“Agatha?”
The sound of his steady and commanding voice almost made her knees buckle. Thomas moved down the hall toward her, his gaze sweeping her with concern.
“Are you hurt?”
Her throat tightened. “I …” She drew a shuddering breath, willing her voice not to break. “I need help. Will you help me?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, resolute.
She took another breath, steadying herself, a tremor of relief rushing through her heart. “You don’t even know what I need—”
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me.”
“My brother is gravely ill. My stepmother tried to call on the village physician, but he refused to come without a fee. I …” She swallowed, casting a glance at the hackney waiting at the drive. “I need to borrow money for the carriage and the doctor. I promise to repay you with interest.”
An inscrutable look entered his eyes, a flicker of something that sent warmth rushing through her chest.
“Do not insult me by speaking of repayment.”
His gaze shifted to Maggie, who was peeking up at him with wide, teary eyes.
“Is this your sister?”
Agatha nodded. “This is Maggie. Maggie, this is the Earl of Radbourne.”
Maggie attempted a curtsy but abandoned it, her awe-stricken gaze fixed on Thomas.
He smiled gently. “Pleased to meet you, Maggie.” He turned and motioned them to follow. “Come with me.”
They trailed him down the long corridor. Agatha felt a surge of gratitude and relief as Thomas instructed his butler.
“Prepare my carriage with the fastest horses and summon Dr. Preston without delay. He is to attend Miss Woodville’s family with all haste and pay the waiting fare.”
Less than an hour later, they were on their way to Devonshire in a grand carriage drawn by four powerful horses. Agatha and Maggie sat inside with the physician while Thomas rode ahead on a magnificent black stallion, cutting a striking figure. Agatha, exhausted and emotionally drained, leaned back against the plush squabs, a faint thrill of wonder at how much she trusted Thomas to manage everything. She had long relied on her own self-sufficiency, and it unnerved her to realize how quickly she allowed him a space no one had ever occupied. Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t summon the energy to build her usual defenses. She let her eyes drift closed, surrendering to the rhythmic sway of the carriage and the rare comfort of not bearing the weight alone.
CHAPTER 22
Agatha perched on a wooden stool, a smile gracing her lips as she watched Thomas inhale the rich aroma of freshly baked bread. Six loaves lay before them, their golden crusts warm and inviting, each brushed with melted butter that made her mouth water. She felt a rush of pride; she had made these herself, wanting to thank him in her own way for everything he had done.
The four-day journey from London to her home in Devonshire had been an adventure and an agony of its own, each moment drawing her closer to Thomas. They’d shared days on the road, stopping only briefly at inns to catch a few hours of sleep. Each night, Thomas and Dr. Preston took a separate room while Agatha shared with Maggie. Yet, as darkness fell and the inn grew quiet, she would find herself slipping from her bed. Every night, she found Thomas leaning against the door in the hallway, waiting. His gaze, warm and mysterious, would deepen as she approached.
They stayed in the hallway, sometimes talkingand sometimes in silence until exhaustion claimed her. In those quiet hours, she would lean against his shoulder, her defensesnonexistent, and let herself bask in his strength and presence. Agatha had never felt more protected nor more vulnerable to him.
At last, they arrived in Devonshire. Carson was still gravely ill, his fever raging, but Dr. Preston immediately took charge, bringing a measure of calm and reassurance to everyone. It took two days of round-the-clock care, worry etched in every brow, but her brother’s fever finallybroke. Relief flooded through her, and now, that very morning, Carson had joined Maggie and Sarah outside, his laughter echoing as he played with a kite.
And here was Thomas, looking at her with that same warmth as he reached for a warm slice of bread, the butter melting into it. He took a bite, savoring the taste, and closed his eyes.
“This,” he said, “might be the best thing I’ve tasted in years.”
Liar, she tenderly whispered, imagining how lavish his menu must be as an earl.
Still, warmth spread through her chest. “Try this one next; it has raisins and honey.”
“Delicious,” he replied, taking abite.
She grinned, the lightness she felt impossible to contain. “Thomas, I will repay the monies you advance to buy food and—”
“I will take pleasure in turning you over my knees and pinkening your arse if you speak about repayment. You don’t owe me anything.” His tone was gentle but firm.
