Page 24
“Thank you, Mr. Ross.” Her eyes were already closed, her voice soft. “I am wholly and completely in your debt.”
In his debt? Samuel leaned back against his seat, his mind spinning. Miss Dennington would most certainly not say such a thing if she knew who he really was. And if she still possessed the heightened observational skills of her childhood, he could thank her current condition for keeping his marked reaction to seeing the brooch hidden from her. He clenched his fists. He’d not stolen anything since the fateful day they’d met, yet his fingers had known just what to do to lift the brooch from the highwayman’s cloak. Would he ever truly be free of his past?
He gazed down at Miss Dennington. Some of the pins in her hair had become dislodged. Soft curls were falling across her cheek. Her skin was particularly pale compared to the red and brown blots and smudges that covered her face. He eyed his cravat grimly. The stain had not grown bigger since he’d put it around her neck. He could only pray that the cloth’s pressure on her wound had successfully stemmed the bleeding and that he and Prescott would get her home quickly enough to save her life. Though Miss Dennington was blissfully unaware of it, her actions in the pawnbroker’s shop had saved him long before he had saved her. Indeed, the only debt between them was Samuel’s to repay.
Chapter 10
The Denningtons’ carriage rolled to a stop outside the last house in a row of cream stone town houses. From within the vehicle, Samuel eyed the imposing black front door, polished brass knocker, marble steps, and pillared portico with no small amount of trepidation. He was almost as out of place here as Miss Dennington would be aboard the HMS Swan in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. And yet his discomfort notwithstanding, he’d been charged with ensuring that she was safely delivered inside, and that was what he intended to do.
“Miss Dennington,” he said, “we have arrived.”
Her steady, even breaths continued.
“Miss Dennington.” He reached over the footwell that separated them, set his hand upon her shoulder, and gave it a gentle shake.
This time, she moaned softly. “My . . . my throat hurts.”
“I have no doubt.”
Her eyelids flickered opened. Shock, confusion, and fear all appeared, flitting across her face in rapid succession as she took in her surroundings. “I . . . I thought I was having another nightmare.”
Another? Did the young lady suffer from nightmares often?
“I fear not. Your exchange with the highwaymen was all too real, as is your wound. But I believe we have reached your home, and so I hope you will soon receive the aid you need.”
“I am home?”
The gratitude and hope in her voice caused an unexpected ache in Samuel’s chest. It was an emotion he’d never associated with a house. His ship, perhaps, when Captain Lund had been at the helm. But even that had lacked any real feeling of permanence.
“I must go.” She attempted to push herself into a sitting position only to give a sharp cry of pain and collapse on the seat cushion again. “I cannot . . .” Panic now replaced her earlier shocked expression. “I do not have the strength to rise.”
“Calm yourself,” he said.
Prescott had done well to bring them safely here, but Samuel had yet to feel the carriage shift to mark the driver’s descent. Given the size of the lump on the fellow’s forehead, it was possible he was not up for assisting anyone but himself from the vehicle.
Pushing open the carriage door, Samuel gauged the short distance between the vehicle and the front door once more. “It is not far,” he said, “but exiting the carriage and navigating the steps may prove challenging.”
She attempted to rise again, this time more carefully. He heard her sharp intake of breath a second before she pressed her trembling hand to the wound beneath his cravat. “I can do this,” she whispered.
“Most certainly,” he said, reclaiming his jacket from the seat and sliding his arms into the sleeves.
Miss Dennington had already exhibited more fortitude under duress than most young sailors. But when she’d removed her hand from her neck just now, he’d been alarmed to see fresh spots of blood. Regardless of her desire to be independent, waiting for the young lady to summon up enough strength to make her own way into her home was not in her best interest.
She reached for her bonnet. The silver buttons inside chinked against each other loudly, a sure indication that her trembling was worsening.
“Would you permit me to carry you into the house?” he asked. Her eyes widened, but before she could demure, he continued. “If you are worried about the overly curious old biddies in your neighborhood, surely it would be better for us both to be out of the carriage and into the house before they have time to ascertain who is parked here.”
“It . . . it would be much faster if you carried me.”
“Yes,” he said. “And that is of most importance at present.”
“For the sake of my reputation.”
“For the sake of your health,” he corrected. “That trumps the old biddies.”
Her smile was so slight he thought he might have imagined it, but it was all the encouragement he needed. Setting one hand on her back, he scooped her into his arms and eased them both out of the carriage.
“Can you manage, sir?” Prescott appeared at his side, moving slowly.
