Page 47 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
For all Averson’s lightness of spirit, the Marquess was not laughing.
“’Tis bloody cold out here,” Ewan complained. “Before you leave, Averson, wait with my Lady, will you? I will look to see if Manson is stuck around the corner.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Henrietta felt tense from the cold and her husband’s prickliness. The evening had been pleasant enough, though she was not much of a theater lover, but each time Ewan’s gloom appeared to lift, it seemed to Henrietta that his mood soon dived again into a somber distance.
“He’s often –”
“Irritated?” Averson suggested before she could finish. “Yes, I know.”
Now she laughed. Ewan’s friend was quite charming in his own way, and she hoped she could come to know many more of the Marquess’ acquaintances. They may not appreciate all her opinions, but friendship, like laughter, was good medicine. If the Marquess was ever going to relinquish his grief and truly heal his soul, he would have to let his friends back into his life.
“He’s not so bad, you know. You will come to see that eventually.”
“If he will let me, Lord Averson. If he will let me…”
Something like dust suddenly drifted down upon his shoulders, and hers too, their dark woolen capes speckled with a fine white grit. He brushed at it before looking up to determine where it came from.
“My Lady!” Averson screamed before throwing her to the ground several feet away from where they had just been standing. His large form covered hers protectively, and painfully, as shock coursed through her.
With great care, so as to make nothing worse, Averson removed himself from atop her, helping her stand again. Just a few feet from them on the cobblestone pavement, an edifice lay in crumbles, having fallen from the roofline of the theater. Had Averson not acted so instinctively, Henrietta would have been crushed.
The coach then appeared from around the corner with the Marquess occupying the groom’s seat. When he noticed the commotion on the cobblestones in front of the theater, he jumped to the street and ran, shouting in alarm.
“Henrietta! Averson! Are you hurt?”
“No, we don’t appear to be,” Averson began, brushing the dust and dirt from his cloak. “We were both very lucky.”
Without saying a word, the Marquess gently helped a wobbly-legged Henrietta into the coach. He wrapped the blanket tightly around her, and he sat her down. He stepped back out into the street, turning an alarmed face to Averson.
“What the devil happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Ewan. But had I not been quick-witted, you would be burying another wife.”
Chapter 19
Inside the coach, Henrietta began to shake uncontrollably. It was just a moment before Ewan was back with her in the coach, enfolding her securely in his arms and holding her very close to him. She felt his warmth emanating through the blanket as he enveloped them both securely in his cape for another layer to ward off the bitterly cold air.
She could not stop shaking, but as the coach rumbled over the pitted cobblestones toward the Old Bell, the protection of his embrace did not waver, and at last she felt herself begin to relax ever so slightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat. It seemed to be racing wildly.
He surely felt the tension begin to drain from her body, but he pulled her all the closer, and all the tighter. She didn’t mind. Finally, she felt his breath stir against her ear.
“Are you hurt?” His words were apprehensive but tender.
“I do not think so, my Lord,” she whispered. She could feel his heart rate slowing to a steadier beat.
He breathed a sigh, but made no move to release her from the snug cocoon his arms made. “Thank God.”
She tipped her head back to look up at him. His face shone stark white in the moonlight. “You were very worried for me.”
“Yes,” he whispered. He gingerly brushed at wisps of her angry hair, tucking them back under her disorderly bonnet. He was careful to avoid some abrasions and cuts on her forehead that she had acquired from Averson’s tackle. “You are all scraped up.”
“Is that a comment on my appearance, my Lord?” she teased.
“Ssshhhh,” he hushed her. “We will not speak of silly rules now.”
“Is Lord Averson well?”
