Page 13 of The Hired Hero
With another oath, the gentleman turned and began to retrace his steps back up to the road. He dared not linger in the spot too long.
Damn the chit, he cursed to himself. She had to be dead—she had to be! Her body should have been down there.Along with the papers. He paused and looked back down the slope. Nobody could have survived a fall down to the gorge below. After cursing again, he grabbed a small sapling to steady his climb…and by chance, his gaze fell on a nearby gorse bush, not far from the crest of the road.
Clinging to one of its thorny branches was a small strip of dark cloth.
* * *
Davenport ranhis hands through his hair. His legs were stretched out toward the meager fire, and an open book was lying on his lap.Hell’s teeth, he thought wryly, there was no need to resort to brandy in order to sleep. He had only to read a few chapters on the raising of sheep—though the pages on breeding had reminded him how uncomfortably long it had been since he had enjoyed the pleasures of the opposite sex.
A sigh escaped his lips. Well, like many other things, that would just have to wait until he could visit Town. He had no intention of taking on his brother’s habits as well as his title.
He closed the book with more force than necessary. At least his body was feeling pleasantly tired from the physical exertion of the day’s labor. He wouldn’t need to rely on the effects of brandy or boring tomes to help him get some rest tonight. Taking up his candle, he rose and set off for his bedchamber. It was quite late, and save for his solitary light, the house was in total darkness as the earl climbed the wide staircase and made his way quietly down the corridor. At the door to the mysterious stranger’s room, he paused, then opened it and entered.
In sleep, her face had softened, easing the edge of wariness he had noticed that morning. She looked even younger, and more vulnerable. His mouth quirked in a slight smile as he recalled the punch she had landed on his nose. She had spunk, whoever she was…
His smile quickly gave way to a frown. He hoped the matter of her identity and her situation would prove simple, but somehow, in the pit of his stomach, Davenport sensed that nothing about her was simple.
He had a problem on his hands—and that was the last thing he needed.
* * *
Caroline awokewith sunlight streaming over her face. It felt warm and?—
Pain shot through her shoulder as she turned toward the diamond-paned window, bringing her sharply back to reality. She sat up as best she could, once again aware that she was in a strange room, in a strange house, on a strange mission. Then, as if echoing her worries, her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours.
In fact, she was famished.
Sighing, Caroline had fallen to contemplating just how much longer she could hold out when salvation in the form of Mrs. Collins pushed open the door, her arms laden with a large tray from which was emanating the most heavenly aromas.
“I brought ye some porridge and a pot of tea,” announced the older woman upon noticing that Caroline was awake. “Ye must be starving, ye poor thing.”
Caroline gave a squeak.
The housekeeper put the tray down and settled herself on the side of the bed. “Here now, let me help ye.” She spooned up a large helping and guided it to Caroline’s mouth.
As the steaming mixture of oats, cream and sugar slid down her throat, she closed her eyes in bliss.
Mrs. Collins nodded her approval. “Need to put some meat on them bones,” she remarked as she thrust forward another bite.
It didn’t take long for the bowl to be emptied.
“Thank you.” Caroline gave the woman a smile of gratitude. She felt much better. “That was wonderful.”
The woman held a cup of tea to Caroline’s lips. “That nasty knock on the head ain’t affected yer appetite, it seems. I’ll bring more, as soon as the doctor says it is permitted.” She surveyed what little of Caroline was showing from beneath the bedcovers. “At least yer a sight more comfortable than ye was when His Lordship dragged ye in here.”
Her eyes shifted to the muddy garments over the chair. “Shall I try to mend those?” she asked, though her expression showed what she thought of the effort. “Or perhaps I should toss…”
“No!” cried Caroline. “I mean—thank you, but please, just leave them. I am quite skilled with a needle.”
The housekeeper merely shrugged her shoulders.
Once again, Caroline was aware of the delicate lace at her neck. “Whose garment is this?” she inquired, her eyes taking in the quality of the finespun material.
“Oh, that’s an old one of Lady Davenport’s. Lucky the two of you are close to the same size, though yer a mite taller.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed with interest. “His Lordship”—she tried to remember his name—“is married?”
At that moment, the doctor walked in, followed by Davenport. “I see our patient is awake this morning and able to take a little sustenance.” He nodded in approval at the empty bowl. “Nothing more than gruel today, then tomorrow maybe I shall allow something more substantial.”
