Page 4 of A Taste of Miss Honey

He stumbled and Izzy almost fell with him, the weight of him threatening to take them both down. She braced herself, knowing she’d never get him up if he passed out here. She’d have to wake the household and that would never do.

“Nearly there,” she promised him, though she knew he must climb two sets of stairs yet.

He nodded, and she got him to the kitchen door. They practically fell through it, and Izzy guided him to a chair by the table. He must rest before she took him any farther. Still, at least he was indoors and out of sight.

She made out his large form slumped against the table. He raised his head, looking back at her.

“You’re armed,” he observed with a huff of laughter. “Remind me not to underestimate you, Miss Honey.”

Izzy said nothing, too stunned by the reality of Boreas sitting at her kitchen table to speak.

“Is there anything to drink? Brandy?”

For a moment, she just stood awkwardly, shivering beneath her cloak. The cold and the terror of the past hours had seeped into her bones, and Izzy thought she might never be warm again. “Mrs Adie’s cooking sherry. I don’t dare go into the cellar, the door squeaks horribly. There’s a good stock in my father’s study, but I need to get you to the attic first. I’ll bring it to you once you are safe out of sight.”

She set her pistol down and moved towards him, going to her knees. “You must take these boots off. The children are light sleepers and if they wake, Mrs Mabbs will go to them.”

He said nothing but made no protest as she hauled his boots off. Getting to her feet, she stowed them out of sight with her gun, behind sacks of flour and rice in the pantry. Once he was settled, she’d come back and remove them.

“You took a monumental risk, coming after me like that.”

Izzy closed the pantry door and turned to face him. She wrapped her arms about herself, wondering what he thought of her, if he really thought her a silly fool for taking such a chance. His voice revealed nothing, the words could equally be those of censure or appreciation. Though she had not done it to impress him, she realised she’d hoped he’d appreciate her bravery, that he might admire her for it. But perhaps he looked at her and saw only a bookish vicar’s daughter? Well, once he was safe, and she had tended his wounds, he could scold her all he liked.

“The attic is the only place I can be certain you’ll be secure and out of sight. Do you think you can make it?”

In answer, he pushed to his feet. Izzy nodded, going to him and sliding her arm about his waist again. Heat blazed beneath his clothes, and she wondered if that was normal. Surely infection could not set into a wound so quickly? But what if it did? What if the wound putrefied, what if it killed him?

Don’t think of it.

All that mattered now was getting him to the attic.

By the time they reached the small door on the upstairs landing, Izzy was beside herself. The old house creaked and shifted, and every noise seemed to augur a member of the household stirring.

Opening the door with care, Izzy gestured with the candle she held. The staircase to the attic was narrow, only wide enough for one person, so she could not help him up.

“I’ll go first,” she whispered, stepping inside so she could light the way.

Boreas followed her, silently closing the door. Izzy nodded her approval and climbed the stairs, aware of his presence close behind her. She used the candle to light the lamp she had left, and a warm glow suffused the cramped space. Izzy turned back to watch his progress. He was breathing hard now, and she could only imagine the amount of pain he was in. He stumbled on the top step, and she reached for him, his weight still a shock as he fought to keep his balance.

For a moment she was enveloped in the embrace of a hard, male body, the size and proximity of him overwhelming her senses. Awareness struck her like lightning, the sheer physicality of this man who lived by his wits. There was nothing soft about him, no give whatsoever beneath her hands, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. The icy blue was a shock, the contrast too great against the heat of his body, and Izzy shivered.

Despite herself, her eyes drifted to his mouth, a lush, full lower lip and shapely upper that would not have looked amiss on a woman and yet it was entirely masculine, promising a good deal of wickedness should one be mad enough to taste it. His low voice rumbled with laughter as one corner quirked up.

“Oh, Miss Honey, what have you done?”