Page 8 of The Hired Hero
Unfortunately, when in his cups, his brother had become as free and easy with his fists as he had been with his pretty words.
Davenport’s face darkened as he recalled his first sight of the bruises. Helen had begged him not to make a scene. So, once again, he had dutifully done what was asked of him, no matter the cost to his own feelings. Had Helen truly any notion of what torture it had been to watch what was happening to her? His own suffering must surely have been nearly as painful as hers.
He lifted a finger to trace the thin white scar on his cheekbone as his jaw tightened in anger. Rather than stand up for herself, Helen had turned to him for comfort. How unfair a burden! Why was it that he fell prey to vulnerable females? Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what it would be like to care for someone capable of giving as well as taking.
Well, his brother was dead now, and Davenport intended to bury his own past weaknesses along with him. He meant to finally get on with his own life.
But first, he would uncork another bottle.
* * *
Caroline hadno notion of how long she had been lying in a daze. It was still dark, and the rain had begun anew—light, intermittent drops, but chilling to the bone. She pushed herself into a sitting position, fighting down a new wave of nausea as pain lanced through her left arm. She couldn’t move it, but with her right hand, she assured herself that the small packet sewn into the bodice of her gown was still there. The feel of it triggered the memory of the conversation between her assailants she had heard.
It all seemed so unreal.
But then her fingers moved up to her bruised face—and came away sticky with blood.
Think, think!Caroline knew that she had to move from where she was. With daylight hovering on the horizon, there was a good chance that the men might return. Summoning all her strength, she managed to crawl out from the gorse and make her way back up to the road.
Feeling dizzy from the effort, she slumped against a tree for support and made herself breathe deeply as she pulled her muddy cloak tightly around her aching body. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. Clouds scudded across the sky, revealing a pale moon. In the faint light, she saw that the road made a sharp bend up ahead and disappeared into a forest of live oak and beeches. However, she quickly decided against such a course, which would make her too vulnerable to her attackers. Given the steep ravine that skirted the right side of the road, she was left with no choice—on the other side of the road was a field, and at its far edge was a copse of trees.
With slow, shaky steps, she set out for their shelter.
The trees turned out to be a larger wooded area than it had first appeared. Though thankful for the cover, Caroline found it difficult to pick her way through the tangle of brush and brambles.
One step at a time, she repeated to herself.And then another…and another.
She forced herself to keep moving. Only once, while crossing a small stream, did she allow herself to stop for a moment. The water felt cool and comforting as she drank thirstily and washed the worst of the dirt and dried blood from her face. The urge to lie down was overwhelming, but she forced herself back to her feet.
She had to keep going.
Dawn’s pink glow slowly tinted the horizon. Caroline wended her way out of the trees and passed through a number of fields overgrown with weeds and wild blackberry bushes before stumbling upon some sort of path. Birds began chirping as the light became stronger. A fox darted out in front of her, returning to its den from a nocturnal hunting foray. Startled, she stopped dead in her tracks, then chided herself for being so skittish. Just a little farther, she promised herself, but somehow her feet wouldn’t obey her commands any longer.
Swaying slightly, she crumpled to the ground.
Four
Davenport winced as the sunlight struck his face. He turned his face to escape the piercing rays and groaned as the movement provoked a dull throbbing at his temples. Then it slowly occurred to him that the sun never came into his bedchamber at such an angle. He reluctantly pried one eye open and took in the carved fireplace, now cold with gray ashes, the oak bookcases…
Ah, that explained it.He had never made it to his bed last night.
Grimacing, Davenport struggled into a sitting position. The couch had been deucedly uncomfortable on his back, but that part of his anatomy wasn’t aching nearly as much as his head. He spied two empty bottles on the rug and a third one, nearly gone, on the table next to the stump of a candle.
Muttering a low oath, he swung his feet to the carpet.Ye gods, he hadn’t even removed his muddy boots.
Raking a hand through his tangled hair, the earl glanced at the tall case clock. It was barely five thirty in the morning. Jarrett was to arrive for their meeting at nine.
“Bloody hell.” He brushed his palm over the rough stubble on his chin. He must have looked as awful as he felt. A breath of fresh air would no doubt help to clear his head. There would, he decided, be plenty of time after a ride for a bath and a shave.
Davenport rose, and despite being a trifle unsteady on his feet, he managed to pull on his coat. At least the unwrinkled garment looked marginally better than the rest of him.
Not that it mattered.
There wouldn’t be a soul abroad to take in his shocking state of dishevelment at this hour, not along the path he intended to ride.
* * *
The wind did indeed slapsome life back into him, though his horse’s spirited gallop caused his queasy stomach to give a lurch or two. After a short interval, the earl eased the big stallion to a sedate walk, then smiled as the animal tossed his head in disgust at being denied his usual distance.
