Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

His smile deepened. Not such a bad beginning to the evening, after all. And by morning, Eddy’s letters would be safely in his hands.

Really, the evening was turning out to be most delightful, an adventure truly worthy of his skills and intellect. But before he quite dared celebrate, he had to make certain his prize did not succumb to shock and die before he could make use of her.

Lachley’s hands were all but trembling as he carried her through increasingly poorer streets, down wretched alleyways, until he emerged, finally, with many an uneasy glance over his shoulder, onto the broad thoroughfare of the Strand, where wealth once again flaunted its presence in the houses of the rich and the fine shops they patronized. He had no trouble, there, flagging down a hansom cab at last.

“Cleveland Street,” he ordered curtly. “The young lady’s quite ill. I must get her to my surgery at once.”

“Right, guv,” the cabbie nodded.

The cab lurched forward at an acceptably rapid pace and Lachley settled himself to sound his prize’s pulse and listen to the quality of her breathing. She was in deep shock, pulse fast and thready, skin clammy and chill. He cradled her head almost tenderly, wondering who the young man with her had been and who had attacked them. A Nichol footpad, most likely. They prowled the area near the Opera, targeting the wealthy gentlemen who frequented the neighborhood, so close to the slums of SoHo. That particular footpad’s fatal loss, however, was his immense gain.

The cab made excellent time, bringing him to his doorstep before she’d even regained consciousness from her dead faint. Charles answered the bell, since fumbling for his key was too awkward while carrying her. His manservant’s calm facade cracked slightly at the sight of his unconscious prize. “Whatever has happened, sir?”