Page 53 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

He inhaled deeply, stealing himself for what came next. Carrying her through the dark. Keeping her safe from stumbling and prying eyes both.

He slid one arm beneath her legs, the other around her shoulders, and he lifted her into his arms. She tried to take hold of him with one hand, but it slipped down the front of his coat. Her head fell against his shoulder. She made barely a sound, and he hoped she had fallen into a faint. Better that than awake and frightened of what was happening.

He picked his way through the darkness toward the alley, determined to spirit her away without anyone being the wiser. His hopes from earlier in the evening, not even an hour past, resurfaced in his heart. He hated seeing her helpless and harmed by another. It troubled him that he felt steadier with her weight in his arms. But being the one to hold her, to cradle her close to his heart, felt right.

Chapter Seventeen

Voices, muffled but not distant, crept into Emily’s awareness. She turned her head, pressing her cheek against the raised texture of an embroidered cushion. She shifted, her legs caught in too much fabric. She blinked several times but everything around her was smudged red and gold firelight.

Where was she? She tried to sit up and barely raised her head before everything spun. Closing her eyes hardly made it better. She groaned softly and lifted her hand, which was heavier than usual, to her forehead. It ached, terribly.

Since she could not move or open her eyes, and she had no idea where she was, Emily put all her effort into listening to the people speaking in the next room. They were agitated. Both men. One of them was softer than the other.

Lyness. His was the voice she could barely make out. His words were catching terribly, too. More than she had ever heard. It took her a moment to make out that he was speaking to his brother. About her?

The baron’s answer was louder and clearer. “I have every intention of hunting him down and finding out!”

Finding out? Finding out what?

Why was she somewhere listening to the Eastwood brothers argue?

Then there was a woman’s voice. “I know it may not seem like it, but bringing her here was the right thing to do. I only wish I had been with you in the carriage.”

“There was not time, Mother—” The baron’s voice cut short when a door opened. She heard quick, heavy footsteps.

“Where is my sister?” That voice she knew well.

“Jack.” And that was Juniper. Trying to sound calm. “You need to take a moment to steady yourself. We do not know⁠—”

“I want to see Emily at once,” Jack snapped out, and Emily’s eyes flew open in surprise. She had never heard him use that tone of voice before. And interrupting Juniper? It was not at all like him.

A particularly sharp pain went through her head, from temple to temple, making her wince and close her eyes again.

A soft, firm response followed. “She is resting on the couch in the next room. The doctor is on his way.” The baroness this time. “If you will excuse me, I will see to it there is tea.”

Heavy footsteps, then a door opening, then a rush of clomping steps to her side. Her head made everything sound unpleasant.

“Oh, Emily.” It was Jack. She opened her eyes the barest amount and found him staring at her, his face half in shadows and half revealed by the orange glow of firelight. Candles? Lamps? A fireplace? She did not know, but the way the light painted his face made him look heartily unliked himself. His large hand was on her forehead. Ungloved. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked at her brother and opened her mouth to speak, then made a face. Her mouth felt dry. And unpleasant. As though she had stuffed wool in it and spat it out again. But she managed at last to say, “Jack. What happened? Where am I?”

His hand on her forehead moved slowly, stroking her hair back. The gentleness of it startled her. Jack had not touched her with such care since her childhood. The look on his face, his brows drawn together, his eyes wide, made her heart drop.

“Jack, I am all right. I am only a little dizzy. And I have a headache. And there is this feeling in my mouth…” The crease in his brow went deeper, and she added quietly, “I am so sorry to be a bother.”

“You are the furthest thing from a bother.” A smile that did not look quite right appeared on Jack’s face. “I imagine you feel terrible, and you do not need to reassure me when you are the one who is ill.”

It finally occurred to her what was wrong with Jack. Worry had drawn his features, his eyes too wide and the rest of him too taut. And perhaps a little sad. Two emotions she had not seen on his face at such intensity before.

“You are at Lord Hartwell’s house in York,” he explained to her, hand still resting on the top of her head. It was quite nice. Rather like when she had a cold, just before he left to fight Napoleon. He had sat with her then, talking nonsense to her about her dolls. “It is past midnight. We were all at the ball. Do you remember anything?”

Movement behind his shoulder made her adjust her gaze, and she saw Juniper standing behind him. Her gloved hand on his shoulder. Juniper appeared even more distressed than Jack. That was not a good thing.

Emily pulled her focus back to her brother’s probing stare. “I remember the ball. But…” She winced and closed her eyes again. Thinking backward. Which was an odd thing to do. And everything felt strange. Like ribbons running through her hands while she tried to grasp at them.

“It is all right if you cannot remember,” Juniper said, and she moved closer. Kneeling beside Jack. Why were they kneeling? “We can ask Lord Hartwell for more details. And the doctor is coming.”

“No. No, I can try.” Emily swallowed, the dryness in her mouth making the effort unpleasant. “I remember dancing with Lyness.” Heat rushed into her face. She hastily corrected herself. “Mr. Eastwood. It was pleasant. Calm.” Her brow furrowed. “I felt anxious. But the dancing helped.”