Page 18 of A Raven Reborn

“I’m sorry,” she said desperately, her body stiffening in his arms. “I’ll go.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Patrick stopped in the middle of the hall, but rather than let her go, he squeezed her more tightly against him to keep her from tumbling onto the floor. “Stop, just stop,” he said, his voice rising with his own worry. “I’ll put you down, just hold still so I don’t drop you.”

Rosalyn stopped moving, and he set her gently on her feet. He held her shoulders and gazed down at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

She shook her head, but didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said softly. She raised her eyes then, to meet his. There was such a jumble of emotions there, he couldn’t read them. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Patrick.”

At least she had used his name. “Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For calling me Patrick.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Goodnight, Rosie.” Using her shoulders, he turned her toward the door to his bedroom and nudged her lightly.

Halfway to Patrick’s chamber, she stopped and turned back. “You never told me about your shoulder.”

He chuckled. “You never asked.”

She started back toward him, but he shook his head and pointed. With a huff, she folded her arms across her chest and, head held high, strode the rest of the way down the hall.

A laugh bubbled up inside his chest. “Tomorrow, Rosie. You can ask tomorrow.”

ChapterSeven

The house was quiet when Rosalyn woke, but it wasn’t long before Finch came knocking.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Rosalyn asked when he poked his head into the room.

“Ha!” He waved a hand in front of him. “His lordship doesn’t pay me to sleep.” He gave her a wink, followed by a giggle.

Why didn’t his winks affect her the same way as Patrick’s? “Why do you call him that, Finch?”

“To get under his skin, usually.” He was carrying a tray of tea and set it on what had become her usual table. “Although, I wouldn’t recommend it,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Rosalyn laughed. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” She took a sip of her tea. “Lord what? Who is he?”

Finch stopped in the middle of making the bed and shook his head. “No. Nope. We are not having this conversation.” He tugged at the blankets. “That is something you’ll have to get out of Patrick. I value my job, and my hide, too much to share details about his life. He’s a very private man.”

“Come, Finch. Why is it such a secret?” She turned in the seat to face him and placed her saucer on the table.

“It isn’t really a secret, it’s just that he left that part of his life behind, and he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.” He ran a hand over the counterpane brushing out the wrinkles. “And that’s all I will say on the matter.”

“I guess I’ll just have to add that to the things I’d like to ask him tonight.” She settled back into the chair again. “Perhaps if I make him another delicious meal, he’ll be more likely to open up.” She smiled mischievously at Finch. “Will you take me to the market?”

Finch shook his head. “Make me a list of what you want, and I will pick it up for you. Now, I’m going to prepare you a bath. Ella will be here in a little while.”

“Ella is coming again?” How many gowns did she really need?

“Apparently,” he said as he walked through the doorway. Rosalyn got the feeling he was trying to escape before she could ask any more questions. “List,” he said, nodding toward the desk before he closed the door.

Grudgingly, she set to the task. She’d much rather get out and do it herself, but she certainly didn’t want to cause trouble for Finch again. One more thing to discuss with Patrick. Perhaps she needed to make a list for that, as well.

Today, Ella had brought her two gowns that were more appropriate for working in and a couple of aprons. They had made cooking so much easier. Since Patrick had enjoyed the beef stew so much, she had opted for a lamb version this time, along with some freshly baked bread Finch had picked up from the baker. Now, she waited. She sat, in her usual spot, wearing her nightgown and wrap, straining to hear any sounds of Patrick’s return.

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