"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched.
A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
*Republishing this chapter because I was so exhausted last night, I forgot to publish the first half. Lol.
*
Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
Replacing Lady Atkins on the bed, Noah released his hold around her and rose to his feet, common sense propelling him to put some distance between their bodies. Race was right; Noah should not have brought Lady Atkins to Camden. It was wrong, and even more so, it was dangerous. He risked everything to bring her here—his reputation and especially his sanity. Kissing his cousin's widow in public might have been a slightly forgivable crime, but bringing her into his home unaccompanied was completely unforgivable.
And how could Noah forget the kiss that plagued his every second since it happened three nights ago? Lady Atkins's presence in his home would make his plan to forget the event impossible.
But Noah didn't have a choice, for someone had attacked Lady Atkins, and for all he knew, the attack was his fault. It was no coincidence the attack happened on the same night he and Lady Atkins were caught kissing. In rage, perhaps a member of the ton who had set their interest on Noah had sought to pass a deadly message to Lady Atkins? Noah wasn't certain, but what was worse than the anonymity of the attacker was their freedom to roam the streets, posing a continuous threat to Lady Atkins.
Bringing Lady Atkins to Camden with him was no longer a matter of reputation or preservation of his sanity, it was a matter of Lady Atkins's life, and he was obligated to preserve it.
Lady Atkins was his responsibility, placed upon him by Oliver's unconventional will. Perhaps he didn't wish to control and use her like Oliver had demanded, but he didn't wish to abandon her to an uncertain fate.
He glanced at her sleeping form, sedated from the medication the physician had prescribed. The swelling around her eyelid had gone down a little and the redness around her lips had started to fade away.
She would live, the physician had said on the day Noah found Lady Atkins on his doorstep. She had been so battered, he wondered how she had managed the journey from her house to his; how she hadn't fainted or died on the way. She was so frail, so wounded, so broken...
She was nothing like the woman he met that morning at the reading of Oliver's will; the stubborn, cold, sharp-tongued woman. She laid here, motionless, in need of shelter, in need of healing.
And perhaps—he thought, stepping forward and brushing her hair off her forehead—she was in need of him.
*
Beatrice was awakened by the clash of something in the distance. She tore her eyelids apart, tears blurring her vision as her gaze traveled the room. Propelling herself up with her elbows, she winced, her action rewarded by a sharp pain through her skull.
She gritted her teeth, her fingers curling around the sheets as she pushed herself to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes.
"Ow!" she cried, withdrawing her hand at the sting in one eye. It was then she realized that her blurred vision was as a result of one eye's inability to fully open. It was also then she remembered what happened, how her father had beaten her, how she had laid motionless on the stairs waiting to die—how she had prayed to die.
