Chapter 11
The Panda was adept at finding warmth, which meant that after Anthony lay down under the sumptuous down quilt the cat had leaped onto the bed and marched over to settle heavily on Anthony’s chest. That meant the cat could touch his nose to his host’s chin, which seemed to be an invitation to pet his regal feline self.
“Imperial Chinese Throne Cat, ha! I think you’re a simple street thug and you’re in danger of crushing my lungs so I can’t breathe,” Anthony muttered when he pulled his right arm out from under the quilt and began scratching the Panda’s neck.
The purring that rumbled through Anthony’s chest was some consolation for the fact that he couldn’t move without dislodging the cat. There was also a certain odd intimacy in knowing that the Panda must sleep on top of Diana like this.
His hand stilled and he dozed off—until the Panda gave an ear-piercing wail and kicked off with clawed back feet that would have eviscerated Anthony if not for the protection of the quilt.
What the devil? Anthony shoved himself upright and realized that the Panda had bolted to the front door in the living room and was howling loud enough to raise the dead.
Something was wrong!Heart pounding, Anthony shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his hat and scarf, and pulled his coachman’s coat over the drawers and loose shirt he’d worn to bed. Something or someone was out in the storm, and Panda’s behavior suggested that it might be Diana.
Anthony yanked open the door. The whirling snowflakes caught glimmers of light that enabled him to see a dark form barely visible down the lane that led to the lodge. A man? No, too large. It moved like a horse, and there might have been a crumpled figure on its back.
Would anyone other than Diana be mad enough to be heading toward the lodge on a night like this? Forcing down his fear, he plunged into the knee-deep snow and floundered along the lane. Yes, a horse wearily tromped toward him, and on his back a small figure slumped over the reins. “Diana?Diana!”
He reached the horse and the gelding stopped, head drooping. Anthony reached up to the rider, who tumbled into his arms in a solid frozen shape. Yes, it was Diana, her delicate features still as sculpted marble. For an agonized moment he feared she was dead.
Then she said in a raw whisper, “The horse. Take care of the horse.”
Almost dizzy with relief that she was alive and sensible, he promised, “I will.”
He shifted Diana so he was supporting her with one arm and her head rested against his neck. With his left hand, he caught the reins and headed back along the trail he’d broken through the snow. The tired horse was content to stumble along behind.
The lanterns hung in the windows were a beacon that took far too long to reach. Anthony was near collapse himself by the time he reached the lodge.
He dropped the reins, sure the horse wouldn’t go anywhere on his own, and dragged the door open against the wind. When he carried Diana inside, she was moving feebly. “Anthony?”
“Yes, my dear. You are mad but safe now.” He set her on her feet and stripped off hat, scarf, and cloak. He was bemused to see that underneath she wore her comfortable Indian dancing costume. Very practical for riding astride.
Then he set her on the sofa and dragged off her riding boots. She moved obediently like a jointed doll. A large, warm blanket was folded over the back of the sofa and he used that to wrap around her before settling her on the sofa.
Knowing she’d be furious if he didn’t take care of her mount, he said, “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve tended your horse.”
Her head was drooping, but she managed to mumble, “Good. He’s a good horse.”
Anthony carried a lantern outside, caught the horse’s reins, and led him into the small stable on the right side of the yard. Like the main lodge, the stable was well stocked and had hay, straw, grain, and horse blankets. There was water in a bucket—Anthony’s people took very good care of his retreat—though he had to break the ice on top before the gelding could drink.
The horse wasn’t groomed for as long as he deserved, but the beast was fed, watered, and content under a blanket when Anthony returned to the lodge with Diana’s saddlebags. He dumped them on the floor and hung his dripping greatcoat on a peg by the door as he studied Diana. She was huddled in a ball in her blanket in front of the fire, shivering, but she was being aided by the Panda, who was a large bundle of furry warmth on her lap. She’d tucked both hands under him.
Among the specialty items Anthony had brought from London was a creamy potato and leek soup that he’d hung on the hob to warm earlier. He scooped soup into two mugs, then poured two glasses of brandy with a little water and set them on the sofa’s end table by the soup.
Finally he sank into the sofa and transferred the blanket-wrapped Diana to his lap, Panda and all. Even inside the blanket, she was shivering. If they’d been at the abbey he could have had a hot bath drawn for her, but here sharing body warmth would have to do.
He placed one glass of brandy in her hand and wrapped her chilled fingers around it. “Drink,” he ordered.
Obediently she took a small sip, then a larger one while he swallowed half of his own brandy in one long gulp. The burn was welcome as it made its way down. When his brandy was gone along with most of hers, he set the glasses aside and started them on the nicely warmed soup.
She drank that with more enthusiasm than she’d shown for the brandy. It was a very fine soup, smooth and rich and warming. When he set his empty mug aside, he said conversationally, “You’re insane, you know. Surely wringing my worthless neck could have waited a day.”
She gave a little hiccup of laughter. “I had my rage to keep me warm.” The hand that wasn’t holding the brandy glass moved to scratch the Panda’s neck. “Stealing my cat was a rotten thing to do!”
“Yes, though it wasn’t theft but abduction. Surely you didn’t think I’d hurt him!”
“No, but you might keep him! He likes you.”
“He likes anyone who will pet and feed him,” Anthony said dryly.
