Page 62 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
If he’d not spent his life conditioning himself to never reveal what he thought, what he felt, he might have gasped, recoiled, scrambled back. Instead he gave no reaction at all. Merely studied the tableau as though it were something he saw every day.
Rose and the giant stood there, between them supporting—he wasn’t certain what it was. A man perhaps. Almost certainly. But grotesquely misshapen. His head far too large for his body, a body that had obviously betrayed him as it dipped, bent, jutted out in ways that should have been impossible.
Had he been in an accident? Blood poured from a gash in what might have been his skull and dotted his clothing. Scrapes and discolorations marred the skin of a hideously distorted face.
For some reason, his right hand and arm—which Rose clung to—appeared normal. The other was shaped more like a seal’s flipper, the fingers barely recognizable as such.
Rose didn’t appear horrified that Avendale was there but then she was obviously concerned with the fellow she was trying to help across the foyer. Avendale suspected her anger would arrive shortly enough. Without thought, he crossed over to her. “I’ll relieve you of the burden of assisting him.”
“He’s not a burden,” she snapped, and he realized he’d misjudged. She was furious.
And reluctant to trust him. It stung. It also hurt to see the bruise forming on her cheek, the sleeve in her dress torn at the seam. Her hair was loose, the ribbon gone. Someone had hurt her, and he hadn’t been about to protect her. “It’ll be easier for him if someone closer to his height is providing the support.”
She hesitated but a heartbeat before saying, “Yes, all right. Just take care that you don’t hurt him.”
As though it were even possible not to cause him pain. Avendale slid his shoulder under this ... person’s arm. The man grunted. “Sorry, old chap,” Avendale said, as Rose eased off to the side.
“This way,” she said, and began leading them down the familiar hallway.
“What happened to him?” Merrick asked as he came forward.
“He was set upon by ruffians,” Rose said.
Avendale understood her unkempt state now. She would have charged into the fray. He had a need to pound his fist into something, someone.
“I told him not to go out but then he snuck out when I wasn’t looking,” the dwarf muttered.
“It’s all right, Merrick,” she said. “Fetch some towels and warm water. We need to get him into dry clothes.”
She guided them into the library. With as much gentleness as possible, Avendale and the giant eased the man onto the bed. Against the head of the bed, the giant leaned a walking stick he’d been holding in one skeletal-like hand.
“He needs to sit up against the pillows,” Rose told them. “He can’t breathe well if he’s lying down.”
When the man was situated, Rose sat on the edge of the bed and gently cupped what at one time might have been a cheek. “Everything’s going to be all right, sweetest.”
The man didn’t say anything, but his blue gaze, one similar to Rose’s, was homed in on Avendale. It was unsettling, the intensity of his scrutiny. “I’ll have my coachman fetch my physician,” Avendale announced. “He’s one of the finest in London.”
She looked up at him. “I can’t afford the finest.”
“Our time together is not yet over, Rose. They are my expenses to cover.”
“This isn’t what you bargained for.”
“I bargained for whatever would keep you with me for a week. Don’t start splitting hairs now.” He felt an irrational need to claim her, to ensure she understood things between them were not yet over. That the man in the bed understood that she was his.
“All right, then, yes, thank you. I suppose introductions are in order.” She wrapped both her hands around the man’s good one. “Your Grace, allow me the honor of introducing you to Mr. Harry Longmore.”
The man to whom she was supposedly inseparable.
“My brother.”
Chapter 13
Rose sat on a sofa in the parlor, one of Avendale’s large hands covering both of hers as they rested in her lap. How she longed for a bench in the hallway outside Harry’s room. The physician was with him now. A Sir William Graves. Apparently, he was not only the best but he served the queen. He also had a very quiet, yet confident demeanor. Harry was not usually comfortable with strangers, yet he had seemed so with Sir William.
“Is your name Longmore as well?” Avendale asked quietly.
She’d known he’d have questions. That his first was about her name took her by surprise. “Yes. Rosalind Longmore. I change the surname, never the first. It’s easier.”
