Page 7 of A Slumber for a Duke

He could still feel her delicate hand in his, where she had seared him with warmth and longing. He could still feel her skirts swishing around his legs from when they danced together, as if they had always danced together. He could still hear a faint echo of his name floating through the flakes.

He shook his head, knowing that he only wished for his name to be hanging on Rose’s lips.

But then Dodger’s ears perked up. His body was on alert. Sensing trouble now, Andrew’s back tightened down each vertebrae. The snow was pouring down, reducing visibility, and he somehow knew that Rose was in trouble. Come to think of it, she hadn’t wandered at all in the direction of the house. She could be anywhere. She could be lost in the snow.

“Dodger, find her,” he commanded. And the hound took off at a relentless pace. Through the trees and down the path. Whipping through the falling white pieces, unaware of its coldness.

If anything happened to her, Andrew would never forgive himself. How could he be so inconsiderate as to let her walk off into a waning day and a waxing snow dump? But she had rendered him thoughtless. His body had turned into some kind of porridge as he had danced with her. How he had managed to keep them both upright, on more than one level, was beyond him.

Still, just beyond him, was Dodger, but he was close on the hound’s heels. And then Dodger stopped near a boulder and a lump of snow. He was sniffing. Then he sat and howled.

Andrew squatted down and brushed at the long lump of white crumbs. It was Rose. She had collapsed in the snow.

“Rose?”

He turned her face toward him and could see her lips already turning blue. With more panic in his voice than he’d ever heard from himself, he called her name again, “Rose? Answer me.”

No response. Had she fallen and hit her head?

He couldn’t waste time determining the issue, she was already freezing. Andrew scooped her up into his arms. His eyes darted around, looking for the path back to the house. He could only see two feet in front of himself. The world was pure white.

But Dodger was ahead of him. He trusted his companion.

“Home, Dodger.”

Andrew kept his head down, close to Rose’s face, if only to feel her soft breaths and ensure she was still alive. He wasn’t aware of the direction he headed. Even if he had looked around, the falling snow was too heavy. He saw only the paw prints and wagging tail in front of him. Trusting. Hoping.

It could have been minutes or hours. Andrew’s arms ached from the cold and from holding the limp form against his heat. He could only hope it had been mere minutes, else Rose’s chances were growing dim.

And then Dodger stopped.

When Andrew lifted his head, his eyes gaped at the sight before him. It was not the estate but an isolated hunter’s cabin.

There was no time to have qualms about it. He pushed the door open with a loud bang. Rose didn’t even flinch at the sound. He pulled her closer to his chest, as if that would protect her. As if that would wake her up. How long would she be out? Andrew walked inside, beckoning Dodger to follow.

Going inside meant he could be alone with her for several hours before the snow let up and she was warm enough to travel back to the house. But they were too far, and she was too cold, for him to risk venturing outside again.

Taking inventory of the room, he noted the necessities: an average sized bed and dry wood. The place was sparse. He might be able to find some food, but more likely, and more necessary, would be to have some water on hand if they were to be here for any significant amount of time. He made a mental note to melt some snow in a pot. He doubted there would be any towels available, but would look for those later.

For now, he quickly laid Rose down on the bed and went to work on a fire, telling Dodger to stay with her. They both needed heat, and soon. Before setting upon his task, Andrew checked Rose’s breathing and pulse once more, thankful that both seemed to be normal.

As he worked on the kindling, Dodger cozied up beside Rose offering her what little warmth he could.

“That’s a good boy. She needs to take the chill off.”

The fire blazed to life, and Andrew stepped back considering his options. Rose’s outerwear was cold and wet. He had to divest her of the damp fabric if she had any hope of increasing her temperature.

He walked over to the bed and began talking to her, even though he was sure that she couldn’t hear him.

“Rose, I have to get you out of these wet clothes. You’re nigh frozen, and I must warm you up.” Slowly he eased her out of her pelisse. Noticing that her spencer and gown were wet as well, he exhaled. There was no other choice. It was derobe and warm up, or stay dressed and freeze to death.

He quickly unbuttoned her spencer and then her day frock. Her shift was damp, but hopefully not too wet. As he maneuvered her limbs out of her clothing, he felt their heaviness and could only hope she would come to sooner rather than later.

Once in her shift, he picked her up again and brought her to the fire, wrapped in a blanket. If only he had had a bed warmer, he could heat up the bed and keep her somewhere more comfortable, but there was nothing of the sort in the simple abode.

Andrew sat on the ground and held the limp body across his lap, rubbing her limbs to increase the heat. Dodger sat on the other side of Rose, resting his head on her stomach.

“How did this happen?” Andrew was half mumbling, half whispering, to himself. He hadn’t taken notice of anything other than her pale face, where a beautiful red tint had earlier shadowed her cheeks, and her now blue lips, where a pale pink had previously flourished.

---