The Offer (Baron 2)

“Certainly.”

“All right then, my name is Bree.”

“Brie is a French cheese that is particularly soft, even runny in the summer, and I’ve never cared for it. My mother adored it. I can’t understand why the French write music to it. You don’t look at all French so why did your parents name you after a cheese?”

“No, no, Bree is my nickname. My real name is Sabrina.”

He smiled down at her, lightly touching his fingertips to her nose. “It suits you. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes were on his face, searching. He saw fear in those incredible violet eyes of hers, and doubt that he wasn’t another man to hurt her.

“Stop it. I’m not Trevor.”

“Perhaps. I pray you’re not like him.”

“I’m not. You can trust me on this.” Her eyes were still wide on his face, but the fear was fading now, and the doubt as well. He grinned and patted her cheek. “My horse won the wager,” he said, and sighed. “You don’t have boring green eyes like I’d thought you’d have with all that red hair. No, yours are a very nice violet. Actually I’ve never seen violet eyes before.”

“They’re my grandmother’s eyes. Her name was Camilla. My grand

father loved her very much. He never hurt her. You’re the one with the green eyes and they’re not at all boring. They look like wet moss.”

“Wet moss and French cheese. We’re some combination.”

“The pain is less now. That’s wonderful.”

“Ready for another towel?”

“No, please, wait a moment. It doesn’t hurt so badly now.”

“My name is Phillip Mercerault.”

“You don’t live around here.”

“No, I don’t. Actually I was lost when I found you. Charles gave me damnable directions to his house, Moreland. That’s where I was going.”

She knew who Charles was, that was as clear on her face as if she’d said it aloud. For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to tell him who she was. She was afraid to. Why?

Who cared for the moment? He loved a mystery, and he wagered she had as many secrets as a Renaissance nun.

“Have you ever heard of me?”

She shook her head.

“Well, no matter. I’m here now and I’m going to take care of you. Are you ready for another hot towel?”

She nodded, surprised that the pain in her chest had lessened, that the heat from the towel had seemed to seep deep within her.

She looked up at the face above her, a handsome young face with regular features. He couldn’t be above twenty-six or twenty-seven. She found herself staring into his eyes, compelling eyes. Unfortunately he’d been on his way to Moreland. On the other hand, if he hadn’t found her, she probably would have died there in Eppingham Forest.

“I’m going to get another hot towel now,” he said, but didn’t move as she pulled one of her hands free and raised it to his face. He didn’t stir. He felt her fingertip lightly touch his jaw, his cheek, his nose. “No,” she said, her voice slurred now, “you’re not at all like Trevor, thank God.” What little strength she had failed her and her hand fell weakly to her side.

“No, Sabrina, I’m not.” He gathered her hands once again into his and looked down a moment at the tapering fingers. No calluses, not that he expected any. She was a young lady.

A shadow of pain crossed Sabrina’s face and she turned her head away from him on the pillow, not wanting him to think her cowardly and weak. But she couldn’t prevent the racking cough that made her body arch forward.

Phillip rose quickly and fetched another hot towel. She shuddered as he laid it over her breasts. He covered her again and rose to look for medicine, anything that would ease her pain. In a small room down the corridor, he found a cache of bandages, ointments, and laudanum, most things he would have expected to find in a hunting box. He measured a few drops of laudanum into a glass of water and walked back to Sabrina’s bedchamber.

He slipped his arm beneath her head and brought her upright. “Here, Sabrina, this will help. Drink all of it. That’s it.”