The Offer (Baron 2)

Tasha whinnied when he stepped into the stable. He rubbed her nose, laughed when she butted into his chest. “Yes, I know you’re bloody bored, but there’s no hope for it. Just a few more days, then you can gallop your way out of here.” He looked down at the nearly empty bin of oats. “Actually, in another couple of days, you’re going to be too fat to do anything except groan.”

Phillip refilled the bin with hay, scooped up a bucketful of snow that would soon melt in the warmth of the stable into fresh water, sang Tasha a song, then walked slowly back to the house. The snow was nearly to the top of his boots. He shook his head and smiled. Damn, if Sabrina didn’t wake up soon, whole-witted, he would soon be talking to the furniture. He just hoped if that happened, the furniture wouldn’t talk back.

He’d nearly finished righting the havoc he’d created in the kitchen when he heard a soft thumping sound from overhead. He tore off the white apron in an instant and was up those stairs, two at a time, in three seconds flat, his heart pounding.

He pushed open the partially closed bedchamber door and stopped cold in his tracks. Sabrina stood next to the bed, clutching the bedpost for support. Her face was white, her breathing harsh, her braid flopped over her shoulder, oily and lank.

“What the devil are you doing out of bed?”

She stared at him, her face whiter than the man’s shirt she was wearing.

“I can’t get back into bed just yet.”

“Why ever not?”

“I got up because I need to relieve myself. Do you know where the chamber pot is?”

“As a matter of fact I do. I wish you’d called me instead of trying to make the journey by yourself.”

“But I don’t even know who you are. Well I do, but I’d forgotten. You’re a man. I don’t want you to help me relieve myself. That wouldn’t be right. It would be utterly mortifying.”

“All right then. Let me help you over behind the screen. Call me when you’re done so I can put you back to bed. I’ll bet you have about as much strength as a flea.”

“That’s just about it,” she said.

When she was back in bed again, the covers to her throat, he sat down beside her. Out of habit, he laid his palm on her forehead. “Not even a whisper of a fever. You’re just fine now. Now, don’t get me wrong. You’re going to have to rest because you’ve been quite ill, but you will get well again.”

“You know my name,” she said, those strange colored eyes of her

s on his face.

He wanted to tell her that he also knew about the small heart-shaped birthmark on her left buttock, but he didn’t. He just smiled at her. “Yes, and I even know that your nickname is Bree. Do you remember that I’m Phillip? I don’t have a nickname unless some enemy calls me a bastard.”

“I remember now. Where are we?”

He smiled down at her and began to smooth loose tendrils of hair back behind her ear. “You have got your wits back again, thank the good Lord. Now, as to where we are, I haven’t a clue. I’m a stranger to this particular part of Yorkshire. Do you remember what I told you? I found you lying in the forest in the snow. I’d passed this hunting box and brought you back here. We’ve been here two days now, wherever here is.”

“What were you doing in the forest, my lord?”

“My lord? Now how would you know that I was a lord, a merchant, or otherwise?” Had he told her he was Viscount Derencourt? He couldn’t remember.

Her eyes fell to his left hand, “You’re wearing a signet ring. I’m not stupid or ignorant.”

Phillip smiled as he looked down briefly at the heavy ruby signet ring passed from father to son in the Mercerault family for nearly three hundred years. Not all that long a stretch of time compared to some of the great families of England, but still three hundred years seemed a powerful long number of years to him. “You’re observant, Sabrina. I remember now. Before, I only told you my family name. Let me give you my best introduction. I’m Phillip Mercerault, Viscount Derencourt of Dinwitty Manor, near Oxford.”

Phillip thought he saw a flash of recognition in her eyes, but she lowered her lashes before he could be certain. “Now, I know your first name is Sabrina. Who are you?”

11

He wasn’t mistaken. She did indeed hesitate before answering him. Was she still afraid of him?

Finally she said, “My name is Sabrina Eversleigh.” She wasn’t about to tell him that she was actually Lady Sabrina. That was none of his business. He could be anyone. He could even be a friend of Trevor’s. Well, no, not that, but for the moment, she wasn’t about to tell him anything.

The Eversleigh name was familiar to him. Where had he heard it before? Sabrina’s eyes were tightly closed.

He touched his fingers to her cheeks. She was cool to the touch. “Sabrina, you can’t go back to sleep just yet. I’ve made bread for you and some soup. You’ve got to eat something to gain your strength back. All right?”

“Yes,” she said, not opening her eyes. “I’m hungry. Thank you.”