Page 44 of The Hired Hero
“Th-Thank you,” he finally murmured.
She nodded again, not trusting her voice, then hurriedly left his room.
Drawing a steadying breath, Caroline somehow managed to find her way to the bedchamber that Lady Helen had offered. Without removing her clothes, she sank into the blissful softness of the eiderdown cover. But her sigh of pleasure turned into a groan as a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Hell’s teeth,” she whispered, wanting nothing more than to sink into oblivion.
However, before she could react, Lady Helen entered the room. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but I thought perhaps you might also wish a hot bath. I’ve taken the liberty of telling the maids to bring a tub here as well.”
She held up a silk dressing gown. “And I brought you something to wear while they give your garments a good cleaning.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Lady Helen approached the bed. “Jeremy and I have had a long coze. He has told me something of what has happened.” She drew a deep breath. “I wish to help you in any way I can.”
Caroline was taken by surprise by both the words and the depth of passion beneath them.
“I have a carriage; I have money. You have only to name what you need.”
The offer was more than generous, especially coming from an utter stranger. Caroline blinked. “Lady Davenport, I hardly know what to say?—”
“Please call me Helen,” interjected the widowed countess. “And you needn’t say anything. Just get yourself free of the monster who has done that to your face.” Her lips quivered. “I didn’t have your courage, but at least I may help a braver lady escape from a man’s tyranny.”
Caroline felt a flush color her face. It suddenly became very clear to her what Lady Helen’s life had been like as wife to the late—and vicious—Earl of Davenport. And, however passive her own role in letting certain assumptions be made had been, she felt terribly guilty at eliciting such profound emotions under false pretenses.
Lady Helen misunderstood the cause of her discomfiture. “Forgive me if I speak of things that are still too raw to discuss. But be assured, you will find the will to face them. Take strength from the support of loyal friends. It isn’t necessary—or possible—to do it alone.”
“There are different types of courage, Lady…Helen. Somehow, I doubt that you are as lacking in that quality as you claim.”
The other lady smiled tentatively. “But no doubt you think me a veritable featherhead from my performance this morning. I fear I am reduced to acting as if I don’t have any wits about me when Julian is present.”
Caroline closed her eyes. Though her opinion of Lady Helen had altered considerably, she was in no mood to share any confessions of girlish rapture.
“You see, though he doesn’t think I realize it, I know I have asked far more from him than I had any right to do. I’m immeasurably better for it, though he, most certainly, is not. It wasn’t until very recently that I came to comprehend the complexities, and understand how difficult it is for him to forgive me—and himself.”
A harried sigh. “I only wish that I could let him know in some way that I understand what an impossible situation I created for him—and offer him a heartfelt apology for putting that unfair burden on him. Perhaps it would help him get on with his own life. And perhaps we could then truly be friends, as we were in the past.”
Lady Helen gave a rueful grimace. “But I can’t ever seem to find the right words—they simply tumble out all wrong and I end up making a goose of myself.”
It was not at all what Caroline had expected to hear.
“So it makes for a terribly awkward situation.” She sighed again. “I’m not quite sure why I am telling you this, except Jeremy seemed to think it might…matter to you.”
Caroline’s blush deepened. “I don’t know why he… That is, I cannot imagine…”
She was saved from further stammering by the arrival of the tub and two young maids who were bearing buckets of hot water. Lady Helen left her to her bath, and as she shed her garments, her spirits felt a certain weight lifted from them as well.
Scalded, scrubbed and enveloped in the clean, sweet-smelling dressing gown, she had barely laid her head upon the pillow, her precious jacket tucked safely beneath it, when her swirling thoughts gave way to a deep, impenetrable slumber.
Thirteen
Davenport woke slowly, savoring the crispness of the sheets against his soaped skin, the gentle support of the feathered pillow and the thick horsehair mattress beneath his aching bones. It was all one could wish for. Yet in the muzzy state between sleep and consciousness, he was oddly aware that he would have rather been lying with his limbs stretched out on a pile of straw, his head cradled in Caroline’s lap…
He suddenly came sharply to his senses.
Where was she? Was she all right?
The thought caused him to sit up and swing his legs out from beneath the warmth of the covers. His clothes, freshly laundered and free of the scent of sweat and straw, were hanging over a chair. A new shirt had been found to replace the ruined one. He dressed quickly, noting that aside from a touch of stiffness, his shoulder was feeling perfectly fine.
