Page 52 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
She pressed her face into the crook of his neck as he stood. Her weight was gossamer to him, or it could be that the rush in his veins made her feel insubstantial. Cradling her in his arms he began to walk toward the stables, feeling her soft breaths on his skin and her nose sniffling whimpers as she held back her pain.
He tried to pace his steps even as everything was prodding him to run, but he did not want to aggravate her injury. He had to get his precious burden somewhere safe.
Bessie was plodding beside him obediently and they finally got to the stables from the long walk. Over half a mile, Heath judged. The moon was disappearing behind a cloud, and Heath loathed having to put Penelope down, but he had to get Bessie inside to cover Penelope’s actions from her brother. A horse out of the stable was sign enough, but for it to be her horse, that would invoke a hail of trouble.
“I am going to have to set you down, Penelope,” he said, unaware of how he was using her given name. “Can you manage to lean against the wall while I get Bessie inside?”
“I...should,” her words were barely heard as he slowly put her legs down first and then helped to the side of the barn, grimacing at how cold it was. He managed to get the door open and Bessie inside. As quickly as he could, with one eye on the door and the other with Bessie, he unsaddled the mare in record time and brushed her hair down to hide any telltale marks.
With her back in her stall, he stopped and said, “Thank you. You saved her life.”
“No,” Penelope said weakly from the inside door, “you did.”
Her voice warmed him as he closed the stall and then went to her. “Will you let me see your shoulder?”
Silently, she shifted on her place and offered her shoulder to him. With trained fingers, Heath skimmed over the joint on her shoulder and arm and sighed in relief that the limb was not dislocated. Her arm was probably banged up instead of broken. He felt her eyes on him while he searched lightly but did not dare look.
“It’s not broken,” he said softly. “If you were thrown and you fell on it, it might feel that way.”
“You called me by my name,” she said quietly.
Heath’s pressed his lips and swallowed, “I apologize. I did not mean to overstep my—”
“No,” she stopped him with a shake of her head and tiny tendrils slipped over her temples to her cheeks. “Please, no. I—it feels right that y—I mean…I don’t mind.”
Her eyes darted away from him and he suddenly yearned to reach up and cup her cheek, kiss her perhaps. She looked so soft and vulnerable that his protective instincts flared, and he came closer. Her eyes were glimmering and soft so he added, “And you can call me Heath.”
By magnetism, his hand drifted up to finger a loose curl of her hair. It felt a bit dry, but he had seen it in its silky waves before and wondered what touching it in that state would feel like before catching himself and dropping his hand. “Let us get you back inside.”
With an arm around her waist, Heath led her up to the stairs and inside. They took the stairs, one by one until he got her to her rooms. “Should I get Miss Bell to—”
He needn’t ask as the lady maid in question was dozing across a chaise lounge in the dark anterooms. She startled awake when their footsteps neared. “My Lady…” she began but her voice lowered to a strangled whisper, “what happened?”
Setting her down beside the other woman, Heath immediately felt the loss of her warmth beside him but stepped back appropriately. No one could know about their new-founded closeness.
“I fell,” Penelope sighed then, looked up at him, and even though dim, he could see the gratefulness in her eyes, “Mr. Moore found me—and yes Martha, how he did it unbeknownst to me too—but I’m gratefully he did.”
He felt urged to clarify, “I couldn’t sleep…I have been known to go to Duke when I can’t. When I got there, I found Bessie coming to the stables in only her saddle. It was very easy to deduce what happened.”
“Nevertheless…” Penelope eased herself up and came to him, “Thank you…Martha…” she said while not moving her eyes from his said, “Please get a tub of water ready.”
Heath automatically stepped away as they were alone once more, but Penelope boldly followed him. Her gaze was too knowing for his comfort. “You are not like the rest…are you?”
I wish I could tell you…
Again, her question was not asked to be answered, and even if he did try to answer it, he was at a loss of what to say. Her hand lifted to hover in uncertainty between then and Heath felt himself slowly leaning forward before sensibility struck him like a blow to his face but he continued to bend, forming a bow instead of letting her touch him. “Goodnight, My Lady.”
With that, he left her doorway and went back to his spartan quarters, wishing he could have stayed, but not envying the questions Penelope was going to be forced to answer.
Laying in the camouflage of night, he allowed himself to consciously say her name. “Penelope.”
It sounded right to his ears, just as the feeling in the middle of his chest felt when he pictured her golden eyes. It felt like heaven. But then…thinking of who and what he was and what he had come to do…would she feel the same?
* * *
Whites Gentleman’s Club, London
“We need your answer,” a hard voice said above him. Shadowed eyes looked up to meet the hard, demanding look and tense jaw.
