Redemption Of The Rake. Elizabeth Beacon

and suffering as she suspected, so she padded her fingers a little further away so as not to hurt him, then snatched them away altogether. Surely it was wrong to feel so in tune with a stranger that you knew where he hurt even when he was pretending to be unconscious? He frowned almost imperceptibly and she automatically smoothed it away and saw a faint smile relax his stern mouth.

      She had touched a perhaps mortally injured man and found him warm and human under the bravado and show of a Bond Street beau. Far from being cold and glaring in death, or alive and somehow desperate to feed off her vitality, he was himself. She stopped again and he shocked her a little by raising the hand nearest to her reaching one and meeting hers as if he knew exactly where she was by instinct and didn’t need to open his eyes. He wanted her touch, it was as plain as if he’d sat up and told her so. And she wanted to touch him back; that was equally plain, since her hand closed gently on his as if it belonged there without any permission from the rest of her. Perish the thought—she reminded herself how firmly she had resolved never to marry again after she found Nate dead that day—but she couldn’t bring herself to slide her hand out of his and break the contact even so.

      Tempting to tell herself the warmth spreading through her was caused by the simple human contact of another hand on hers—tempting, but not very honest. A tingle of something more exciting and less understandable ran under it, a feeling of heat and homecoming. She felt shocked to realise this was the first physical contact she’d had with Mr Winterley, a man who stayed with lords and ladies as casually as she might with her sister and Mr Greenwood once they were wed and ready to receive visitors. Even as she did her best to remind herself of the gulf between them, the feel of his hand against hers without pressure bridged it. So she sat and let warmth flow from her hand to his and back again, rather bemused by the intimacy and telling herself her lungs had an excuse to be breathless after such a shock.

      Birds were still singing in the distance and Hes was squirming to be let out of the fierce hug Rowena still held her in with her other arm and that made her recall where they were and what had happened. She couldn’t simply let her little sister go or leave this man’s side to watch over her as the wary widow in her wanted to. It would be so wrong to desert a warrior in disguise while he was brought low like this. Although she hated the way his gentle grasp on her hand tugged her back into a world of feeling she thought she’d put behind her with Nate’s death, none of it was his fault. Well, part of it was, but she doubted he’d reached across the gap between them for the comfort of her touch and done it on purpose.

      ‘Be still, little love, you’ll hurt yourself and Mr Winterley if you flail about so. You’re not going adventuring again until Dr Harbury says you’re over your latest attempt to kill yourself,’ she murmured softly and Hester stilled.

      ‘I never meant to hurt him, Row,’ she whispered, on the edge of an overwrought storm of tears as the seriousness of what had almost happened finally sank in.

      ‘Oh, my love, I know that and so will he when he’s awake,’ Rowena said, using her sister’s distress as an excuse to slip her hand out of Mr Winterley’s light grip and stroke the wild white-blonde curls off her little sister’s face. She met her little sister’s teary gaze and did her best to reassure her there was no need for hysterics. ‘You are a dear, you do know that, don’t you?’ she assured her sister with a fond smile as blue eyes so like her own gazed back at her sorrowfully.

      ‘I don’t think many people would agree with you right now, Row.’

      ‘This gentleman obviously liked you enough to save your life,’ she said lightly.

      ‘That was nice of him, wasn’t it?’

      Rowena saw Mr Winterley’s surprisingly expressive lips twitch as if he was amused by Hes’s artless comment. Even in such pain as he must be in to lie here as if he’d truly been felled by that blow, he still managed to find her sister endearing.

      ‘Yes, love, very nice,’ she confirmed.

      She let her gaze flick over his compelling face and person once again, lingering on his perfectly barbered dark head and beautiful coat. Such fine tailoring should be forbidden gentlemen with so many natural advantages, she decided severely. Ruffled and slightly battered by his adventures, he didn’t look like a heartless dandy any more and that seemed a little unfair for some reason she couldn’t quite fathom.

      ‘There’s someone coming,’ Hester whispered.

      ‘Thank heaven for them, then, love.’ Rowena breathed, a little of the tension easing from shoulders she hadn’t realised she was holding so stiffly until now. He wasn’t going to die in her care; this man wasn’t going to let life slip out of him between one breath and the next as Nate had moments after she found him on that bloody and blasted battlefield, as if she wasn’t worth struggling to live for.

      ‘I will,’ her sister promised so solemnly Rowena believed her.

      ‘We’ll do it together,’ she murmured and the man let his mouth relax for a moment, as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it.

      ‘Why are they coming creeping through the bushes like that, Rowena? Jack must have told them where we are and what the matter is and that they should hurry.’

      Rowena glanced at the watch Nate’s mama had given her for a wedding present, as if she knew they must count the hours. Now she realised how little time had passed, her heart jigged like a frightened horse in panic. It was too soon even for Jack to have run all the way to Raigne, found someone capable of organising a rescue, then got here before Hes’s lungs had quite settled into their usual unhurried ease.

      ‘Maybe one of your friends escaped from their books and won’t show their face for fear of being sent home,’ she said as cheerfully as she could.

      Memory of that sharp echo ringing out as this man hit the ground with Hes in his arms sniped at her and a superstitious shiver slid down her back. The thicket of evergreens a past Lord Laughraine had planted to preserve game looked ideal cover for a hunter of men now. Even the air in the mellow autumn woodland seemed to have gone wary; birds stopped singing as if they were listening and there was the angry flick of a squirrel’s russet tail halfway up the tree that had caused all this trouble in the first place. Nothing stirred but the branch echoing the squirrel’s flight, yet it felt as if half the world was listening for what came next.

      ‘I’m frightened, Row,’ Hester whispered, as if she felt like a pheasant in the sights of an expensive shotgun, as well.

      ‘This gentleman isn’t in a fit state to hurt you even if he wanted to. We have proof the boot is on the other foot and he must wish you well, since he’s saved you a hard tumble and more broken bones than I can bring myself to think of right now,’ Rowena joked as best she could.

      With another glance at the unfriendly evergreens she counted how many seconds it might take her to snatch her little sister up and run for safety. No, she couldn’t leave this man staked out here like a sacrifice, even if it wasn’t a little bit too far to take the risk. Mr Winterley had saved Hester’s life, even if he had brought an enemy into this wood with him. Nobody had tried to shoot her or Hes or Jack in all the time they’d lived here, so the danger was his. What a poor return it would be for saving Hes if they left some villain to murder and rob him as brutally as she’d seen the dead and wounded on the battlefield stripped and plundered that awful day, irrespective of which side they fought for. Even if she was that ungrateful, this odd feeling of connection to the man would keep her here. So should she let Hes go and tell her to run home as fast as her shaky legs could carry her? No, she might be caught and used against them and, knowing Hes, she’d refuse to go.

      Her little sister had heard the furtive movement as if a marksman was finding a snug spot for an ambush, as well. Rowena shuddered at the idea of Mr Winterley coldly murdered, yet he was Lord Farenze’s brother and wouldn’t that bring every single instrument of the law down on his killer? It seemed too big a risk for a sane man to take, but a leaf stirred where no wind could reach it and she sensed a predator waiting for a clear shot at his quarry even so. The safety of two other beings felt heavy on her shoulders. Mr Winterley’s face was still blank and serene as if he lay unconscious,