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Chapter Twelve
An hour later, Rafe hovered outside the sickroom uncertain. As much as it felt wrong to intrude on another’s grief, it felt more wrong to leave Sophie to it all alone. Especially as she apparently was all alone if the physician was to be believed. He hoped she had some family somewhere for both their sakes. Someone who would take her and her aunt in—or just her if the old lady never awoke. He was already agonising what would become of her if she didn’t, and despite several lectures to his niggling conscience that her future really was not his problem, something about her made it seem as if she were.
Even though he hardly knew the woman.
Even though she had sabotaged his plans and turned the entire village against him.
Even though he had saved her life and her aunt’s and her blasted cat’s and ruined his shoulder in the process, so he had already gone above and beyond.
Even though he owed her, nor anyone for that matter beyond Archie, nothing and had faithfully promised himself he would never allow himself to be so beholden again!
Even though...
He ran his frustrated good hand through his freshly washed hair and allowed himself a quiet growl. Damn it all to hell! Blasted woman had been nothing but trouble since the moment he had first set covetous eyes upon her.
He blamed her sometimes soulful, sometimes skewering, sometimes sparkling and always savvy dark eyes for that. He had always had a penchant for big brown eyes. Probably because his were so blue and had always been drawn to the different. As a young officer keen to sow his wild oats, while his comrades chased after the fashionable, pretty perfection of the blonde English roses swarming the regimental balls in obvious search of flirtation, he had always gravitated to the bold and less impressed brunettes. The bolder the brunette, the better. Give him a sharp, clever, witty tongue any day over a shallow and simpering miss whose preferred method of conversing was with her artfully batting lashes.
He’d wager every penny of his new fortune that Sophie had never felt the urge to bat her lovely dark lashes at a fellow in her life. Her expressive eyebrows, however, had a language all of their own. Behind that door, he already knew that they would be sad. Scared. Exhausted. Yet when he entered she would mask all those emotions out of pride irrespective of the fact her entire world had just imploded. And for all his lofty aims to remain detached from everyone in this godforsaken village and all of their problems, he couldn’t ignore that. Not from her and certainly not after her compassion towards him and his brother last night.
Strangely nervous though heaven only knew why, Rafe steeled himself before he tapped on the door, then slowly pushed it open in case she needed a few moments to compose herself. ‘How is she?’
‘There has been no change.’ The soot-stained nightgown was gone, replaced by one of the maid’s dresses, and a pale and drawn Sophie seemed surprised to see him. Then that was replaced by awkwardness at being caught looking so lost—exactly as he had predicted. Instantly she sat straighter as the ghost of a smile whispered across her mouth. Fearless, proud and stoic to the bitter end. ‘You look better though, so that is a relief. How is the shoulder?’
Rafe stared down at the sling which did, to its credit, ease some of the discomfort. ‘A bit tender but thankfully back where it is supposed to be. I shall apparently make a full recovery.’
‘Does Dr Able know that you are up and about?’
He nodded at the subtle admonishment. Smiling as he recalled Archie’s comment about pig-headedness and her threats to give Rafe a good telling-off if he did not comply. ‘The sawbones has given his express permission but has put me on light duties for the next few weeks. Absolutely no galloping, lifting or wrestling mad cats.’ Which he supposed brought him neatly to his flimsy excuse to visit her. ‘And speaking of mad cats, Archie is desperate to hunt for yours because it’s missed its breakfast—so I said I’d help him on his quest. Any ideas where we might find the snarling monster?’
‘He will probably be hiding under his favourite walnut tree by the stream, but I fear your rescue mission will be futile. Socrates is a cantankerous old thing with an irrational aversion to all males. He really will not come unless myself or Aunt Jemima calls him.’ Her voice caught on her aunt’s name, and she covered it by fussing with the old lady’s blankets. ‘I shall fetch him later once she wakes up. You have gone to too much trouble for us as it is.’
‘Fear not, it won’t be me who goes to any trouble.’ He pointed to the sling. ‘I will simply bark orders at my brother and my staff while they hunt for your vicious pet.’ How to say the next bit as gently as possible? ‘We are also going to see if we can salvage anything from the...’
‘Wreckage? The pyre? The ashes.’ She shrugged as if she was matter of fact about the loss of her home. ‘That is also very kind of you, but I suspect that quest will be just as futile. You were out cold, so you did not see it, but there really wasn’t much left of the place after they dragged you out. Thank goodness the cottage had the good grace to wait for that before it collapsed like a house of cards else it would have taken you both with it.’ She couldn’t look at him and instead gently stroked the unconscious woman’s hair in much the same way as she had his in the middle of the night. ‘We both owe you our lives. I really cannot thank you enough...’ Her voice caught again and he couldn’t bear it.
‘No thanks are necessary. I was merely first to the scene and only did what anyone would have done.’
She shook her head. ‘You didn’t give up. You risked your own life to save a stranger you barely know and then stayed with her even when the roof began to give way. Ned told me that you used yourself to shield my aunt from the falling beams.’ Had he? Rafe couldn’t remember. ‘Few would have done that and whatever happens now...’ She brushed the old lady’s head again as if she were lingering over the last goodbye, a maelstrom of emotions swirling in her lovely eyes. ‘I shall never be able to repay you for such selfless bravery.’
‘There is nothing to repay.’
‘I dare say that is just as well.’ She forced a smile which did not touch her eyes. ‘For we have nothing left to repay you with.’ She rearranged her features before she turned to him properly in case her pain showed through her tough façade, unaware that the deep furrow which remained between her brows had the power to pierce his heart. ‘However, in the spirit of gratitude, you will be pleased to hear that I have decided to resign my commission as General Gilbert of the whinging Whittleston Rebel Alliance and burn my SHAME ON YOU, LORD HOCKLEY banner forthwith...although I suspect that burned with all the rest of our belongings so...’ She turned away again as emotion choked her and without thinking he closed the few feet between them to wrap his good arm around her shoulders and tug her to his chest.
‘Oh, Sophie... I am so sorry.’ Beneath his fingers her body trembled as she pressed her entire weight against him, and he realised with a start that he wanted to be there for her. Wanted her to lean on him. Wanted to carry her burdens. ‘It will all be all right, Sophie.’
It was his turn to tenderly stroke her hair. To whisper words of comfort in her ear. To try and distract her from the pain.
For a few moments she burrowed against him. Her breath sawing in and out against his middle as she fought for control, and he wanted to tell her that she did not have to pretend for him. That despite the sling he had broad enough shoulders for her to lean on. That they were in this together—whatever happened. That she could count on him.
Always.
Always?
Because that realisation caught him off guard, the words he wanted to say refused to come and instead he pressed his lips to the top of her head and hugged her tight in case he actually said them.
‘I promise everything is going to be all right.’
A ludicrous promise which he knew as he uttered it was an outright lie. An empty platitude which eased nothing. He couldn’t magically restore her home to the way it was nor replace all the irreplaceable belongings or memories eaten by the fire, and he certainly did not have any sway over fate’s plan for her aunt. The old lady’s life still hung in the balance and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change that except pray for a miracle.
