Chapter Eight #2
He laid his ungloved hand over the back of hers, where it rested on the seat between them.
He felt her hand tremble beneath his. Was she frightened of him?
Of what was occurring between them? She should slap his face, but, instead, she turned her palm up and laced her fingers through his.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for understanding even when I cannot find the words.”
Aaran tightened his hold around her hand. “Lady Freya…” he began, but his coach veered to the right and the wheels clicked on the cobblestone street. “The constable, I suppose. I will see to the charges. We will attempt to leave your name out of the official report.”
Lady Freya simply nodded as more light invaded the coach.
She wiped her fingers along her travel frock and reached for her gloves, still resting in her lap.
He prayed she did so out of habit and not because she found his touch unacceptable, for Aaran could still feel her heat rushing up his arm and filling his chest with desire.
His Lordship had left the door of his coach open, supposedly because the night was warmer than expected and she could enjoy the fresh air, but Freya thought he meant to permit her the freedom to leave, if she so chose.
Freya had turned her hand into Lord Graham’s because she had been so alone and so frightened for longer than she cared to recall, and the warmth of His Lordship’s hand was the first time she had felt safe in what assuredly was forever.
The warmth of his hand had offered her the first taste of normalcy she had known since she was a child.
Her father’s recent edict regarding her upcoming marriage had turned her life upside down and had snatched away normal in more ways than one.
She had attempted to be strong and stand alone, but not having reached her majority, she still belonged to her father.
Under the law, he could very much do to her whatever he chose.
Freya had considered finding a position as had Miss Whitchurch, but she believed her father would hunt her down and beat her to death.
Her taking a position against him would reflect poorly on Lord Iain Cunningham, more so than on her, and he would not tolerate a loss of face.
She could not drop her guard too soon—perhaps never as far as her father was concerned.
There were few who would dare to stand against him; such was the reason she had placed her trust in Lord Aaran Graham.
“You must be careful,” she chastised herself.
Lord Graham, upon initial encounters, had appeared both kindly and unassuming, but Freya now knew better.
He was a man who assisted a government many of his fellow Scots despised.
She glanced down at her lap, where her hand rested and unconsciously curled her fingers into her palm once more.
“How can I miss what I never had?” she asked herself.
“How can the heat of his skin against mine create such a bond of understanding and such longing to know it for the remainder of my days?”
She sighed as His Lordship reappeared outside of the local constable’s office.
He was walking back to the carriage, followed closely by what must be the person in charge.
Freya supposed some women only cared for His Lordship’s reported fortune, but she thought that she saw him for much more.
He was a man loyal to his family—first and foremost—a man who would do all that was necessary for those he cherished.
What she had found most attractive about him was, despite the turmoil he had known as a child, he smiled often.
Freya could not recall the last time her father smiled beyond the pleasure in holding down his fellow man—beyond Lord Iain Cunningham proving himself superior.
Not the good works he had executed for others, but the need to appease his ego was her father’s motivation.
Freya noticed how His Lordship’s limp was more pronounced as he circled the coach while Mr. Jamison assisted the man whose position was to enforce the law.
Not for the first time, she wondered what had caused Lord Graham’s injury.
When he thought no one noticed the continual pain skittering across his features, he sometimes grimaced.
Otherwise, he reeled it in. She wondered what ritual he used to alleviate himself of the pain and if the ritual was equally as painful.
Did he use some sort of medication to lessen the pain?
Opiates? She thought Lord Graham was not the type even to consider opiates.
He would cut off the leg first. She found herself smiling at the idea of his stubbornness just as he stepped upon the coach’s ladder.
“Everything is settled,” he told her. “Mr. Jamison will place your luggage on top, and we may continue.”
“Is it not necessary for me to speak to the officer?” she questioned.
“I told Mr. Littleton that you are my cousin. I thought it best that your father not know of the incident, so I told the constable that I had both witnessed the crime and prevented the thief’s escape.”
“You have been very good to me, my lord,” she said dutifully.
Within minutes, they were again on the road. This time, she was on the forward-facing seat and he on the other.
“Would you find it disagreeable,” he asked as he rubbed his knee with an open palm, “if I placed my leg on the seat where I might tend it? I know it is bad ton, but without the treatment, I will be sorely unable to meet my obligations tomorrow. I would not wish to disappoint Thompson.”
“Would it be of service, my lord, if I…” she began.
He sighed heavily. “I am a man known for his great restraint, Lady Freya, but just the idea of your hands… well, I can honestly say, I am not strong enough to disregard the urge to pull you into my arms and…”
Freya knew she blushed, but she did not think he could tell for the inside of the carriage was dark beyond the small lantern.
She, after all, was a redhead, but she wished to wiggle in delight at his compliment of her person.
His Lordship was not as immune to her as she once feared.
“I shan’t complain, my lord. Take care of yourself first and foremost.”
Again, Freya did not know where they were when the sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones woke her.
She had not even realized she had fallen asleep.
Stiffly, she pushed herself upward on the bench seat and looked around as she straightened her gown before reaching for her hair.
“Where are we?” she asked as she looked out the window at the stately manor coming into view once the coach curved around the lane.
“Thom Manor,” Lord Graham replied as he placed both feet on the floor of the carriage and straightened the cut of his coat.
“I thought you meant to see me to my aunt’s home,” Freya said with a slight frown.