a long moment as she pulled her knees up again. “I understand that feeling,” he said, with a half grunt. “I hate being holed up in the manor—it is a manor, not a palace, mind you, but the, uh, compliment is well taken.”
She made no reply.
“You have been held on the first floor, not the second,” he said a moment later, as an aside. “I never considered that you would see me riding Samson. It scares the hell out of my staff, tears up my hands.” He paused, rubbing his palms together, shocked at his own familiar tone.
She reached out and grasped one of his hands before he knew what she was doing. They were much larger than hers. Turning his hand palm up in hers, she gently stroked the rough calluses with her thumb.
He sucked in a breath as he froze, watching. “But—but I cannot help it.” He exhaled strongly, then in a whisper, continued. “It’s that feeling of freedom and peace, and I—I have no right to keep you from yours.” He was breathless now. He was breathless now, his mind reeling from her touch and his disclosure. He reached out with his other hand, gently touching the abrasion on her forehead, then traced his fingertips down the frame of her jaw.
She smiled and he retracted his hands abruptly, folding his arms across his chest. She hid her face, resting her forehead on her knees.
“It’s my understanding that Mrs. Weston has made arrangements to have some garments made for you, and that should ease the trouble. It shouldn’t take long, but until then I must insist for your safety and out of common decency that you keep yourself covered as much as possible, and that you remain in the private areas of the manor. I have business associates that visit, not to mention all the servants and others within my purview. If they saw you, your reputation would be ruined, which would be a shame, because you will obviously make a fine wife someday—after we figure out where you belong or, I suppose, once we get you to where you belong or—” He realized he had rambled so far from the point that he finally drifted off into silence with a sigh. Why did he feel so terribly uncertain? He rubbed his fingers across his eyes and sighed again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For?” he replied, not looking at her.
“For everything. I don’t expect anything from you, and I very much appreciate what you have done.” She reached out to touch his arm. “I will repay you somehow.”
“No, you won’t.” He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, ensuring she understood his intention. “What I give, I give freely and expect nothing in return. The fact is, we don’t know to whom you belong and it wouldn’t be proper to just ignore your needs.”
“To whom I belong?” Her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened, then she nearly yelled but for the broken voice. “To whom I belong! I belong to no one!” she tried to scream, but no sound came from her throat.
He panicked and tried to explain. “I meant your father or husband…of course. I already assumed you weren’t a servant, not dressed like—” He stiffened when she reached out, grabbing his arm frantically as the color left her face.
In one swift move he stood and threw one of her arms over his shoulder, scooping her up to his chest. Already panicked by her pallid skin, the shock of her hand on his bare neck was enough to startle Roxleigh into a dead run. He skidded through the maze, slipping around corners as he held on to her, his boots slick on the lawn. The feel of her fingertips in his hair sent a shiver from his extremities straight to his middle, causing him to shift his grasp, pulling her higher up his chest and tighter to him as he lurched slightly going up the stairs.
He went all the way to the first floor without pause and burst into the private parlor with a yell. “Weston! Ferry! Meggie! Where the hell are you?” he yelled as he ran to the door, then
She made no reply.
“You have been held on the first floor, not the second,” he said a moment later, as an aside. “I never considered that you would see me riding Samson. It scares the hell out of my staff, tears up my hands.” He paused, rubbing his palms together, shocked at his own familiar tone.
She reached out and grasped one of his hands before he knew what she was doing. They were much larger than hers. Turning his hand palm up in hers, she gently stroked the rough calluses with her thumb.
He sucked in a breath as he froze, watching. “But—but I cannot help it.” He exhaled strongly, then in a whisper, continued. “It’s that feeling of freedom and peace, and I—I have no right to keep you from yours.” He was breathless now. He was breathless now, his mind reeling from her touch and his disclosure. He reached out with his other hand, gently touching the abrasion on her forehead, then traced his fingertips down the frame of her jaw.
She smiled and he retracted his hands abruptly, folding his arms across his chest. She hid her face, resting her forehead on her knees.
“It’s my understanding that Mrs. Weston has made arrangements to have some garments made for you, and that should ease the trouble. It shouldn’t take long, but until then I must insist for your safety and out of common decency that you keep yourself covered as much as possible, and that you remain in the private areas of the manor. I have business associates that visit, not to mention all the servants and others within my purview. If they saw you, your reputation would be ruined, which would be a shame, because you will obviously make a fine wife someday—after we figure out where you belong or, I suppose, once we get you to where you belong or—” He realized he had rambled so far from the point that he finally drifted off into silence with a sigh. Why did he feel so terribly uncertain? He rubbed his fingers across his eyes and sighed again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For?” he replied, not looking at her.
“For everything. I don’t expect anything from you, and I very much appreciate what you have done.” She reached out to touch his arm. “I will repay you somehow.”
“No, you won’t.” He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, ensuring she understood his intention. “What I give, I give freely and expect nothing in return. The fact is, we don’t know to whom you belong and it wouldn’t be proper to just ignore your needs.”
“To whom I belong?” Her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened, then she nearly yelled but for the broken voice. “To whom I belong! I belong to no one!” she tried to scream, but no sound came from her throat.
He panicked and tried to explain. “I meant your father or husband…of course. I already assumed you weren’t a servant, not dressed like—” He stiffened when she reached out, grabbing his arm frantically as the color left her face.
In one swift move he stood and threw one of her arms over his shoulder, scooping her up to his chest. Already panicked by her pallid skin, the shock of her hand on his bare neck was enough to startle Roxleigh into a dead run. He skidded through the maze, slipping around corners as he held on to her, his boots slick on the lawn. The feel of her fingertips in his hair sent a shiver from his extremities straight to his middle, causing him to shift his grasp, pulling her higher up his chest and tighter to him as he lurched slightly going up the stairs.
He went all the way to the first floor without pause and burst into the private parlor with a yell. “Weston! Ferry! Meggie! Where the hell are you?” he yelled as he ran to the door, then
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