Chapter 003 Henry
This is ridiculous.
This is a ramp the carpenter constructed for you.
Percy jutted his chin.
And you are going to use it.
I rotated my shoulder.
The empty sleeve shifted. Useless.
He shrugged.
Maestro eyed me.
The horse had been excited. Whinnied. Tossed his head.
Fifteen years.
Debatable if he remembered me.
But he wanted out.
Mr. Wiggins and I had spent the past week over ledgers.
Crop yields.
Rents.
Tenants.
Who needed visiting first.
Hence this.
The ramp.
“When I visit and do not dismount, it will be rude.”
I scowled.
I had been scowling a lot.
Percy did not deserve it.
“I will dismount,” he said. “You will remain mounted. You will speak. Express gratitude.”
Up.
I pursed my lips.
He put his hands on his hips.
Maestro whinnied again.
That decided it.
I grasped the pommel. Left hand.
Hauled.
Too hard.
I nearly vaulted over the far side.
Steady there.
Percy’s hands on my waist.
Strong.
Warm.
Power is good. Too much and you’ll go over.
I can see that.
I might have snapped.
Yes, your lordship.
He grinned.
All week he had tended me.
Chamber pots.
Dressing.
Buttons.
Cravats.
Every intimate need.
Never a cross word.
Only that cheer.
Steady.
I noticed when I disappointed him.
More and more, I did not want to.
I wanted the praise.
He knew the exact words.
Defused me.
Anticipated everything.
Understood my mind better than I did.
Always there.
Just there.
I shall never marry, you know.
The words burst out.
He held my gaze.
And why not?
Look at me.
I lifted the empty sleeve again.
Pointed to my leg.
I can barely walk properly.
Let alone dance.
Women require wooing.
Taken out.
Treated like queens.
Well.
Firstly.
Not all women desire such things.
Your sister-in-law felt confined here.
Caroline.
But not all women would.
I opened my mouth.
He shook his head.
Quick.
Secondly.
Not all women require dancing.
Or flattery.
Many want steadiness.
A man who respects her.
Cherishes.
Treasures.
Cares.
You, your lordship, are more than capable.
I pursed my lips again.
He grinned wider.
Then swung easily onto Rupert.
I was steady now.
We rode.
Three hours.
Only a fraction of the tenants.
But something settled in my chest.
Accomplishment.
If we did this every other day.
Two weeks.
Everyone.
The responsibility.
Earl of Hartridge.
It had never felt real.
So far down the line.
Father.
William.
Any son he might have had.
I had already seen the solicitor.
Marry.
Produce an heir.
I waved it off.
But I knew.
I had to stay alive.
A wife.
Children.
Lineage.
You must be tired, my lord.
Percy had dismounted.
Guided Maestro to the ramp.
My arse ached.
Not the longest ride I had ever taken.
Campaigns were worse.
But still.
I swung my good leg over.
Managed.
Did not need his hands this time.
He handed me the cane.
I took it.
He was right.
If my thigh gave way.
Falling would be worse.
The groom led the horses away.
I glanced back.
Maestro.
He remembers you.
Now.
Let’s get you clean.
Dust.
Even on a clear day.
The incoming storm.
Damp chill.
Yes.
Bath.
Then dinner.
I want to test your knowledge of local lore.
He grinned.
He liked our evening talks.
I had been gone so long.
France.
Portugal.
France again.
I had begun to lose my sense of home.
Perhaps an exaggeration.
Perfect timing.
Bought my commission just before war.
Rake no more.
Except the occasional dalliance.
Continent women.
Then Lisbon.
Then back to France.
Napoleon exiled.
I thought home.
Then Elba failed.
Waterloo.
My horse shot out from under me.
End of the war.
End of me, nearly.
Twelve years.
Survived.
Men I knew.
Dead.
Men I commanded.
Dead.
I carried them.
From rake to commander.
Failure.
I tried to shake it off.
My lord?
Percy’s eyes.
Crystal blue.
Concern.
I cleared my throat.
Bath.
I shall see it done.
He sprinted ahead.
I did not complain.
Hot water sooner.
The cane helped.
Steady steps.
But my thigh burned.
By the time I reached the mansion.
Burned fierce.
The stairs.
I would not weep.
Hastings did not weep.
Earls did not weep.
Still.
My limp was bad.
I nearly fell into the chair.
Percy entered.
Clucked his tongue.
I rolled my eyes.
He knelt.
Removed my boots.
The pain eased.
A little.
We shall get you undressed.
Wine while I prepare the bath?
All right.
He was stingy with wine.
I smiled when he offered.
By the time he helped me into the tub.
I was pliant.
Fragrant steam.
Muscles loosened.
I exhaled.
He chuckled.
I shall return.
He gathered my clothes.
Turned.
Left.
His buttocks.
Luscious.
I had noticed before.
More than once.
Longing stirred.
Deep.
For a man.
I had never.
Not once.
Not in twelve years.
Not in camp.
Not in London.
Women.
Many.
Reckless.
After Caroline.
Her demure smile.
No.
You are too young.
Nineteen.
She was twenty-two.
Two days later.
William.
I cursed them.
Left for London.
Bedded women.
Ruined reputations.
Proud of it.
Until Father cut me off.
Commission bought.
Horse.
France.
Now.
Here.
Staring at my valet’s retreating backside.
Wondering.
My body answered.
Hard.
Now?
After months of nothing.
Relief.
And frustration.
Timing.
Always against me.
My lord.
Are you ready to have your hair washed?
Are you adequately relaxed?
Not on your life.
Perhaps later.
After you have rested.
Ever perky.
I sighed.
He was beside me in an instant.
My lord?
His gaze traveled.
Toes to eyes.
Then down again.
Stopped.
Well.
That is interesting.
You have no idea.