Page 9 of The Duke's Improper Bride
“Nora, I think we’ve killed my tenant.”
Footsteps seemed miles away before a hand brushed against his forehead. He swore his eyelids must be weighted because they wouldn’t open. He smelled heather and felt the soft touch of a younger hand.
“Is he dead?” the same woman asked.
Silence.
He knew the answer—knew it as soon as he saw her bending over him, her dark hair curtaining them both, her eyes the darkest blue he’d ever seen.
He had died. He was certain of it.
“Nora, is the man breathing?”
Again, no answer, but this time lace gloves gripped his cheeks, turning his head from left to right, before the older woman came into focus.
“Mrs. White, I presume,” he said. Or at least he thought he said. No one responded, and they carried the conversation without him.
“No blood. Might be a nasty fall. I’ll fetch the doctor. Help me bring him to bed.”
Arms hooked under his armpits and he was dragged to what he assumed was the bed. Nothing stayed in focus long. His eyes barely stayed open.
“It’s a good thing you’re so fond of hiking, Nora. Good for the lungs,” the older woman huffed. “On the count of three.”
Isaac fought off the beckoning call of sleep, in spite of the throbs radiating through his skull. For being so young, he was beginning to feel rather old with each new injury. At this rate, he’d likely never see twenty-nine.
“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked as the air returned to his lungs. “Don’t worry yourself.”
Mrs. White peered over him, coming in and out of focus. Her ebony hair was highlighted with one large streak of pure white by her temples. Ironic.
“Nonsense, the lot of you English. You’re not to leave this bed, Mr. Barnes. Miss MacAllen will stay if you need anything. I’ll be back with the doctor.”
“I must insist—”
“Englishmen are all the same. You’re doing yourself a favor, Nora, with Mr. Knight,” Mrs. White grumbled. She shoved Isaac back into the bed, rattling the little air in his lungs. Before he could sit up again, the younger woman, Miss MacAllen, gestured for him to remain still.
He cursed under his breath, frustrated that he was unable to keep her in focus. She looked familiar, but where had he seen her before? She waited by the foot of the bed for a beat, then turned for to the window, drawing the curtain to filter out the bright sun.
She peeked over her shoulder at him, the light washing over her in a mauve walking dress.
Surely, a woman like her couldn’t expect to enter a room and fade into the background. Not with eyes like hers—dark like sapphires. She was a petite, full-figured woman with dark chestnut hair that blazed crimson when sunlight struck. Her fingers made quick work of the fixing the pins as she smiled at him.
Her catlike eyes were edged with long lashes and thick brows. But her lips, heaven above, those lips were made for sin. They were stained as if she had recently eaten fresh berries and were small yet full as she worried them with her teeth. Her porcelain skin gave way to naturally rosy cheeks and a smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Sapphires, of course.Miss MacAllen was the woman with scarlet ribbons. What an idiot he had been for dismissing her so quickly the other day. If only he hadn’t been hungover from a bit too much whiskey. If only he hadn’t been so self-centered.
An hour passed, or maybe several, it was hard to tell. Not a word was exchanged as Isaac drifted from this world and into darkness, only to be brought out by the soft hum of Scottish ballads. Sweet, like the honey she stirred into his tea.
His head pulsed when he rolled over. She sat in the chair by his bed, the afternoon sun filtering through the thick lace curtain, painting a beautiful patchwork of shadows across her face.
“May I paint you again?” he asked, surprising himself.
Miss MacAllen startled, dropping the book she was reading into her lap.
“Not now,” he insisted, pushing up to rest on his elbow. “It’s just the light—” He reached out, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the curve of her cheeks. “—loves your face.”
Miss MacAllen blinked, pink coloring her cheeks before she spun away.
“It’s forward of me to ask, I know.”
