Page 56 of Disciplined by the Duke
He pulled back on the reins on the next ridge, both he and his mount sucking in lungfuls of air. Sweeping back the wet hair that fell in his eyes, he kicked his heels into Darkwing’s sides. And immediately yanked on the reins.
The horse snorted in disgust and swung his head. Marcus ignored his friend’s temper. The large oak down to his left, about ten feet from the precipice. That lump in front of it was a rock, wasn’t it?
“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered, and sent Darkwing flying down towards it. Towards her. Because now he could see clearly it wasn’t a rock, but a heap of black skirts around a still body.
Before his horse had even come to a full stop, Marcus was on the ground, kneeling beside Liz. He rolled her from her side to her back, and cursed when the cold skin of her cheek met his questing fingers. “Elizabeth? Liz, answer me, damn it.”
She opened her eyes, and his gut unclenched. A crease appeared on her brow. “I fell.”
That was it? All the explanation she would give him? He pressed his lips together and shrugged out of his greatcoat. “Do you hurt anywhere?” Running his hands down her body, he didn’t feel any broken bones, didn’t see any blood.
“Just cold,” she whispered, and shut her eyes.
Lifting her upper body from the wet ground, he wrapped her in the thick wool. “Keep your eyes open,” he demanded. He stood with her in his arms and turned for Darkwing. The horse, bless his soul, hadn’t moved from where Marcus had dismounted, and stood patiently waiting for his master’s return.
If only humans were so cooperative. He hefted Liz to the front of the saddle, climbed up behind her, pulled her close to his chest. Shudders wracked her small body. Her eyes were open, mere slits, but at least she was conscious. Tucking his greatcoat as tightly around her body as possible, Marcus pointed his mount towards home and took off at a gallop.
Darkwing’s hooves ate up the distance, the horse’s gait sure on the muddy ground. The tremors of his slight burden increased, grew racking, and Marcus dug his heels even harden into the horse’s sides. His eyes became blinded by the horizontal rain and the air whipping past. He gave himself over to Darkwing’s care, knowing his horse would get them safely home. What he would do once they reached Hartsworth he had no idea. What he would do with his little bird past getting her warm, and dry, and safe he couldn’t fathom.
But something had changed. When he’d spied her limp form huddled on the wet ground, something had changed within himself. She was no longer just one of his servants, could never hold that place again. Perhaps she hadn’t been that for a while and the shock of seeing her thus finally made him admit that to himself.
His fingers were as cold and hard as ice, his grip frozen on the reins in one hand and on Liz’s waist in his other. Her lids had fallen shut, and Marcus did his best to shake her. Although if the rattle of their race across his fields didn’t rouse her his attempts would do no better. “Liz!” His shout was torn from his mouth and carried away on the wind. “Wake up,” he demanded hoarsely. Her only response was to sag more completely into his hold.
His chest squeezed when the stone edifice of his home crested into view. He guided his horse around the east wing, heading for the nearest entry where he knew servants would be waiting, ready for his commands. Darkwing sent a spray of mud slopping against the stone wall as he skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen door. Mrs. Johnson and two of her helpers looked up, mouths in identical o’s of surprise when he stormed into the warm room, Liz a shivering mass in his arms.
“Mrs. Johnson, get Mr. Todd. I want a hot bath drawn in my chambers immediately. And have him send someone for the doctor. I want him on hand in case we need him.” He shifted Liz in his arms, the strain of the past hour catching up with his muscles.
“Your chambers . . .” The cook’s gaze darted from his face to the sodden bundle in his arms and back again. Her mouth snapped shut and she nodded her head. “Right away.” She turned for the stairs, Marcus following close behind, and yelled back into the kitchen, “Girls, get the water going!”
With an efficiency that no longer surprised the duke, but still managed to impress, every door was thrown open as he reached it, the whole house made aware of his destination and urgency. Before he’d even laid Liz down on the settee in his bedroom’s antechamber, a row of men carrying buckets of steaming water and a copper tub began preparing a bath.
He glanced down. Liz was awake and looking around the room, forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“What am I doing here?”
At least, that’s what Marcus thought she asked. Between the noise the bustle of servants made and the chattering of her teeth, it was hard to tell. “We’re getting you warm. Don’t move,” he told her, and joined Mr. Todd at the entrance to his rooms.
“Your Grace, the doctor has been sent for. What else can I do?” The steward cast a concerned look at Liz, who had pushed herself to her elbows on the brocade sofa.
“Thank you.” Fires popped up in the hearths in each of his rooms. The stream of servants began to dwindle, their tasks complete. Marcus gripped the door and watched the last footman leave. “Settle the doctor in one of the parlors when he arrives and give him whatever he wants. I’ll let you know if he needs to be sent up.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He bent at the waist and was gone, with nary a murmur or questioning look in his eye over the impropriety of the situation. Marcus took a moment to appreciate the privilege a dukedom gave him, for this was surely as improper a situation as could occur. The master of the house was alone with a young female servant, and everyone knew his purpose in being so.
He curled his fingers. Time to get to that purpose. He stalked towards her until she had to crane her neck to look at him. A shudder sent his greatcoat sliding off one damp shoulder. He tore the rest of the garment from her and reached for her apron, stained brown with dirt. “All right. Clothes come off now.”
“Wait . . . what?”
He tossed the apron next to his coat and started working at the buttons at her throat.
She flicked her eyes from the tub to his face to his hands working her dress off. Her forehead smoothed. “Wait, I can”—she cleared the hoarseness from her throat—“I can do this.” Her cold fingers pushed uselessly at him, unable to even grip his hands.
“Of course you can.” Tired of the endless buttons, he gripped each edge of the sagging dress and tore it open across her middle, baring her sodden underclothes.
She gasped and tried to stand. Marcus didn’t even have to push her down to keep her where she was. Her body was too cold to respond to her cues.
“You couldn’t even hold my hand right now, much less remove your clothes and boots.” He swatted her fingers away. “Now hush up and stop getting in my way. If you persist I will get four of my men up here to hold you down while I cut the clothing from your body. The choice is yours.”
Unlike her muscles, her voice suffered no damage from the cold. “You overbearing brute.” She tried to grab his hands again. “Just because you’re a duke doesn’t mean that you can—” A shudder washed over her, and she tried to burrow back under her wet clothes.
