    “Oh, bother,” I muttered, letting go of the parasol and ducking under the brim. Taking the necessary steps to get me away.
    I would have kept running, if I hadn’t heard that blasted cane.
    I stopped on the corner of the block, beside a small service alley behind another ubiquitous warehouse. The place was a rabbit warren, I didn’t remember passing it on the way into Mechanics Bay. The sound of Kelly’s cane slowed down, until finally it stopped. Right at my back.
    “We make a fine pair, do we not?” he murmured.
    I couldn’t talk past the dryness in my throat.
    “You must know how I admire you so, Anna,” he added.
    “Please,” I managed. I couldn’t hear anymore carefully offered platitudes. My heart wouldn’t take it. But my voice was lost in amongst the bustling sounds of the dockyard.
    “You are a fine surgeon,” he added, making me close my eyes. Close my fists. Fortify my heart. “One day the world will accept that. I am sure.”
    I wasn’t. But I was fighting for it.
    “These are difficult times,” he forged on, having received no discouragement from me. “This murder will raise tempers on the streets. Make for high tension situations. Throw in opium or cocaine into the mix and you have a volatile cocktail waiting to explode.”
    He spoke as though he had experience of these things. I turned around and looked down at his cane. He shifted on his feet slightly; always so acutely aware when his injury was centre stage.
    “I promised him,” he said, voice thick with emotion.
    My eyes shot up to his face.
    “Anna,” Kelly pleaded. “I promised him I’d keep you safe.”
    I let out a shattered breath of air, unable to meet his searching gaze any longer. With desperation I lifted a gloved hand to the brick wall at my side, my legs trembling, my chest heaving. The world spinning.
    “Anna?” Kelly said with some urgency.
    “I’m fine,” I managed. “Give me a moment, if you will.”
    “No, Anna,” Kelly pressed, coming along side me, his hand slipping into mine, pulling it free of the wall. “You’re hurt.”
    Hurt? I stared down at my new, clean gloves, only they weren’t so clean anymore.
    Scarlet.
    “That’s blood,” I whispered, lifting my eyes to the wall and following the trail. “Oh, dear Lord,” I murmured, taking two steps into the darkened alleyway.
    “Anna, stop!” Kelly ordered, moving ahead of me and blocking my view. He made a sound. His cane coming down hard against the wall in a terrible show of anger. “Sergeant Blackmore!” he yelled at full volume. I almost lifted my hands to my ears, but the flash of red on the glove caught me.
    “Are they alive?” I asked. “Do they need a surgeon?” I offered, forcing myself to move, to think, to speak.
    It all came so easily. So much more easier than facing Inspector Kelly’s disinterest had been.
    Kelly turned to look at me; shock and horror and a grim determination marring his handsome façade. He searched my face, coming to some decision I couldn’t possibly fathom.
    And then he said, “If you please, Miss Cassidy. But be warned, ‘tis surely a most gruesome sight.”
    I nodded in understanding, preparing myself for what I would see. Just as my father had taught me. Just as he had always done himself.