“Lean on me,” he urged as he stepped towards her, pulling her other hand away from the tree and placing it on his shoulder. Any other time, he would have been thrilled at that intimate touch, but at this moment, he was more concerned about her welfare. “What have you hurt?”
“My ankle.”
He bent down.
“What are you doing?” she cried, clutching tighter to his shoulder.
“Ascertaining what damage there is, Your Grace. Hold onto me.”
She did as he instructed, still holding onto his shoulder as he bent down and released her hand. Her other hand went to the tree again, clutching to it. He tried his best to keep his knees out of the snow as he reached for her gown and lifted the hem.
“Please tell me no one else has come to search for me.”
“No. Why?” he asked.
“B-because I shudder to think what they would say if they saw you lifting my skirts,” she whispered, stammering again. Owen couldn’t keep the small smile off his face as he looked up to her.
“Not quite the way I imagined it, Your Grace.” He could see he had surprised her, but in a good way, for her pale cheeks blushed a little, and she bit her lip. He bent his head down again and reached for her ankle. It was delicate beneath his touch, stocking-clad with the boot reaching halfway up it.
The stocking was too thick for him to ascertain if there was any bruising beneath, but the brush of his thumb over a certain spot made her gasp, and he could feel some swelling. When he manipulated her foot and tried to urge her to flex it, she couldn’t move it that far. “I fear it is sprained.”
“I am more worried about the c-cold,” she said, her teeth still chattering.
“We need to get you back to the house.” He stood to his feet and reached for her again, aware of her eyes going wide when he slipped one hand to the side of her waist. It was slight and delicate beneath his hand. “Do you trust me, Your Grace?” he asked, pausing before he slid his hand any further. She nodded wordlessly. “Then put your arms around my neck,” he whispered to her, leaning closer towards her.
She did as he asked, giving him the purchase he needed. With one arm around her waist, he reached down and tucked his other hand under her knees, lifting her clear of the ground so that she was cradled against him, with snow still dappling her boots. In this position, he could feel just how cold she was, with the dampness of her gown and pelisse soaking his frock coat too.
“Erm …” she murmured, with her face so close to his that he could trace every subtle line in her features. “I suppose this isn’t q-quite what you had in m-mind. When you wanted to just be my b-butler again.” She looked away from his eyes, somewhere down in the centre of his chest. He didn’t move forward, not right away. He wanted those green eyes looking at him again.
“I would never have left you out here, Your Grace,” he whispered to her. “I would have searched the whole woods day and night before I left you here.” His words had the desired effect, and she looked up to his eyes again. “Now, let’s get you home.”
He trudged forward, startled by just how light she was in his grasp, not that it was easy, for the high snow was hindering his every step, and with fresh snow falling all the time, the problem was getting worse. They had to circle trees and errant branches, even stepping over iced puddles as the wind whistled through the trees, making the duchess shiver and clutch tighter to him.
Each time she did, he grasped her a little more, his hands tightening around her waist and under her knees.
“I have you,” he whispered softly to her on one of these occasions. “I will not let you go.” He wanted the words to be comforting, but she did not seem cheered, for she kept biting her lip and looked ahead towards where they were walking.
“I am sorry.”
“What for?” he asked as they finally broke through the treeline and began walking towards the house across the banking snow-covered lawn.
“I only wanted a walk. I didn’t mean for …thisto happen.”
“It is the danger of the weather.”
“Can you blame me for wanting to escape the house, Mr Arnold?” she asked softly, turning her head back towards him. He smiled a little at her before turning his eyes on the house that was slowly growing closer.
“Not in the slightest.”
As they neared the house, Owen headed for the kitchen door. It was the closest one, and he wasn’t going to waste time in getting to the front door when the duchess was shivering so much in his grasp. With no hands, he had to lift his foot and kick open the door.
It ricocheted off the wall on the other side, revealing a few faces that swivelled towards him in surprise, including Tommie’s, who hurried forward, abandoning his work with the bread.
“Tommie, fetch anything warm you can find.” Owen’s request was not just followed by Tommie, but every scullery maid that was around him, all except Jessie, who continued to stare at the two of them, her eyes narrowed.
Owen walked towards the fire that raged in the corner of the kitchen beneath red brickwork.
“Do not put me down,” the duchess whispered quietly, so only he could hear her. “Please.”
