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She shook her head and sighed softly. “No. I think not.”
“You think not?” He was astounded.
“I mean to sit up and watch Scott … just in case …”
He took her hand and firmly led her to the stairs. “You, my girl, will do exactly as I bid you, and that is, for now, to get some rest.”
“Yes, but—”
“If anyone is going to sit up with Scott, for the sake of propriety it will be I.” He cut off all further buts.
She gasped. “Oh … no. I could not allow you to do that. You have done so much for us already, I simply cannot allow you to do more.”
“My little beauty, I am quite used to getting my own way and am not about to allow that to change now,” he said, obviously trying to make light of it.
He was a knight who had ridden up out of the dark and saved them. Without realizing what she was doing, she took his hand to her cheek. This sent a bolt of electric energy through her body, and their eyes met.
What was this? What was happening? She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I shall never forget how much we owe you for this night’s work.”
He saw her to her room, watched her go in, and bid her good night as she closed the door. She rested her back against it for a long moment. Life had suddenly taken on a new flavor, and that flavor was Glen Ashton.
He had said he was used to getting his own way. So was she. Her parents had spoiled her with love and indulged her high spirits. She often wielded her friends with her easy manners and her own brand of stubbornness. To be led about by anyone was something she had never allowed, and yet here she was, meekly handing over the reins.
This was all so new and so very unsettling.
~ Eight ~
FELICIA OPENED HER eyes with a start and sat straight up, a question hitting her hard: Where was she? She looked around and squinted against the bright rays of the sun streaming in through her window. Ugh, she had forgotten to draw the pretty yellow hangings last evening.
Faith! Last evening? That was right. She was in a strange inn, and Scott was recovering from a gunshot! Scott was down the hall … and a complete stranger had helped them.
She sank back against her pillows. She had nothing on, as she had dropped all her clothing to the floor before getting into bed. Everything was ruined, even her undergarments, as the blood had soaked right through her riding jacket and had gotten all over the breeches. The only things she could still wear were her high-topped riding boots.
In addition to that, she had washed only her face in the bowl last night; she felt completely filthy.
What she needed was a bath—a nice soapy, hot bath.
Fie, Felicia, she told herself. Scott is down the hall … hurt, and all you are worried about is your needs. And then, for no reason at all, someone else popped into her head.
Glen Ashton.
How kind he had been. He had procured this room for her, seen to Scott … and then saw her fed and reassured. Just how was she ever to thank him?
A knock sounded at her door, and she called out as she covered herself to her chin, “Yes?”
A young maid peeked in and said, “Your bath is ready, miss …” The young woman stepped into the room and set down a large leather portmanteau, a hatbox, and a large, wrapped package. “Your uncle, Mr. Ashton, sent these up.” She indicated the bag and then placed a package on the chair just inside the room. “And this package as well.”
“Thank you, but, but … what time is it?”
“Well past nine, miss. Mr. Ashton said not to wake you, so I waited a goodly while.”
“Oh no, oh my. I never sleep so late … oh, please tell me, my … my brother … how is he?”
“His lordship said to tell you that your brother slept well and has already had some gruel. The doctor is due later this morning. I think Mr. Scott wandered back into a sleep.” She bobbed a curtsy and said as she turned back towards the door, “Shall I help you with your bath, miss?”
“You are very kind, but, no, thank you. I think I can manage. Down the hall, is it?”
“Yes, miss.”
