Lord Valorous(19)

A key turned and then the door slowly opened.

"Miss March?"

She wore her blue coat and a green scarf. Her hair wasn't on top of her head, but hung in a long tail to her waist. It was brown, a deep, nutmeg color, and Jacob had the ridiculous urge to touch it. Her face was pale, dark rings were smudged beneath her red-rimmed eyes, and her usually animated face was closed and tight with pain.

"Are you unwell?"

"I-I was resting."

"At midday?"

"I worked late."

"Are you sure you are all right?" 

She nodded, and then bit her lip. "I fear I am somewhat under the weather, my lord. If you would call again another day, I would be most grateful."

He stuck his foot in the door as she attempted to close it, and then gently removed her fingers and nudged her backward.

"My lord, please, I need to rest before I return to work this evening."

"Did you not receive my notes?"

She shook her head and then winced.

"What is wrong with you?"

She retreated as he entered. He took a matter of seconds to scan the room. It was the size of his bed. A slight exaggeration, but not by much. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall. A small basin, and one chair. "Tiny" was being generous. Her clothes were folded neatly on the floor in the corner.

"I would like you to leave, please."

"I will, once you tell me what is wrong with you?"

As if the effort of standing was too great, Miss March made for the bed and fell onto it. Resting her back against the wall, she looked at him. Actually, it was an attempted glare, but spoiled slightly by the trembling of her lower lip.

"I have hurt my hand and head."

"How?"

"A man attempted to abduct me. I thwarted him, but not before he threw me to the g-ground. That was when I hurt myself."

Her words were spoken slowly, precisely, and told him of the pain her head was giving her. She was barely moving, which Jacob knew, even after their brief acquaintance, was not the usual behavior of this woman.

"When did this happen?"

"Two days ago."

"And your head is still hurting?" Stripping off his gloves, he pushed aside his anger that someone had tried to harm her once more and moved to her side. Pressing a palm to her forehead, he felt the heat of her skin.

"You are very hot for a cold day."

"My head hurts if I move, therefore I am attempting not to. I shall recover, my lord, and I wish only for sleep before work. If you will leave now I shall achieve that."

Dropping to his haunches before her, Jacob took the hand she held pressed to her middle. She was obviously cradling it against her body to protect it.

"Let me see."

"Certainly not. Ouch!"

She drew in a large breath as he studied her fingers. They were bruised and swollen.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Of course."

Her eyes were on his right shoulder.

"Tsk tsk, Miss March. A vicar's daughter lying, and not a very convincing one at that."

"I have no money for doctors. Besides, there is little to be done for damaged fingers, my mother once told me that."

"Then I shall take you to mine."

"You most certainly will not! There is nothing wrong that won't heal given time. I need sleep, so please just leave."

Her eyes were the color of his favorite stallion's mane, Jacob realized. Deep chocolate brown, and fringed with black lashes and arched brows. Freckles marched over the bridge of her nose, and that lovely mouth was pulled into a tight line.

"But I have news."

"Lady Revel? You have news of her?"

She moved her eyes down to meet his, but not her head.

"I do, but I can tell it to you in my carriage."

"I'm not going in your carriage, my lord."

"I am a great deal bigger than you, so give in gracefully, Patricia."

"No, and I will not. I am quite capable of looking after myself, thank you."

He took her shoulders in both hands and gently pulled her forward. He then touched the back of her head, and she reacted violently. Her shriek made his ears ring.

"Oh, bloody bothering hell!"



       
         
       
        

"Forgive me, I was merely ascertaining how badly you were hurt. There is still quite a lump there, even two days after your fall."

"Yes, and it bloody hurts, now even more so!"

"For a vicar's daughter you have a terrible penchant for cursing. Surely your father did not teach you that?"

"No, that I learned in London."

She closed her eyes, and he guessed as far as she was concerned, he was dismissed. Looking round the tiny room, he found a blanket draped over the arm of a chair. Collecting it, Jacob threw it over her, and then lifted her into his arms.