by Ava Rose
Her chin quivered and her eyes glistened with tears. “I just want her to be all right.”
Pen moved across to her seat and pulled her into his arms, running his hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. “I want that too, more than anything.” She sniffed and his heart twisted, monumentally surprising him.
He didn’t want to make Anna cry.
Tightening his arms around her, he said, “I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”
She didn’t respond, causing him to pull away to look at her face. She was scrupulously trying to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling. Very gently, he took her face in both his hands and pressed his lips to her eyes, causing them to close and the tears to spill. He pulled away to wipe the wetness off her soft cheeks.
“Don’t hold them in. Let them flow. I am here,” he whispered.
“You should take your own advice,” she said as more tears streamed down her cheeks.
He smiled a little as his heart twisted again. “I don’t need to cry.”
“But you need to release your pent-up emotions.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He lowered his head until their lips were a mere hairsbreadth apart. Closing his eyes, he let their closeness fill his senses; her lovely scent—lavender—her warm breath against his lips, the feeling of her in his arms. Despite the torrent of emotions raging inside him, he felt comfort.
Tenderly, Pen brushed his lips against her cheek, then traced the line of her jaw to her ear. A very subtle exotic scent arrested his nose and his nostrils flared in response. Kissing the tender spot below her ear caused her to shiver, sending waves of sensual echoes through him. Her hand came up to stroke his cheek and the feel of her soft fingers against his stubble-roughened cheek was almost too much to bear, so he pulled away and looked into the cerulean depths of her eyes.
He wanted to kiss her thoroughly, he truly did, but he was suddenly afraid of doing so.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Pen pulled away, Anna silently screamed at the bereavement. He stared into her eyes for a long moment, unblinking. It was as though he’d seen something fearful, and the icy tentacles of insecurity snaked up to grab her senses. Unable to bear his regard any longer, she closed her eyes and turned away, scooting to the other end of the seat.
Her movement seemed to pull him out of his daze and he blinked several times before clearing his throat. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties.”
Anna had never been more embarrassed in her life. Here she had thought he was starting to feel something for her. But just like last time, he seemed to be filled with regret. What was worse, was that she had fallen off the edge and into the unknown. Whether or not she examined her true feelings, her heart was already breaking and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She failed to understand why he would initiate that sort of intimacy only to snuff out the light. Was she so very repulsive? Or was he that cold-hearted?
Rapidly blinking her tears away, she reached into her purse and retrieved Libby’s diary. It was the only book she had with her and she was in desperate want of employment. Something to divert her mind from matters of her own heart.
Her trembling fingers found a page and she willed her eyes to look and her mind to read. It appeared to be an entry Anna had not seen before. Libby wrote about her mother’s desire to have a grandchild, detailing the list of gentlemen she had her sights on for Libby, and those ladies who might be suitable for Penforth. Her own name was not on the latter list.
Anna snapped the small volume shut and let out a long slow breath. She could feel Pen’s enigmatic gaze on her and she disliked it. She disliked a lot of things right now, especially being confined in this space.
“Stop the carriage, “ she said stiffly.
“Why? Are you all right?”
“Just stop. Please.”
He rapped on the carriage roof to signal the driver and a short stint later, they slowed to a halt. Before he could move, she swung the door open and hopped down, not even waiting for the small set of steps to be unfolded. She gathered her heavy skirts and began stalking toward Pelham’s carriage which had stopped a short distance away.
“Anna!” Pen called, catching up to her. “What is the matter?”
“I should be asking you that,” she ground out, not slowing her pace.
Taking hold of her arm, he forced her to stop and when she almost lost her balance, he caught her in his arms. She pried herself from his grip and gathered up her skirts again. The light rain was beginning to increase.
“Let’s get back inside the carriage and you can tell me what is wrong,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she half-snapped. “And I don’t want to ride in your carriage.”
The skies rumbled in the distance before a large flash signaled an oncoming storm. Pen squinted up for a moment before looking back at her. “We need to get moving, Anna. We are not even halfway there and if this storm catches us on the road, we’ll have a bigger complication to contend with than simply sharing a carriage.”
“Fine, go back to your carriage and I will ride with Pelham.”
“I would rather you ride in mine. I do not trust Pelham.”
Frustration tightened her voice. “I don’t want to argue with you.” She continued walking.
“Your safety matters to me, Anna.”
“Penforth, I don’t care and I don’t want to talk right now!”
He must have realized at last that arguing was futile, because he let her go. She did not look back to check whether he was still standing where she’d left him. Instead, she climbed up into Pelham’s carriage without assistance and pulled the door closed before arranging her now-damp skirts about her.
Your safety matters to me. Did it really, though? She’d been stupid to let her heart soften toward him. His implication that she was selfish enough to not want Libby to marry so they could remain spinsters together should have given her enough warning to stay away. But her fluttery heart had yielded to his soft kisses and sensual caresses.
Resolving to steel herself and raise her guard back up, she turned to look out the window at the rain. The crash of thunder and the fingers of lightning that struck the sky made her recoil. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked nervously about the carriage interior.
It was a very old vehicle, several years out of fashion, but still seemed sturdy enough. The paint on the wood had all but faded and the seats creaked with every roll of the carriage wheels. As her eyes roamed the frayed red velvet covering the seats, she caught sight of a cream-colored piece of fabric sticking out from between the cushions.
Anna pulled it out to examine, and realized it was a ribbon from the dress Libby had initially planned to wear on the evening of the soirée. She knew the ribbon well, because Libby had borrowed the dress from Anna. In the end, she had settled instead on the emerald green because she thought it matched her hazel eyes better. Had Libby changed into this one when she went to her room that night? Anna fingered the cream organza, tracing the unique pattern of black embroidered swirls as she pondered.
She’d believed Pelham, of course, but the discovery of this dress piece confirmed his veracity as well as assured her that they were following the right trail. She searched the carriage interior for more clues but unfortunately came up empty.
Suddenly, there was a cracking sound. No sooner had the sound registered than she was thrown off her seat. There was a sharp pain in her head as she hit the opposite wall, and then nothing.
***
Penforth sat up, alert, as soon as he felt the carriage slow. Once it halted, he opened the door and stepped down. His blood froze in his veins at the sight of Pelham’s turned-over carriage. He didn't stop to ask what had happened or why. He merely took flight toward the wreck.
Time slowed and his body quickened. His leg pain was forgotten as he raced toward Anna. It felt like an eternity. She was in there somewh
ere and she was probably hurt.
Pelham was struggling to heft his storky body up onto the carriage door which now faced up toward the sky, and at first glance, Pen saw the reason for the carriage turning over. The right back wheel had broken, presumably from a sudden descent into a ditch, and almost half the carriage was now sunken in the mire. In front, he could see the team struggling to stand but restrained by their harness. The horses could injure themselves if they continued pulling against their harness like that.
"Free the horses!" he shouted to Pelham before launching himself onto the carriage and wrenching at the door.
The weathered wood provided him with enough friction to heave himself to the top, but his weight began to sink the whole contraption more quickly into the mud-filled ditch. He had to act fast and get Anna out before the entire thing disappeared.
As he yanked at the door he almost got hit in the face when it opened more quickly than expected. Apparently, Anna had been on the other side trying to push the door open, fighting gravity.
She was afraid. He could see it in her wide eyes.
Planting his feet firmly, he bent down and reached for her.
"Hold onto my arms as tightly as you can," he instructed.
She did as he asked and he began pulling her up. Their collective weight, combined with the force they were exerting, caused the carriage to lurch and Pen almost lost his balance. She yelped and tightened her grip.
"I have you," he assured, his breath coming in rasps. "Hold on, Anna. I have you."
As soon as half her body was out, he quickly transferred his grip to her waist. Her freed arms came up about his shoulders and she held onto him tightly while he called for his driver to assist in carrying her down. She was shivering and looked much agitated when he climbed down after her. Without wasting any more time, he swept her up into his arms and over to his carriage.
It was when he was trudging through the wet road in the rain with her in his arms that he realized how angry he was. This would not have happened if she had remained with him, where he could protect her. But then he glanced down and found the anger ebbing away. Anna looked so small and fragile in his arms. He couldn’t remain angry with her. He didn’t want to.
“We are turning back and taking you home,” he said after she was settled in the carriage.
“No!” she cried. “I am fine. I am not hurt anywhere.”
“I would rather you’re home. You’ll be safer there.”
“Not this again. I am fine, Penforth, and I insist we continue. Libby needs the two of us whether or not you choose to believe it.”
This version of Anna—the one pressing him to continue his search for his sister with her—and the vulnerable Anna of moments ago were like two entirely different people.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied tightly. “We are running out of time, Pen.”
She was right about time being against them, of course, but for some strange reason he had a feeling that she was not telling him the full truth.
“Fine.”
He returned to Pelham, who’d successfully freed his horses and was circling his carriage, presumably trying to determine how to get it out of the ditch.
“We will continue the journey. You will sit with my driver and direct him,” he said.
“With all due respect, sir, look at my carriage.” He waved at the carnage. “How am I supposed to pull this thing out in this rain? Not to talk about the cost of repairing it. And look, one of my horses is limping.”
Pen didn’t have the patience for this man’s complaining. “I’ll buy you a new carriage.” He raised his hand and motioned to his footman to come over. “How far are we from Lexington?”
“A couple of miles.”
The wounded horse likely could not make the distance.
“Is there a small town or village in between?”
“We just left Arlington, sir.”
“Do you think your horses can make it there?”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to the footman. “James, you will take the horses to Arlington. Find a new horse on which to ride back and meet us in Lexington.”
“Right away, sir.”
While James went to carry out his master’s bidding, Penforth looked back at Pelham and asked, his voice laced with irony. “Will that be all?”
“Thank you very much, sir.” The man bowed and hurried to take his new place beside the driver.
Pen climbed back into the carriage and they began moving again. Anna was hugging herself when he sat down. She must have left her cloak behind in the other carriage. He picked up his greatcoat that was thankfully dry and handed it to her. She wrapped the heavy wool about her and leaned back, closing her eyes.
The way she winced while leaning back, and the careful way she moved her head, told him the tale of what had happened when that carriage turned. It was apparent that Anna must have been hurt and was attempting to hide her pain. Perhaps it was foolish to allow her to continue the journey, but he silently resolved to take her home the moment she showed signs of worsening.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a silver flask. He never went anywhere without it and it was hardly ever empty. He unscrewed the cap and passed the flask to her.
“Here. It will help warm you.”
She took it and paused to admire the scrollwork around the flask before taking a cautious sip. “Whiskey,” she said after swallowing.
“You don’t like it?” He pulled off his gloves and placed them beside him before shrugging out of his wet afternoon coat and spreading it out on the seat next to the gloves.
“I do,” she assured him. “Thank you.” She took a couple more sips before passing it back.
Unlike her, he took a large swig, enjoying the trail of fire the liquid set as it flowed down his throat. He took another draft before putting the drink away. His eyes were on her throughout and he wondered if she was still upset with him. Being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue and blazing eyes felt better than watching her tightly clutch that coat to her as she fought to stay warm.
Cursing under his breath, he moved across to sit beside her, and tugged at the coat. “Give me your hands.”
She did, and he removed her black leather gloves, then took her small icy hands in his and began rubbing them.
“You’ll get warm quicker this way.”
“This would not have happened if I had stayed here,” she said quietly. “I am sorry.”
He didn’t say anything. He tried to pull her to him, and she winced.
“I…I may have hit my head,” she confessed when he gave her a questioning look.
“Oh, God, Anna!” He sighed.
“You were going to send me home,” she said almost sullenly.
“Only because I want you well.”
“I am well enough. And the whiskey has helped.” Her eyes were pleading.
“Come here.” He pulled her to him, gentler this time—not that he’d been rough earlier. Eventually her steady breathing told him she’d fallen asleep, and he took the opportunity to place a soft kiss on the top of her head.
A heavy feeling settled in his heart as he held her. Somehow, he’d moved from watching Anna from a distance and keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself, to spending three full days in her company and allowing those feelings to grow. He’d convinced himself that he had his emotions in check. But as he held her now, he knew he had lost the battle in regard to how he felt about Duchess Wrexford, Lady Anna Trevallyn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When she woke, the pain in her head had abated substantially. The liquor had worked quite well and Anna couldn’t be more relieved. She’d been afraid Pen would send her home and she would miss out on finding her friend.
The comfortable—almost too comfortable—warmth around her reminded her that she was in Pen’s arms. She’d slept in Pen’s arms. She sighed, her emotions conflicted. Part of her wished she could remain here in the cir
cle of his embrace forever.
“Are you awake?” he whispered.
She nodded but didn’t move.
“How long have I been asleep?” She tried to nestle closer without him noticing, although she suspected he would. He was very observant.
“Half an hour or so.” He sounded tired.
“I thought it was longer than that.”
“How do you feel?” He looked down at her.
“Better. Much better.”
He smiled. “Good. We’re almost there.”
Anna pulled away from him reluctantly and removed a small mirror from her purse. The purse she’d forgotten about when she stalked off in a huff earlier. Luckily it had stayed dry in Pen’s carriage. Checking her reflection, she was glad she’d done her hair in a simple bun at her nape. Although it was somewhat mussed and damp, the damage was tolerable and almost presentable. She smoothed back the locks that had escaped and checked her face for any damage from the accident. All seemed to be as it should.
The carriage began to slow and Pen reached for his coat and hat. His bad leg was stretched out in front of him.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask why you do not carry a cane. Lots of fashionable gentlemen often do.”
He turned to look at her, his surprise apparent. “Are you seriously asking that?”
She frowned. “I don’t see why not. And, why should you not wish to answer?”
“Their legs are perfectly fine and so their use of a cane is not for function, but merely fashionable…”
He didn’t complete his response. He didn’t need to. The disgust in his tone at that last word spoke volumes.
“I thought a cane would help,” she said softly, feeling guilty for bringing up such an obviously sensitive topic.
He sighed, somewhat dramatically, she thought. “Truth be told, it would. Having it relieve some weight from my leg would be excellent, but I don’t want to use one. Walking is exercise, and movement is what the leg requires.” His dark eyes met hers. “I had to teach myself to walk again, and spent many hours forcing my leg to not give up on me. I am better off without a cane.”