The Mysterious Lord Marlowe

Jane gazed up into his eyes. For a moment she felt weak and vulnerable, close to the tears she had been suppressing. He hesitated, then bent his head, his lips brushing her brow. The caress comforted her, though she ought to have rejected it. Instead she wanted to cling to him. Resisting the urge, she closed her eyes, fighting her tears, then looked up at him. She felt his arms close about her. He held her next to his body and his lips touched her hair; he stroked the back of her neck with his fingertips, his warmth comforting her. He did nothing to indicate a desire to make love to her; his embrace was one of comfort and reassurance, nothing more. For a moment Jane wished that she might stay in his arms for ever, but then she remembered who she was and why she was with this man and drew back.

‘I am tired, that is all. Do not be concerned for me, sir. It is Mariah we should be anxious for. I shall be well enough when we can rest.’

‘You are as much a victim in this as she,’ George said and swept her up in his arms, hoisting her into the saddle before mounting behind her. His arms went about her, holding her close to him. ‘Lean against me. Another hour or so and you can rest in Martha’s cottage. She will take good care of you.’

‘Thank you,’ Jane whispered, her throat tight. It was ridiculous to feel like weeping. She was so much luckier than Mariah. Instead of criticising and scolding George, she should be thanking him for his care of her. Her own reckless nature had brought her to this pass. Were it not for her gallant knight, she might be dead.

‘What scrape are you in now, sir?’ Martha said as she opened her cottage door to him some two hours later. ‘Good gracious, what is the matter with the young lady?’

‘She has fainted, I think,’ George replied. ‘She was very tired and she has suffered a terrible ordeal, Martha. Please take us in, for I fear she can go no farther this night.’

‘As if I would turn you down, sir.’ Martha opened the door wide. ‘She can sleep in my bed tonight. I put fresh sheets on it this very day. You carry her up and I’ll tend to her—and then you can tell me what this is all about.’

‘Thank you. I shall be for ever in your debt, Martha dearest.’

‘Stop that nonsense,’ the old lady muttered. ‘Up those stairs with you. I’ll bring what I need and see to her. The poor girl looks as if she has slept in her clothes for a week.’

‘Not quite that long,’ George said ruefully. ‘But it is not surprising that she looks exhausted, as you will understand when I tell you.’

He carried Jane up to the small bedchamber at the top of the stairs. The ceilings were low and he had to bend his head to enter through the door. The bedroom window was tiny with panes of thick grey glass and the room was sparsely furnished with just the bed, a chest of drawers and a wooden chair. However, there was a sweet, fresh smell and the sheets on the bed were spotless, as white as could be.

He pulled back the covers and deposited Jane carefully on the sheet, placing pillows so that her head rested comfortably. Hovering, he watched anxiously for her to open her eyes but they remained shut, and when he touched her forehead it felt hot.

‘I think she has a fever,’ he said as Martha entered. ‘She said she was very tired, but I thought it was just the strain of what she’s been through. Is she ill?’

Martha bent over her, placing a hand to Jane’s forehead. ‘She may have a fever. What have you done to her?’

‘I have tried to help her. She was hit over the head by ruthless men, abducted and locked up. She escaped by climbing out of a window, fell from a tree and since then I have been rushing her here.’

Martha’s wise eyes studied his face. ‘You’re not telling me the whole truth, sir—but I shan’t scold you yet. I’ll hear the young lady’s story before I pass judgement.’

‘Will she be all right? I thought it was just a faint, but she is so hot. I should be most distressed if anything should happen to her.’

‘I’ll see that it doesn’t. Get off downstairs. There’s a stew on the hob. Help yourself. I’ll see to her and then I’ll tell you my opinion.’

George hesitated, then inclined his head. ‘I’ll leave her to you, Martha. I need to know she’s safe. I have other things I should do.’

‘She’ll be safe enough with me.’

George nodded, a little smile on his lips. ‘That is why I brought her here.’

He was thoughtful as he walked down the stairs. He was not quite sure why Jane had made such an impression on him, but he knew that her safety had become his first concern.

Martha bent over the unconscious girl. She began to bathe her face, then her neck, arms and hands with cool water. As her cooling cloth did its work all over Jane’s body, the girl sighed and Martha smiled. She took away her soiled clothes and dressed Jane in a fresh nightgown that had seen better days, then ran a brush over her tangled hair.

‘You look a little better, my lovely,’ Martha said, though Jane still had her eyes closed. ‘’Tis nothing but a bit of fever you’ve got. I’ll brew you one of Martha’s special tisanes and by morning you’ll be yourself again.’

Satisfied that the girl was not very ill, Martha left her to sleep and went down the stairs. Her one-time nurseling was at the kitchen table, eating a good part of her supper. She smiled her satisfaction, feeling pleased she had bothered to cook that evening, which was not always the case, for bread and cheese was her usual fare.

‘How is she?’ George asked, getting to his feet anxiously. ‘She will pull through?’

‘She has a little fever, but it will pass. Now sit down, finish your supper while I make a brew for her—and then you can tell me the whole story.’

‘Yes, I shall, because you too could be in danger, Martha. I brought Jane here because I wasn’t sure what to do or where to hide her—but I might have brought trouble on you.’

‘I’ve seen enough trouble in my time and I dare say I can manage, but you’d best tell me the truth, Master George, because if you lie I’ll know.’

‘I don’t want Jane to know my full name yet. She knows only that my name is George.’

‘So it is, though not the name most use for you.’ Martha frowned at him. ‘Why have you been lying to the poor lass? I hope she is not in trouble because of you?’

‘No, not exactly.’ George sighed and raked his thick dark hair back from his face. ‘I had better start at the beginning when Verity asked me to help her.’

‘Ah, Verity is mixed up in this.’ Martha frowned. ‘I might have known. She was forever in a scrape when she was young and who did she ask to help her out? You’ve taken many a beating to save her, Master George.’