Page 99 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“Your Grace?”

“I do not pay you to argue with me.”

Nelson maintained the polished veneer of a proper English butler, but rather than sense disapproval, Warwick sensed something else entirely from the man. Approval. Admiration. “Right away, Your Grace. A chest for your tools.”

…

It turned out that Warwick could fix much more than a crooked garden gate and a loose shutter. He had a bucket of nails and a hammer and was bent over as he secured the banister. The muscles of his back flexed as he worked, and Adeline could not help but stare and be distracted from her own task of organizing her medicine chest.

It was ludicrous. A duke turned into a carpenter. A man born into wealth and privilege who toiled over a loose banister with hammer in hand. A champion for a country neighbor.

Her hero. Memories of their shared night returned in a rush, and her heart squeezed in her chest.

Warwick stood and leaned on the banister, testing its steadiness. “There. Safe and secure.” He grinned, his expression one of pride and satisfaction.

Her legs felt weak. They were alone. Hasmik had left for the village with one of the young farmers for fresh milk. She wanted to walk right up to him and kiss him. To lift his shirt over his head and press her lips to the corded muscles of his throat, his broad chest. For him to hold her.

“What else?” Warwick asked.

She swallowed, her throat as dry as cotton. “A floorboard is also loose in the guest chamber.”

“I can repair it.” He picked up the chest containing his work tools.

“I’ll be right outside feeding the dogs.” She left before she succumbed to weakness and did something foolish.

…

Adeline’s panicked scream made Warwick’s blood turn cold. He dropped his hammer where he’d been nailing a loose floorboard, sprinting out the front door. He ran past Remus and Romulus barking in their kennel and around the side of the cottage.

Adeline knelt on the ground. Blood covered her hands, a bright streak of red marring her cheek. Icy dread pierced his gut. Then he saw what she held. She cradled a pig. Not just any pig.

Henry.

“He’s been shot with an arrow.” Desperation tinged her voice.

Warwick dropped to the dirt beside her as he inspected her for injury. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I heard Henry’s scream and found him like this. He must have escaped his pen again and…and…” She broke down in a sob.

The arrow had pierced the pig’s side. The animal was squealing in pain and breathing heavily. Warwick’s first thought was that the pig should be shot and put out of his misery.

“Are you able to help him?” Warwick found himself asking.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Hasmik?”

“She went to the village and won’t be back in time.” Tears welled in her blue eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. His throat ached, and he felt as if he himself had been pierced with the arrow.

Henry’s head was cradled in Adeline’s lap. “Who would do such a horrible thing?”

Someone who’s hungry, thought Warwick. Still, hunting another’s pig was not moral or legal. But then again, Henry had a habit of releasing his pen’s latch and wandering away. Whoever had done this may have not known the pig belonged to someone.

Warwick’s heart ached at Adeline’s distress. She was the strongest woman he knew, and he hated to see her cry. “I’ve seen you work, Adeline. If anyone can save Henry, you can.” He gently shook her shoulders to get her to look at him. “I’ll assist. Tell me what to do.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. If he wasn’t already kneeling by her side, the tortured look in her eyes would have brought him to his knees. “You’re right. You can assist. Help me carry him inside.”

…