Page 71 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Why not?”
“Because my brother will find you when he gets up in the morning. Because the servants will see you and then tongues will wag. Because ... because—” She pressed her palms to the hollows of her cheekbones in a gesture of futility— “because you’ve obviously been injured, and you need to sleep in a proper bed.”
The thing about breathing was that it hurt. The thing about not breathing was that the lack of air made him feel faint. He was in trouble either way.
“Then I think, Lady Katharine, you’d better find me a proper bed.”
He rested his head against the wall, closed his eyes and began to sag. From what seemed like a great distance away he heard her alarmed gasp, felt the sharp bite of her fingers into his arm and the next thing he knew, she was dragging him down the hall at a speed that made him stumble to keep up.
She pushed open a door, and all but hauled him over the threshold. Through his pain, he saw walls of pale lemon. A bed dressed in striped blue, lemon and white silk, powder-blue pillows piled against a carved oak headboard, a thick rug beneath his feet and coals glowing red in a hearth. It was a beautiful room. A feminine room. And he knew with a certainty that didn’t even beg the question, that it was hers.
He asked it anyhow. “Yours?”
“Yes, my apartments.” She hurriedly closed the door and set the candlestick down. “I don’t know where else to put you.”
Anchoring himself against her arm, he looked longingly at the bed. Exhaustion called to him. He was soaked, shivering and in pain, and cold to the bone ... how he wanted just to crawl beneath those thick covers and get warm.
Herbed.
Oh, God help him, he wondered if he’d be able to sleep with what he suspected his mind and imagination were getting ready to throw at him....
“You can stay here tonight, but youhaveto stay here, and not go anywhere else because if my brother or even a servant sees you, I shudder to think of what will happen.” She hurriedly let go of him. “Rest well, Mr. O’ Flaherty, but do know that you cannot stay long ... indeed, I’m going to have to think of a way to get you out of here before anyone even knows you’re here.”
“Won’t your lady’s maid—presuming, of course, that you have one—talk?”
“Of course I have one. But she’s been dismissed for the night.”
“Then I’ll be on my way in the morning, with none the wiser.”
“Promise?”
“Aye.” He felt suddenly weary, and the idea of leaving this place of refuge and more specifically, this beautiful, elegant woman who’d shown him such grudging charity, filled him with sorrow. “I promise.”
“I’ll make sure you get a breakfast of sorts before I send you on your way.”
“Thank you. You’ve been exceedingly kind, Lady Katharine.”
“Hmph. Nobody has ever accused me of being kind, so please, spare me the flattery,” she said, but he saw that his comment had pleased her; she was blushing, though she quickly turned away to hide it. He eyed her quietly as he began to unbutton his wet, muddy coat. Underneath that odd, flippant comment he sensed a deep and underlying hurt, a hurt that defined her very existence, and he wondered what had put it there. Part of him wished he could stay and find out. Too bad he hadn’t suffered worse injuries. It would be nice to be stuck here in a long convalescence, nice to be able to get to know her better....
He sobered. He could not stay, could not even court her, because he was no longer the man who’d been driven from Dunmore House. In fact, he’d only been Lord Dunmore for the space of three weeks before his world had come crashing down around him, and a woman like this ... well, a woman like this was meant for a Lord Dunmore. A Lord Anyone. Not Noel O’ Flaherty, highwayman.
She was moving back toward the door.
“And where willyousleep?” he asked, his fingers pausing on the last button of his coat.
She turned and shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight.”
He peeled off the coat, catching his breath in agony as his arm moved just the right—or wrong—way, sending pain slicing across his torso. Behind a sudden dimming of his vision, he saw Lady Katharine frown. She might proudly declare herself unkind, or project an image that she was cold and unfeeling, but she hadn’t failed to notice his pain and was already hurrying back to him.
He felt her hands under his elbow as she attempted to keep him vertical. “You’re hurt worse than you appear, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“You need a doctor.”
“Aye, but you can’t send for one. I’m a fugitive at the moment, and you’re harboring me.” He eyed that big, soft bed with the piles of pillows, the silken spread, the turned-down sheets, with longing. “Let me sleep. A few hours and I’ll be on me way, and no more trouble to you.”
She stood biting her lip.
