Her fingers dug into the rich mahogany as she stared into the flames. What was happening? Was Sam all right? Pushing off the wood, she began to pace again.
The two of them had depended on each other since their parents had passed away three years prior. Disease had ravaged the streets of London. She still remembered the fear as though it were a scent in the air. They’d stayed in their home, barely leaving as people around them had succumbed to the coughing plague. When her mother had become ill, her father had taken her to a sanitarium, staying by her side, despite the risks. Sam had had to come home from school to care for Dahlia in his stead. Their father had promised it would only be temporary but, in the end, they’d both perished.
Her chest tightened. What if Sam didn’t survive? She’d seen far too much of the cruel, indifferent nature of the world to fool herself. It was a possibility. Sam wasn’t just her provider, he was her family and her best friend. She’d be lost without him.
The door opened, the heavy wood banging against the wall as men’s voices rang out in the hall.
“Get him upstairs. Charlie, fetch some sheers. Stan, hot water and clean clothes.”
Dahlia raced to the door of the front parlor as four men carried her brother, flat on a wooden slab, into the house. The man she’d met was in front, continuing to issue orders. The butler had referred to him as “my lord.” Clearly, this was his house. He was the wolf.
“Jarvis, see that the doctor is shown upstairs as soon as he arrives.” They began to carry her brother up the stairs. She froze, fear seizing her muscles as she stared at her brother’s bloody leg. The wound looked awful. She began to tremble again, though it had little to do with the cold.
“Of course, my lord,” the butler answered from the other side of the foyer.
“My sister.” Sam gasped from the slab. “Where is she?”
His voice brought her back to life and she drew in a sharp breath. “I’m here!” she called from the doorway. Sam lifted his head and somehow, looking into his eyes eased the tension building inside her. She stepped out from the doorway and began to follow the group up the stairs.
Strictly speaking, she hadn’t been invited but she would not be denied. In this moment, all that mattered was her brother. She needed to be with him now.
The progress was slow as the men grunted, moving so that the slab remained stable as they went up. Blood dripped from the side of the wood, and all the tension that had drained from her returned as her fingers curled into fists. She held back a scream, her fists covering her mouth.
The men finally reached the top of the stairs and picked up speed as they moved down the hall and entered a room on the left. Dahlia followed.
Another man raced past her, sewing sheers in hand. For a brief second, she stopped in fear but then, heart racing, she lifted her skirts and chased after him.
Reaching the open door, the lord of the house was already cutting the clothes from her brother’s leg, the slab lay on the floor next to a bed. Two other man carefully removed his boots. As the mangled leather slid from his right leg, everyone stopped. Dahlia held her breath.
“Well, I’d say you might be the luckiest chap alive,” their host said. “It seems your boot took the worst of it.”
“Lucky?” she whispered from the door. “Are you certain?”
All eyes turned to her. The lord of the manor stood staring at her with those dark penetrating eyes. Then he stepped toward her, blocking her view of her brother.
“Come with me,” he said and reached for her arm. His fingers were warm and sure as they wrapped about her arm above her elbow and pulled her back out into the hall.
Gavin wanted to swear a string of curses from here to the village. Dahlia, if he remembered her name correctly, stumbled behind him and he slowed his pace. Her dress was still wet and cold under his, but the flesh was achingly soft. Her dark mane of glistening hair brushed his wrist and every muscle in his arms and chest tightened. He clenched his teeth against this most unwelcome and unexpected response.
The moment he’d seen her standing in the doorway staring at her brother, candlelight reflecting off her skin, he’d realized his mistake. While she was petite, she was most definitely not a girl. Her damp dress clung to every curve of her body, giving all the men in that room a view of just how womanly she truly was. Breasts that weren’t overly large but full enough to fill a man’s palm.
A tiny waist, the kind he could wrap his fingers around and the flair of her hips… his eyes closed. He really had gone far too long without a woman.
“Is everything all right?” Her husky voice was choked with concern.
“Damnation,” he muttered. He’d frightened her. What a cad he was. She was startled at his curse and the tremble of fear that came from her reverberated through his hand. He needed to set her at ease, or at least try. “My apologies for cursing and for worrying you.” He took a deep breath. “Your brother’s injuries are less serious than I first feared. The skin above the boot was slice
d open but the thick leather protected a great deal of his lower leg. Provided that infection doesn’t set in, his chances are very good.”
She slumped, her weight relaxing into his grasp as she let out a long sigh. Then, without warning, she collapsed against his chest. “Thank the Lord,” she murmured into his shirt.
Feeling her face pressed against him with nothing but a shirt between their skin held an intimacy he hadn’t experienced in such a long time. Blood rushed through his body, settling in his member. Carefully, he reached for her other arm and gently pulled her from his chest, making sure her weight was still supported but that there was some measure of distance between them. She was achingly soft and so vulnerable. “I’m relieved too, but be cautious in your optimism. There is still risk.”
Footsteps pounded down the hall as more of the servants raced to the room with hot water and rags. He turned them both so that he blocked their view of her. For some reason it bothered him to think of any other man seeing her like this.
She nodded her head, seemingly unaware of their shift in position. “I understand. Thank you for your help, Lord…”
“De Wolfe,” he answered, looking down at her upturned face. Her skin was a lovely shade of alabaster and her blue eyes positively sparkled in the candlelight. Her lush pink lips were parted, accentuating a small straight nose. And the hair…never had he seen a woman with such hair. Dark and full, it fell around her face in a mass of silky waves. The light danced off its surface, creating the illusion of a babbling brook. He longed to bury his fingers in it and wind the strands about his fists.