by Anna Bradley
Lucas had also done what he could to put the earl’s hand back to rights, but only time would tell if he’d succeeded in setting the bones correctly. He wasn’t a doctor, and fingers were tricky.
But there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about Lord Sydney’s concussion. His lordship would live, or he wouldn’t. All they could do was sit here and wait while fate made her decision.
“His shoulder will heal. It’s not his shoulder that worries—” Lucas broke off. Worried? He wasn’t worried over a bloody earl, for God’s sake. An earl he’d never laid eyes on before, and likely never would again once the man had healed enough to walk out his front door.
If he lived, that is. Lucas would do what he could to see he did, but anything beyond that wasn’t his concern.
He glanced down at Lord Sydney’s pale face. Maybe he’d grown sentimental because he’d put the earl in his sister Leah’s old bed, and it brought back painful memories. Or maybe it was just because Lord Sydney was so young—no more than a few years older than Lucas—and it seemed a waste such a young man should die. Or maybe it was just the curve of Lord Sydney’s lower lip, where even now a smile seemed to linger.
Lucas didn’t know, and perhaps that was just as well. “His head’s still bleeding.”
Burke scratched at his chin as he eyed Lord Sydney. “Ach, he’ll be all right. He’s got the hardest head in England, that one. Right, then. I’m off again to look for his lordship’s horses. He’ll be asking for ’em, once he wakes up.”
Lucas grunted. “You’re tempting fate, old man. You should know better than that by now.” The temperature had dropped again, and the wind was howling with such force it rattled the glass in the frame. Lucas didn’t rise from his chair by the bed or try to stop Burke, however. He’d had this argument with the man once already. He wouldn’t waste his breath a second time.
As predicted, Burke brushed off the warning. “Ye’ll keep an eye on ’im?”
Lucas grunted again. Burke must have taken this as an affirmative, because a moment later Lucas heard the retreating thud of his boots against the old wooden floorboards.
He didn’t move from his place by the bed until the room went dark. Then he rose and built the fire up. Afterward, he returned to his chair and watched the flickering light fall across Lord Sydney’s face. The white bandage he’d used to dress the head wound was soaked through with blood again, and his lordship’s lips looked pale.
“Well, Brute?” The dog was curled up beside Lucas’s chair, and Lucas lowered his hand to stroke the silky head. “Will he live, or not?”
Brute whined and gave Lucas’s hand an affectionate lick. Brute was wiser than most people, but if the dog knew what fate awaited Lord Sydney, he was keeping it to himself.
The storm would pass. The sun would illuminate the sky once again—maybe even as soon as tomorrow—but Henry Northrup, the sixth Earl of Sydney, might not be there to see it when it did.
Chapter Four
Unless she could find a pair of ice skates, there was no way Isla was returning to Huntington Lodge today.
She’d woken early, and before her eyes even had a chance to open she’d leapt from the bed and raced to the window, only to have her hopes shrivel like a spring flower in an ice storm.
The entire world had frozen overnight.
Well, perhaps not the entire world, but certainly her little corner of Buckinghamshire. For Isla’s purposes, it amounted to the same thing.
Now here she was, trapped at Hazelwood with Lord Pierce, a man she still cared for and was desperate to forget. Goodness, fate certainly had a wicked sense of humor, didn’t she? It wouldn’t have been a welcome turn of events under any circumstances, but after last night, a day alone with Hugh Courtney was the worst thing that could have happened.
Well, perhaps not the worst. She might have frozen to death last night, or been crushed under a falling tree. Those things would have been bad, indeed, but there was no question Hugh’s daring rescue would leave another scar on her already lacerated heart.
She couldn’t seem to banish him from her thoughts as it was, and now he’d gone and risked his own safety—his very life and limb—and ventured out into a deadly storm to save her.
He’d even managed to save her horse.
Isla didn’t recall much of what had happened last night, but all the images she could conjure were disturbingly heroic. A gallant Lord Pierce charges into the dark forest and scoops her into his strong arms. He clutches her fainting body to his broad chest and gallops from the woods as trees crash to the ground in their wake.
If she’d been any other woman, this might have been a fairy tale. As it was, she was a disappointing heroine. Flawed, that is. Scandalous, too, but that didn’t make him any less a hero, did it? Perhaps it made him more of one.
He wasn’t just any hero, either—he was her hero.
But he was also her villain.
He’d dashed her every hope, shattered her most precious dreams. He’d broken her heart, and now what was she meant to do? Skip downstairs and share a delightful breakfast with the man who’d crushed her under his heel, all while smiling charmingly at him over her teacup? Feign indifference while she helped herself to eggs and pastries?
She’d never been very good at pretending.
The worst of it was, she was certain he didn’t want her company any more than she wanted his. He’d made that clear enough when her season ended. Indeed, any other man in his position would simply toss her out the door this morning and let her make her own way back to Huntington Lodge.
But he wasn’t any other man. He was Lord Pierce, and Lord Pierce would never be anything less than a consummate gentleman, even under these trying circumstances. No, there would be no bundling her out the door today, no matter how badly he might wish her gone.
A brisk knock on the door interrupted Isla’s thoughts. “Miss Ramsey? Are you awake?”
“Yes? Please come in.”
Mrs. Babcock bustled through the door, her arms full of linens. When she saw Isla standing by the window, she gave her a cheerful smile. “All that ice looks mighty odd, doesn’t it? I’ve never seen the like before, not in all my years. I’m afraid it won’t melt anytime soon, either, with this bitter cold. But never mind, Miss Ramsey. Hazelwood’s as cozy a house as you’ll ever find, and we’ll all be safe and snug together here.”
Snug. Tight, that is. Crowded, rather like three people squeezed into a landaulette. Too crowded for Lord Pierce, no doubt.
She forced a smile for Mrs. Babcock’s sake. “I’m sure we will be.”
Mrs. Babcock set the linens down on the end of Isla’s bed. “Now, we can’t have you going about in your riding habit while you’re here. It’s damp still, and you’ll catch your death. I’ve brought you a dress or two, and a pair of slippers.”
Isla took the shoes Mrs. Babcock offered her, wishing they were ice skates instead. “You’re very kind, Mrs. Babcock. Thank you.”
Mrs. Babcock pulled one of the dresses from the pile and held it up, glancing doubtfully between it and Isla. “It’ll be a mite big on you, I’m afraid, but it’ll do.”
Isla reached for the dress. It was a pretty one, of a soft blue linen, finely made, and fitted for a lady at least three inches taller than she. Isla wanted to ask who it belonged to, but Mrs. Babcock was already hurrying toward the door. “Very good then, Miss Ramsey. Lord Pierce is waiting for you in the breakfast room.”
Waiting for her? “He, ah…he expects me to join him?”
Mrs. Babcock’s brow furrowed. “Yes, miss. Unless you’re too fatigued from your ordeal and would rather take a tray in your room?”
Oh, bless you, Mrs. Babcock.
The housekeeper had just offered her a perfect escape. Isla opened her mouth to ask for a tray, but then she hesitated.
Surely she wasn’t such a coward as that?
Isla wasn’t one to ignore unpleasant truths about herself. She knew her tongue was too sharp, her temper too quick, and if her brothers were to be believed, she was shockingly stubborn, but she’d never thought of herself as a coward before.
What’s more, she owed Lord Pierce her thanks. She’d been too befuddled last night to thank him as she ought to have done, but she was deeply grateful to him for saving her. When she thought of what might have happened, between the freezing cold and the falling trees…
She shuddered, her skin prickling with dread. No, it didn’t bear thinking about.
It was truly good of him to have come for her, especially given all the ugliness between them. It would be petty and childish of her to fail to show him her gratitude.
“Miss Ramsey? May I fetch you a tray?”
“No, no, Mrs. Babcock. I’ll be down directly.”
It wasn’t until after Mrs. Babcock left the room that Isla realized she was clutching the shoes to her chest. Well, how ridiculous. Surely it wouldn’t be so difficult? It was a simple breakfast, nothing more. It would take an hour at most. One could endure almost anything for a single hour. Why, as a child she’d managed to sit in church every Sunday next to Ciaran, who amused himself by twitching and pinching her throughout the service.
If she could survive that, then she’d survive this.
Within half an hour she’d dressed, tidied her hair, and come downstairs to present herself in the breakfast room. She found Lord Pierce there, frowning down at his plate as if he were about to take it to task for some offense.
He looked so cross, some of her bravado deserted her. Apparently, she was brave enough to ride by his estate every day but not brave enough to face him across a breakfast table.
Well, this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t abide a coward.
“Good morning, Lord Pierce.”
He looked up when she entered the room. “Good morning, Miss Ramsey.” He rose politely to his feet and offered her a stiff, formal bow, then pulled out a chair for her before the footman could stir a step. “I imagine you’re famished after your frightening ordeal last night. Please, have a seat.”
Isla gave him a gracious nod and accepted the chair. No matter what else one might say of Lord Pierce, his manners were flawless. Some of the sillier young ladies in London complained he was too rigid, his manners too formal, and they tittered at him behind his back for it. It was true he was a bit more serious than most other fashionable gentlemen of the ton, but Isla didn’t care for the sort of gentlemen who strutted about like peacocks.
Besides, in the short time she’d known him, she’d discovered Lord Pierce hid a generous good humor beneath his stiff propriety. She used to enjoy teasing it out of him. It was rather like unwrapping a gift.
But there would be no unwrapping him now. Not today, and not ever again. She didn’t want to think about his humor or his intelligence, or his strangely endearing, awkward charm.
Lord Pierce resumed his seat across from her. “I trust you slept well? You look refreshed.”
“Very well, thank you.” Was he mocking her? She hadn’t slept at all well, and a peek into the looking glass this morning had plainly shown fatigue written into every line of her face.
“I’m pleased to hear it, Miss Ramsey.”
Isla stole a quick glance at him over the edge of her teacup, then immediately wished she hadn’t, because the moment their gazes connected, a memory of the first waltz they’d danced together came rushing back to her. He’d held her in his arms, his warm dark eyes glowing as he gazed down at her. It had been the sort of romantic moment that made a lady tumble headlong into love, without sparing a single thought for the consequences.
Lord Pierce cleared his throat. “I’m afraid a ride to Huntington Lodge today is out of the question. It seems I’m to be so fortunate as to enjoy your company for another day.”
Isla took a hasty sip of her tea to hide her expression. He didn’t sound as though he found it fortunate at all. Well, there was no help for it, but he needn’t have worried. She intended to avoid him as best she could for today and pray for an escape tomorrow.
Hazelwood was a large house—even larger than Huntington Lodge. There were any number of corridors to duck down and dozens of empty rooms to lose one’s self in. She didn’t care for the idea that she’d be scurrying about like a frightened mouse, but it would be far easier for both of them if they kept their distance from each other.
But before she ran away like the coward she’d so clearly become…
Isla set aside her teacup, folded her hands in her lap, and drew a deep breath. “I’m sure you must be busy, my lord, and I don’t wish to keep you from your work, but before we part ways for the day, please allow me to properly express my gratitude for your help last—”
“It was remarkably foolish of you to ride out at all yesterday. When I came across your brothers searching for you, they were as frantic as I’d ever seen them.”
Isla’s heart gave a miserable thump. Yes, her brothers would have been frantic, and she shuddered to think how upset Hyacinth and Iris must have been. Lord Pierce was right. It had been a remarkably foolish thing to do, and an unforgivably selfish one. “I don’t doubt it, my lord, and I regret—”
But Lord Pierce hadn’t finished. “What were you thinking, riding out into that storm? Last night could have ended in tragedy, Miss Ramsey. I hope you realize that.”
Isla blinked, startled by the sudden anger in his voice. “I do realize it, yes, and I’m very grateful for your—”
“I’m at a loss to understand why Lord Huntington permitted you to leave the house at all.”
Isla bit her lip. Finn hadn’t permitted it. No, she’d purposefully evaded him, and sneaked out after promising Hyacinth she wouldn’t. She had quite a few apologies to make when she returned to Huntington Lodge, and if Lord Pierce would just let her speak, she’d offer him a sincere apology, as well. “It wasn’t Finn’s fault, or anyone else’s but my own. I was very wrong to do as I did, and I beg your—”
“Oh, I don’t blame Lord Huntington, Miss Ramsey. I’m well acquainted with your tendency toward…impulsiveness.”
Impulsiveness? Some people found impulsiveness a charming quality, but Lord Pierce clearly wasn’t one of them. She’d never heard that word said with quite so much disdain before, but then maybe he’d used that word when he’d meant something else entirely.
Perhaps he’d meant to call her thoughtless, or rash.
Shameless, indecent…
Well, he wouldn’t be the first to say such things, would he?
Anger sparked to life in Isla’s chest. Lord Pierce had every right to take her to task for her behavior yesterday. She owed him her thanks and her apologies, but one thing she didn’t owe him was an explanation.
After all, the last time she’d asked for an opportunity to explain herself to Lord Pierce, it hadn’t gone well. He’d ordered her never to contact him again. She didn’t intend to make a second attempt to justify her behavior to him.
Yet she also didn’t wish to give in to her temper, either. The truth was, Lord Pierce had done her a good turn, and though she didn’t care for the idea, she was indebted to him.
She laid her fork carefully next to her plate and met his gaze across the table. “Yes, well, be that as it may, what I’m trying to say is I’m profoundly aware of the kindness you did me, and I’ll be forever grateful for your help.”
His mouth turned down at the word grateful, as if he had no use for her gratitude. “Why did you ride into the woods in the first place? It’s the last place you should go during a powerful storm—that is, unless you prefer a tree falling on top of you to a few ice pellets in your bonnet.”
Isla pressed her lips tightly together to bite back a sharp retort. For pity’s sake, she’d only meant to thank the man for his help, and now he was driving her into such a temper she was tem
pted to toss her tea into his face.
Her tea, and her teacup.
“My dear Lord Pierce, ladies don’t wear bonnets to ride,” she drawled sweetly, intentionally missing his point. “Bonnets limit the peripheral vision, you see. Though now you say it, a bonnet would have protected my face from the ice, and then perhaps I wouldn’t have gone into the woods, after all. I’ll have to remember that the next time I ride out in a storm.”
Lord Pierce didn’t seem to find this amusing. “Next time? You mean to say you haven’t learned your lesson?”
She gritted her teeth, but the snide comment she’d meant to lock behind them slipped through her lips all the same. “The world is an imperfect place, Lord Pierce, crowded with imperfect people. They ride out in storms. They ride into woods when they shouldn’t, and fail to learn lessons as quickly as they should. They’re impulsive. I realize that must be difficult for someone as faultless as yourself to accept, and yet there it is, just the same.”
He dropped his fork to his plate with a loud clatter. “At the very least you might have had the sense to stay to the outskirts of the woods. If you’d kept the house in sight, you never would have gotten lost in the first place.”
Isla had to concentrate to keep her mouth from falling open. She’d never heard Lord Pierce speak to anyone so rudely before, but his impeccable manners seemed to have fled for their very lives.
That left only one wise course of action open to Isla, and it wasn’t to sit here and continue to goad an already wrathful marquess. No, she should rise at once, leave the breakfast table, and take every meal in her room until she left Hazelwood.
But apparently, she wasn’t quite the coward she’d accused herself of being earlier, because that wasn’t what she did. No, she remained right where she was, and proceeded to goad the wrathful marquess.
“Yes, you’re quite right, my lord. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think…oh, wait. I did think of that. Indeed, I’d intended to stay at the edge of the woods, but the falling tree limbs frightened Sophie, and she bolted. By the time I got her under control, I’d lost sight of the house.”