Page 2 of Broken

Lord Winter moved slowly toward the house, keeping his movements smooth. The grim set of his features showed just how much effort he expended not to jostle his burden. There was agony on that rugged face, too much grief for one man to bear alone.

With a hitched brow, Giles glanced at his butler, but Dithers revealed nothing. The butler scurried ahead to push the main doors wide and gestured Lord Winter inside. Giles followed, imitating the baron’s quiet steps and keeping Lord Winter in sight.

Just inside the doorway, the baron stopped and bent his head to the bundle in his arms.

“Atticus.” A voice carried to Giles’ ears, eerily soft and pain-filled.

Giles only just managed to stop the dog from flinging himself at the woman.

“Atticus, come.” Again, that voice called his hound, and a pale arm slipped from beneath the black travel cloak to hang down limply.

Atticus whined, pulling Giles forward unwillingly. The dog reached the woman’s hand, rasping his wet tongue against it. At first, she jerked back, but returned to rub the dog. Since Giles held the beast, he couldn’t miss the shudder that vibrated through Atticus. Giles was stunned by the sensation.

“Atticus, heel.” The woman spoke again, and Giles tensed as the voice tickled his memory.

The wolfhound calmed instantly, pulled free of Giles’ slackened grip, and moved along with Lord Winter. Troubled, Giles followed them upstairs.

Once at the chamber, a nurse, who Giles only now noticed, pulled the drapes closed, ushering Dithers out with agitated flicks of her hands. Lord Winter lowered his burden to the high bed, removed the dark cloak, and pulled the blankets tightly around her.

From his position at the doorway, Giles noticed no more details of the woman, but her identity intrigued him. She knew his dog’s name? What was Lord Winter doing driving across England with an ill woman in tow? Surely, he could have arranged some other care, rather than dragging her on what appeared to be a painful journey.

To his surprise, Atticus padded across the room and stepped onto the dais. Once on the bed, the hound nosed in close to the woman’s hand. Surely Lord Winter would shoo him away.

But the woman clutched at the dog’s shaggy coat, pulling him against her side with a soft sigh.

His guest said nothing as he joined Giles at the door, so Giles stepped aside to allow the baron room to pass. Winter looked over his shoulder once before closing the door on the woman, dog, and nurse.

“What the devil is going on?” he demanded.

“Not now, lad,” Winter begged and turned away.

Giles stared after his guest in shock at his lack of manners then hurried to catch up. He rarely entertained guests for a reason. Giles liked privacy and peace at Cottingstone.

“I trust you had an uneventful journey,” he asked.

Winter grunted and strode for Dithers who was holding a glass of brandy.

An hour later, not even spirits and a pleasant meal had sweetened his mood or made him more forthcoming. The food had been more than satisfactory, braised duck with plum sauce, followed by truffles and plum pudding.

The company at the table, on the other hand, had been poor.

Giles was fast losing his patience with the baron. Unease knotted his shoulders. The woman’s voice nagged at the edge of his memory. She was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The man opposite offered nothing by way of explanation for her presence but stoically downed glass after glass of Giles’ best brandy as if determined to forget.

The baron had aged in the last few years. Iron-gray hair graced the sides of his head and candlelight reflected off the top. The once proud Corinthian dressed with supremely dull taste, but, given his habit of constant travel, perhaps that was more a matter of practicality than choice.

“Never thought she’d survive this long,” the baron began suddenly, staring into his glass as he swirled the contents around. “Been years more than I thought she’d have. Dragged her from one end of the country to the other in the hope of a cure, but it has all been for nothing. Quacks and charlatans. Every one of them useless.”

Lord Winter poured another large drink with unsteady hands. “She was such a bright little thing, always ready with a smile. Full of life. A perfect angel.” He shook his head as if frustrated by his own words. “I just could not bear to leave her behind. You have to be so careful with her.”

Giles didn’t respond, but he inched closer, intrigued by Winter’s words to be sure he caught them all.

“Too many accidents. Too many mistakes. Her reaction to your hound was the first real response I’ve witnessed in years. I’d stopped believing she was there. It has gotten my hopes up again, but nothing good can come to her now. It’s too late.”

“I’m sure you’re doing the best you can,” Giles said, not knowing if he spoke the truth, but positive he should say something rallying.

“I wish I could believe that. No man should live longer than his child.”

It took only a moment for Giles to review the Winter family tree in his mind. He reared back. “That’s Lilly?” Giles jerked at his cravat, suddenly hot at the thought of her.