Page 33 of A Raven Reborn

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I can’t even seem to keep her safe from me.”

“Just go home, Patrick. She’s waiting for you.”

Perhaps waiting for him wasn’t quite the proper description. The smell of alcohol assaulted him when he entered his study, after finding his bedroom deserted. Rosie’s top half was sprawled on his desk and she snored, her deep sleep undoubtedly alcohol induced. Could he blame her? It was exactly what he would like to do. He sighed and gently removed the glass she still held loosely in her hand, before it tipped and spilled its contents across the papers on his desk.

Patrick never left paperwork lying on the desktop, so he took a closer look at what she’d found. A lead weight fell into his stomach. Just when he thought the night couldn’t possibly get any worse. On the top of the stack was a letter from his pompous brother, who couldn’t even write a letter to his own brother without signing it with his full name, title and all.

Your brother,

Edward Michael Benjamin Woodcombe

Sixth Marquess of Epworth

“Fuck.” He breathed the word out quietly. So much for easing her into his other life.

* * *

Rosalyn’s head pounded as she lifted it from the hard surface and squinted at her surroundings. Where was she? She blinked a few times before everything came into clearer focus. Ah yes, Patrick’s study. As she sat up, a piece of paper fluttered to the desktop. Apparently, it had been stuck to her cheek. She spotted the signature at the bottom of the letter, and it all came flooding back to her. Patrick was the brother of a marquess. Patrick, the man who had practically demanded she marry him, was the brother of a marquess. She groaned as she stretched her stiff neck.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake.” Rosalyn’s head whipped around at the voice, and she swayed, suddenly off balance.

“Patrick?” She blinked a few times, trying to focus on him rather than the roiling in her stomach.

There was an apology in his half smile. “I can see I have a lot of explaining to do. But first, you need some coffee.”

“Is Finch alright?” she asked, remembering the reason she’d spent the night alone in Patrick’s study.

“Yes.” Patrick nodded. “A bit worse for wear, but he’ll live.” Relief washed over her. She’d seen the urgency on Ash’s face.

“Ash just sent word that he is awake and drinking broth. The doctor says that means his prognosis for a full recovery is good.”

“I’m so glad!” A girl entered the room then, carrying a tray, but where had she come from?

“Miss.” She inclined her head and then turned to Patrick for instruction.

“Just place it on the desk, please, Mary.” With a nod, she did as she was bid and then turned back to Patrick.

“I thought Miss Rosie might be in want of some toast, as well.”

Patrick smiled at her with what appeared to be pride? Who was this young lady?

“Thank you, Mary. I’m sure it will be much appreciated.” The girl beamed at him, and then seemed to remember herself.

“My lord,” she said softly and dropped into a deep curtsey before turning and leaving the room.

Patrick rose and made his way to the seat where Rosalyn had always sat across from him. It felt somehow wrong to be sitting on his side of the desk. She swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty for snooping through his private things.

“Here,” he said, placing a steaming cup of black coffee in front of her. “It will help with the headache.”

She’d never had coffee before and wrinkled her nose as the bitterness settled on her tongue.

Patrick chuckled. “It will grow on you,” he said, encouraging her to take another sip. She did, but it wasn’t any better than the first.

She nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast, unsure if it would settle her stomach or just upset it even more. After a few bites, it definitely seemed to be helping, but she daren’t press her luck. She set the remaining half back on the tray and looked up at Patrick.

His eyes didn’t look away and after a moment, he let out a long sigh. “Perhaps it’s because I’m a coward, but I was hoping you might want a bath and to get freshened up. Then we could discuss, well,”—he nodded at the papers on the desk—“that, over our usual game of cards?”

Rosalyn raised her eyebrows. A bath did sound inviting, and despite everything, his obvious if inexplicable dread of their upcoming conversation, pulled at her heartstrings a bit.

---