Page 55 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“No. I,” she stammered, “I also want to say that I’m sorry. I understand now and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m sorry that I look like her. I wish for all the world I didn’t for it must be unbearable for you to look at me.”
“Are you finished?” he asked gently.
She nodded, not sure how to read him.
Have I just ruined everything? This pleasant rapport that is beginning to feel safe? Like trust?
“As I have been most generous in allowing you latitude with my rules, I wish to break one of yours.”
“Very well. I owe you that much at least for your kind condescension.”
“Henrietta, you are incredibly lovely of face and form and feeling. You are a beautiful, brave, intelligent woman who happens to look very much like Patricia. But while you may bear a striking resemblance to her, in the most important ways, the very best of ways, you are uniquely Henrietta. And far from unbearable, I find you inspirational.”
His dark eyes sparkled, holding hers in a gentle embrace. She could not breathe. She dared not. The beauty of his words rolled so sweetly over her; she feared anything she would say might wash it all away.
Finally, she whispered absurdly, “Which rule is that?”
He matched her low tone, “The very first rule you made. I am not to comment on your appearance.”
“Oh, yes.”
“But since you seem to have forgiven me for insulting you on our wedding day, it seemed like a good time to break that rule.”
“Yes,” was all she could manage. She shivered, but it was not from the cold.
“You are chilled,” he said as a hunting shot rang out in the distance. “Perhaps we’ve had enough picnicking for one day.”
He stood and offered his hand to her, helping her up. They left the blanket, knowing Gerome would be back to pack it all up. They mounted the horses and made their way slowly back, content with the leisurely pace.
Another gunshot was cracked off, this time quite close. Too close. And another rang out, stinging their ears and spooking the horses. Ewan was able to skillfully keep his mount under control, but Henrietta was no experienced equestrian. Her mare reared back, throwing her to the ground, and running off the path into the woods.
“Dear God! Henrietta!” Ewan shouted, jumping from his saddle and at her side in an instant.
Fortunately, the horse had thrown her clear of its path when it bolted. The wind was knocked out of her, but nothing appeared to be broken. She had not hit her head, but landed on her padded side, such as it was. She tried to get up, but he was there dissuading her.
“Not yet, my dear. Wait. Breathe.” He took her gloved hands in his and rubbed them gently.
She drew a shallow breath, wincing slightly. And then another and another, the pain gradually subsiding.
“Let’s see if you can stand without issue.”
He helped her up, though she leaned against him for support.
“I fear I will have bruises on my backside to match the cuts and scrapes on my front.”
“We must get you back to the Old Bell on my horse. The mare is gone. Gerome will have to retrieve her.”
“If he can find her,” Henrietta added scornfully.
Ewan gingerly helped her mount his horse, and in a moment, swung himself up behind her, reins in hand. Though he was anxious to see her safely at the inn, he kept to a reasonable pace for the sake of both Henrietta and the horse.
They made good time back to town and to the cliff. She winced as he helped her from the mount, not really certain what it was that hurt. As they entered the Old Bell, they were motioned into conference by the innkeeper. Henrietta excused herself and limped on toward their rooms.
“My Lord,” the innkeeper said to the Marquess in a low tone.
