Chapter 3 #5
She turned. His forehead was pressed into the bedpost as he struggled to stay on his feet, and his face was drawn with pain.
Concern tore through her, instantly dousing both her ardor and her fear.
All through the night she had tended this man, constantly worrying that he might suddenly succumb to his injuries.
He was still extremely ill and weak. There might well have been blood leaking into the inner depths of his body as he stood there.
How could she even consider making him leave in such a state—especially when he seemed to be doing so out of concern for her?
“Please get back into bed, Lord Redmond.”
Haydon regarded her warily. “So you can call Constable Drummond back and have him drag me out of here?”
“Because you look as though you are about to faint and I don’t think I can lift you by myself.”
“I cannot stay here.”
“You’re right, you cannot. But neither can you leave here in your current state. At this point you can barely stand, so I hardly think you’re well enough to manage on your own. Which leaves us with the only logical choice, getting you back into bed.”
He shook his head. “If the police come here—”
“There is no reason to think that the police will return,” Genevieve pointed out.
“Constable Drummond wanted to speak with Jack, and he learned nothing from that conversation except that Jack despises everyone and has no desire to help the authorities. Since there was nothing to be found in the coach house, and there are many other places that need to be searched, I suspect the police will be too busy to come back here.”
Haydon leaned heavily against the bedpost, forcing his breath to come in small, measured gulps.
His skull felt as if it were about to split open with pain, nausea was churning his stomach into a vortex, and every breath put almost excruciating pressure on his bruised and broken ribs.
If he somehow managed to hobble out the door of this house, he had no idea how he would even make it down the street, much less where he would go with the entire town now looking for him.
The idea of simply sinking into a soft mattress and closing his eyes was extremely appealing.
“Please, Lord Redmond.” Genevieve stepped forward, peeled back the rumpled blankets of the bed, then smoothed down the sheets with quick, expert strokes. When the linens were arranged to her satisfaction, she regarded him solemnly. “You will be safe here. I promise.”
“How do I know you’re not just going to bring Constable Drummond back here to arrest me as I sleep?”
“I give you my word that I will not.”
He made no move to lie down. “Why should you want to help me?”
She could not blame him for not trusting her.
None of her children had trusted her when they first came into her care, except for Jamie, of course, who had been a mere infant.
Trust, Genevieve had learned, was a delicate, elusive thing that could neither be summoned nor given simply because someone demanded it.
“You helped Jack, and Jack is now a part of my family,” she explained. “Consider it a debt of gratitude.”
He shook his head, unconvinced. “Anyone would have done what I did.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice was taut. “To most people around here, Jack is nothing more than a common thief and a bastard, who deserves every agonizing stroke of his thirty-six lashes, and all the hunger and misery he can endure in prison. Many even wish that he would just disappear altogether. There isn’t another man in all of Inveraray who would dream of fighting on his behalf—especially a titled gentleman like yourself.
” She stared at him a long moment, studying the rugged beauty of his battered body, and the lines of exhaustion etched into his face.
“But you chose to risk yourself to help him,” she continued quietly.
“And because of that, Lord Redmond, I am choosing to help you.”
“You are placing yourself in danger by doing so,” he reminded her.
“I know.”
Her eyes were wide and velvety, and her pale cheeks were charmingly flushed. The mouth that a few moments earlier had been set in a flat, disapproving line was now imploringly curved. Her loveliness reached out to him like a gentle caress, drawing him nearer to her.
“I will only stay long enough to regain my strength,” he finally relented.
“Of course.”
He moved slowly toward her, awkwardly holding the swath of plaid around his hips.
Genevieve reached out and placed her hand upon his arm, thinking only to steady him as he lowered himself onto the bed.
The heat of his flesh seeped into her palm, making her feel flushed once more.
The moment he was lying down she relinquished her hold.
“You must rest a while,” she instructed, careful not to so much as graze his skin as she briskly arranged the blankets over him. “I will have Eunice prepare a tray for you.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Even so, you must eat.”
Haydon closed his eyes. “Perhaps later.”
His brow was lined with weariness and pain and his jaw was clenched.
Genevieve turned away and drew the curtains.
It would be easier for him to rest if the room was darkened.
After she left him she would go downstairs and have Eunice prepare some broth and toasted bread for him, she decided.
He might not want to eat, but the lack of nourishment would only make him weaker than—
“I would never hurt you.”
She turned and stared at him in surprise.
“Not you, nor any of your children,” he continued, regarding her seriously. “I give you my word, Miss MacPhail.” Without waiting for her response, he closed his eyes once more.
Genevieve remained where she was, watching as he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep.
And then she hurried from the room, knowing well that despite Lord Redmond’s feverish assurances, his very presence had already placed her and the children in grave danger.