The Offer (Baron 2)

She hit his back, but she knew she wasn’t hurting him, just annoying him all the more. Then her strength was gone. She could do nothing more than just lie like a sack of flour, her face bumping up and down on his back. She felt tears sting her eyes.

Once in her bedchamber, Phillip eased her down to her feet and held her tightly against him for a moment.

“Please, Phillip,” she whispered against his white shirt. “You don’t understand. You must let me go. I’ll hurt you if I remain with you.”

“How the hell would you hurt me?”

She was silent as a stone.

“Hah, no answer for that.”

She felt the warmth of his breath touching her forehead. “I won’t allow you to kill yourself. You know your chances of making it safely to Borhamwood are slim at best. I can’t take you to London, even if I just happened to know where you belong, even if you trusted me enough to tell me your aunt’s name, which you’ve refused to do. No, such an act would be outrageous folly, and little better than kidnapping.” He shook her slightly so that she looked up at him. “I won’t be hurt. I’ll stand by you, that is a promise.” He had absolutely no idea what his promise might entail, but he didn’t care. He meant his words. “Just tell me the truth. Who are you?”

Her lips were a thin closed line. He became suddenly brisk, aware that she was trembling. “Can you undress yourself?”

“Yes.” She sounded utterly defeated. He hated it but had no idea what to do about it. He waited for her to straighten, to move away from him, but she didn’t. She just leaned against him, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

“This is becoming a very long night. I’ll help you. Don’t move.” She wanted to move, she really did, but she knew she just couldn’t. If she tried, she’d fall on her face. That would be too much humiliation to bear. She felt him working at the buttons on the front of her gown.

Phillip pulled the gown over her head, scooped her up in his arms, and sat her down on the edge of the bed. He reached quickly for the dressing gown that she’d left on the floor in her hurry to escape. As he tossed her gown aside, he saw blood on it. He felt an instant panic.

“My God, what have you done to yourself?” He whipped about to look at her. She was staring down at herself, frozen.

“Lie down and let me look at you. However did you hurt your—”

“No!” Before his astonished eyes, she grabbed a blanket and clutched it to herself.

Appalled, he could only stare at her, holding the gown in his hands, looking from it to her. “But you’re bleeding, you’ve hurt yourself, you’ve—” He understood then. He shut his mouth. She was still cowering away from him. Irritation washed over him. “For God’s sake, don’t be a ninny. I thank heaven that this is what’s wrong. It’s perfectly natural. It’s next to nothing.”

She quite simply wanted to die. She looked at him, saw the relief on his man’s face, and screamed, “Get out.”

He stood there feeling helpless now, feeling out of his depth. She was embarrassed. He supposed he understood it. She was staring at him, the pulse pounding in her neck. Her bare neck. She must be freezing. He had to do something. “Put the dressing gown on. I’ll go get you some cloths.”

She looked like she wanted to both murder him and sink below the floor. Then she seemed to just give up, to collapse in on herself. He wanted to tell her not to be ridiculous, but she was only eighteen years old. Well, damn.

He returned to the bedchamber some minutes later and silently handed her strips of white cotton, carefully ripped strips he’d torn off a man’s shirt. “Do you want some hot water so you can wash?”

She nodd

ed mutely, her head still down. “Sabrina,” he said, but then as she just shook her head, he shut his mouth.

“Thank you. Please go now.”

Her voice sounded as flattened as she looked. After he’d placed a pitcher of warm water on the washstand and a bar of the jasmine soap beside it, he said, “Promise you’ll call me if you have need of something more.”

Again she nodded, and not knowing what else he could do to help her, he turned and left her room.

Sabrina didn’t fall asleep for a long while. She’d just lain there all night feeling impotent and helpless. If Phillip had told her he felt the same way, she wouldn’t have believed him. No, he had all the power. He’d certainly done what he’d pleased with her, even forcing her back here. What was worse was that she knew she wouldn’t have managed to get through Eppingham Forest to Borhamwood. She probably would have died or been attacked by wolves. All she had left was a dreadful sense of the inevitable. She wrapped her arms about her stomach to ease her cramps and finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

Phillip took in her pale lifeless face the next morning, the dark smudges under her eyes. He set her breakfast tray on the table beside her and helped her to sit up. “I’ve brought you some good strong tea, toast and jam. It should make you feel more the thing.”

She didn’t look at him, just nodded.

“I have many chores to perform and will see you later.”

He left her to herself for two hours. After he’d bathed and shaved, he returned to her bedchamber and lightly tapped on the door.

She looked bad, tired and ready to fold her tent and slink away. “You can’t sleep?” Stupid question, but he had to say something. He walked over to her and sat on the side of the bed. He touched his hand to her cheek and said without thinking it through, “Perhaps a hot bath would make you feel better.”