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release the bitter resentment from his heart lest he die a cold and lonely man. She dreamed of him married, a successful entrepreneur with his children playing at his feet and his wife sitting at his side.
    He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the tears at the back of his throat. His children. Her grandchildren. A wife. His mother had such romantic dreams.
    When hunger struck and they neared the end of their rent money, Will rushed out and returned with pocketfuls of stolen booty. His mother tutted and clipped his ear, sending him to his side of their rented room to get on with practicing his letters. Despite her chastisements, she took the bread, fruit, and fresh milk he’d pilfered, eking it out to last them as many days as possible.
    Will snapped his eyes open as a raggedly dressed street urchin bolted out of nowhere and shoved him backward. He sped past Will with no fear of recrimination or remorse.
    “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Will cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get back here.”
    He took a few long strides forward, intending to give chase when a nearby cacophony of panicked female screeching resounded.
    “Help! Oh, please, someone help us!”
    Will broke into a sprint and raced along the path. A few yards ahead of him. a woman lay on the ground, her skirts pulled above her knees revealing flesh-colored pantalets, her bonnet tilted atop her head. A younger woman was crouched down beside her, sporadically comforting her or shouting for help at the top of her lungs.
    “Ladies? Are you all right?” Will dropped to his knees beside them.
    The woman sitting on the floor clutched her ankle. “Annie, please. Calm yourself. I will be quite all right.”
    Will concentrated on her ankle. It was swelling with each passing second. Without thinking, he gently eased his thumbs along the tender flesh, checking for any breaks.
    “I say . . .” The woman objected.
    “It’s all right, Miss. Nothing appears to be broken, but an ice pack will help with the swelling. Let’s get you up off this cold ground.” He met her eyes and his heart stopped. “My God, Miss Darson.”
    She snapped her eyes from her ankle to him. “You!” Her face colored and she slapped his hands from her legs. “Don’t you dare touch me. Drop my ankle at once.”
    Will’s heart kicked back into place as he grinned. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I apologize. I was just trying to help—”
    She huffed out a breath. “Yes, by mauling me.”
    “I was hardly mauling you.”
    Her eyes flashed at him. “Yes, Mr. Samson, you were. Now, thank you for your interest but my maid and I are quite capable of returning home unaided.”
    Will looked in the direction the boy had fled a few seconds before. “Did that young lad who passed me like a cannonball do this to you? If he did, I won’t rest until I track him down and hang him by his underpants on a lamppost outside the Theatre Royal.”
    The young girl giggled. Will looked up and winked. Her face immediately flushed to the color of a ripe tomato. He returned his attention to the beautiful and dishevelled Miss Darson. She moved to get up.
    “Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?” He held his hand to her leg once more. “You cannot possibly walk.”
    She glared. “Of course I can. Do not mistake me for a silly woman who isn’t capable of looking after herself.” She looked at the girl. “Annie, if you take my hand—”
    Will cupped her elbow. “Miss Darson, please. Let me help you.”
    “I am perfectly all right. Annie?”
    The maid grasped her other elbow. Miss Darson trembled and her voice shook whenever she spoke between grimaces. Will’s stomach tightened with an emotion he daren’t contemplate. Her hair hung down in tendrils from beneath her bonnet, and the side of her face was streaked with mud, yet all he saw was her wonderful dark eyes and voluptuous figure . . . and a determination that was highly attractive.
    “Please, Miss. Let this man take your arm.”