Page 49 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“He did,” he explained softly. “I am so sorry the life you wanted was taken from you by the man who as your betrothed, should have wanted you to be happy. He should have done anything to make you so.”
“Aye, but no romance or betrothal is a perfect one, is it?” she said. “I guess that all have their problems. All connections in life, they are not perfect.”
“We should still strive to make them better.” He flicked his eyes toward his father again. “Which is why I make this vow to you, Orla. Come what happens now, you will not be hurt by me.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For all of your faults, my Lord, you have much kindness in you.”
“Oh, I have many faults, Orla.” He laughed, trying to make their conversation lighter, but he could see it in her eyes. This conversation had meant as much to her as it had to him.
***
Horace stepped down from the coach first, then turned to help Orla. Without thinking about what he was doing, he took her waist, and her hands automatically went to his shoulders. He placed her down with ease on the snow, suddenly aware of the way she was looking up at him, her eyes wide.
What does that look mean?
“Your strength,” she whispered. “You’re getting stronger, my lord.”
He smiled suddenly. She was right. His weakness hadn’t even been a thing in his mind as he had reached to help her down then.
George walked around the carriage, whistling, and the two of them stepped apart. His hands could still feel the warmth in his palms from where he’d had hold of her, and he was all too aware of the way she was looking at him still. There was something in those eyes, something that almost made him feel as if the promise he had just made to her, not to risk her reputation, had not happened at all.
I will not break that vow.
“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat in the attempt to clear any awkwardness from the air. “For coming.”
She smiled and walked past him, back toward the house.
“You must rest now after your walk, my lord,” she called back to him. “I’ll have the staff arrange a bath for you. I’ll leave someherbs and salts in the bath, too.” She walked up the steps of the house, leaving him staring after her with fresh thoughts in his head.
He was in that bath, only he was not alone. Orla was there with him, her hands trailing over his skin as she washed him with those soaps she had made, the scents of lavender and rosemary filling the air…
“My Lord?” George was trying to get his attention.
“Yes?” Horace flicked his head around to meet his groom’s gaze. His stomach had knotted tight at the thought of Orla’s hands on him.
It’s no good. I promise her I will not go near her, and yet I still cannot stop thinking about her.
He didn’t even listen to what George was saying because his mind was consumed with other thoughts. He was starting to wonder if what he felt for Orla wasn’t just a matter of attraction after so many years of feeling nothing for any woman. It was possible that what he felt for her went much deeper than that.
“I’m sorry,” Horace muttered, shaking his head. “What did you say, George?”
“That would be that carriage drowning me out,” George said with a laugh, and pointed over Horace’s shoulder.
Horace turned on the spot. He hadn’t been expecting any guests, certainly not in this cold weather. Adam had made his customary visit that morning, but even Walter hadn’t braved this ice to come to see him.
A tall carriage came to a slow and struggling stop in the ice. The carriage, emblazoned with rich velvet curtains and a familiar crest on the side, made Horace’s eyes widen. He knew very well indeed who that crest belonged to.
The driver of the carriage jumped down and rounded to the door. He passed the crest of the Viscount Marbourne without giving it a second glance, though as Horace stepped forward, his gaze lingered on it.
“George,” he called back to his groom. “You might need to run inside and inform the housekeeper we have an unexpected guest. Something tells me she’ll want a bed made and a bath as soon as possible.”
George nodded and hurried off, leaving Horace quite alone in the ice as he watched the door of the carriage open. The first thing he glimpsed was the tall headdress decked with the elaborate feathers. Next, he glimpsed the high neckline of the pastel pink pelisse, the excessive ruffles of a gown that peakedout from beneath the heavy pelisse, then a fur muff draped across one of her wrists.
“Goodness,” she gushed as she moved onto the step of the carriage. “I always forget what a long journey it is here.” She tipped her chin up, her eyes darting across the building with an admiring smile.
“It’s a wonder you keep coming then,” Horace said with a small laugh.
“Brother!” Lavinia stepped down at once, brushing past the drive of her carriage without a single thank you. She rushed toward him and threw herself at him, slinging her beaded reticule over her shoulder and nearly knocking the tall headdress off her own temple with the movements. “Oh, you know I will always come to see you, no matter what the distance.”
