Page 24 of Wicked Rivals
Charles leaned against the bay window, peering out in the darkness. “I say, do you get many beggars on this road, Ash?”
Ashton propped one hip on the edge of the billiard table. “Out here? Not particularly. Why?”
Charles pointed to the windows. “You seem to have one, and he’s headed straight to your front door. Muddy little thing, it seems.”
Ashton set his cue down and joined Charles at the window. It was nearly an hour past midnight, and only the light from the windows provided any illumination upon the poor figure trailing its way up to his house.
“It’s a woman, I think,” said Jonathan.
“I think you’re right,” said Charles. “Hard to tell with all that mud, however.”
“Perhaps you ought to check on the poor creature?” Jonathan suggested.
Ashton nodded. “Yes. I’ll only be a moment.” He left his two friends and headed for the front door. When he reached it, he heard a faint scratching sound and then a heavy thump as though something heavy had hit the door. Or someone.
Ashton pulled the door open and stepped back as the entrance hall lamps colored the pathetic, crumpled form of a woman on his doorstep. He knelt down and reached for her shoulder and rolled her over. His mind went blank for a second as he stared down at the person at his feet.
Lady Melbourne was lying unconscious at his feet, soaked and chilled to the bone.
“Good God!” He recovered and dug around until he could get one arm under the woman’s knees and his other arm under her back. What was she doing here? No, that he knew well enough, but why like this? How had she traveled in this weather on foot?
Charles appeared on one side and Jonathan on the other. “What’s the matter?”
Ashton grunted as he rose and carried the heavy, water-logged, muddy woman inside.
Charles tried to peer over Ashton’s shoulder. “Wait a minute. I know that face.”
“I can’t believe she’s here,” Ashton murmured to himself. He cradled the woman close, oddly protective of her. But of course he was. This was his fault. Whatever had driven her to this, he was ultimately responsible for it.
“Who is she?” Jonathan asked.
“Lady Rosalind Melbourne,” said Charles.
Ashton ignored the men following at his heels. He headed straight to his bedchamber. Jonathan rushed ahead to open the door.
“Jon, fetch my sister and her lady’s maid. I know it’s late, but we have an emergency.” Ashton called for Charles to lay out a blanket on the bed before he placed the wet, muddy woman on it. Her dark, heavy hair was thick and sticking to her face. Ashton brushed the locks back. Rosalind looked like a half-drowned kitten, and damned if the sight wasn’t upsetting.
He had expected her arrival eventually, but in a coach, accompanied by solicitors. She was not supposed to endanger herself in a storm like this. It stirred within him two emotions he tried to avoid: pity and tenderness. And he knew this creature was generally strong enough to need neither.
“What on earth were you thinking?” he said to himself, taking in her features. The creamy pale skin that glowed like alabaster and the long lashes that fanned across her cheeks. Her heart-shaped face and soft rose-colored lips seemed ready-made for smiles and kisses.
“Ash?” Joanna’s weary voice came from the doorway. She was clutching her dressing gown, her blond hair in waves about her face. He hastily sidestepped away from the bed.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Joanna, but we are in need of your assistance.” He gestured to Rosalind’s unconscious figure on the bed.
His sister rushed to the bed, her maid Julia behind her. Both women gaped at Rosalind.
“Who is she? What happened?” Joanna put the back of one hand over Rosalind’s forehead.
“This is Rosalind Melbourne. As to what happened, I am not entirely sure. It seems she may have walked here through the storms.”
Joanna put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. “Julia and I will take care of things from here. You must go outside at once. All of you.”
Ashton realized Charles and Jonathan had been flanking him the whole time like silent sentinels.
With a nod he encouraged them to leave, but as he closed the door he remained in his chambers. Joanna and Julia didn’t seem to notice at first.
“Ah, the poor dear’s half-frozen,” Julia said with her Irish lilt. “Soaked to the bone, too. I’ll prepare a bath. You strip her out of those muddy clothes.”
