How to Lose a Bride in One Night (Forgotten Princesses #3)(12)

“Yes. When I first found you, I did not expect you to live. You were barely breathing.”

She stared into the dark, in the direction of his voice, trying to see something of him, even just a hint of shadow. The outline of his shape would be reassuring. The last man she’d been alone with had attempted to smother her, after all. And although Owen Crawford wasn’t Bloodsworth—he had in fact rescued her—she didn’t feel entirely secure. Perhaps she never would again. Perhaps she would always be this—a wary creature of distrust, always on the verge of bolting.

Only she was bed-bound. She wasn’t bolting anywhere. Her fist knotted into the blanket at the unwelcome thought.

Although not for long, she quickly vowed to herself. Somehow, some way, she would regain her strength. She’d be stronger than ever before. Smarter. Her thoughts shied away from the fear that she was perhaps worse than before. That her leg was completely and irrevocably lame. She would not dwell on the possibility.

“Yes. I am.” She nodded with decisiveness, as though he could see her in the lightless space. “Lucky, indeed.” She was alive. She had escaped her murderer. She had another chance.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

She pressed a hand to her belly, noting that it wasn’t quite as curved as usual. If she’d slept for an entire week, she didn’t imagine she’d eaten that much. Even now the notion of food made her stomach rebel. She wasn’t ready for that.

“I’m thirsty.”

There was a scuffling against the floor and a swift yellow flare. She squinted, holding a hand over her eyes, blinking, adjusting to the sudden lamplight.

He was there, offering her a cup. Her gaze moved over the long stretch of his arm, appreciating the taut and flexing tendons and muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin. Her breath escaped in a short, quick burst. He wore no shirt. No jacket. No vest or cravat. Her mouth dried. She couldn’t recall ever seeing so much of a man’s chest before. Did they all look like this? So broad and dense with muscle?

She tore her gaze away and looked up. Fixed her stare to his face. Only that was worse. He was handsome. Beautiful in a harsh, menacing sort of way. In an instant she knew this was a dangerous man. She had never thought such a thing by looking at Bloodsworth, but looking at this man, she knew.

His deep-set eyes were a piercing dark blue. They drilled into her, watching her keenly. “Go ahead. Drink.” He nodded at the cup. The movement dipped his dark blond hair lower over his forehead.

She resisted the impulse to hide from his scrutiny—where could she go, after all?

She took the cup from him, careful not to touch his fingers with her own. She meant to only sip, but the moment the water touched her tongue she was gulping it down. She handed the cup back to him. “More, please.”

He moved back to a small tray on a scuffed, ancient-looking sideboard and poured water from a pitcher. “Just a little more. Don’t want you getting sick.”

She took the cup and drank greedily again, eyeing him above the rim. He watched her in turn, not looking away.

Lowering the cup, she wiped the water from her mouth with the back of her hand, not caring how unladylike she must appear. She’d been the perfect lady before—or tried to be, at any rate—exemplifying only the best manners, aping her betters, and look where that had gotten her.

“I suppose I owe you a thank-you.” The moment the words escaped she realized they sounding grudging.

He held her stare for a long moment with his deep-eyes gaze, not responding. Taking the cup, he finally turned from her. “You owe me nothing. I found you. Was I to leave you there to die?” His words were terse and she was struck with the suspicion that this was not a man accustomed to making polite conversation.

“Not everyone would have bothered with me.” Indeed not. Her faith in mankind was dismally low at the moment. Inhaling a deep breath, she repeated, “Thank you.” This time she sounded sincere.

He shrugged one well-formed shoulder and his lean, muscled torso once again became a point of fascination. She had never seen a man built like him before. She forced her gaze from the ridged plane of his stomach and examined the room. After a moment she frowned. It was not like any room she’d ever seen. It was all wood, crammed with cupboards and chests.

“What is this place?”

“We’re in Mirela’s wagon. You’ll meet her in the morning when she comes to poke and prod at you again. Sadly, you’ll be awake for it this time.”

Like a magnet, he drew her gaze again. She watched as he effortlessly sank down onto the pallet beside her bed, one arm propped over his knee.

“They’ve given us use of this wagon? That’s very kind of them.”

“Oh, they’re not entirely altruistic.”

“What do you mean?”

Those dark blue eyes stared steadily at her. “Nothing is free in this world. Everything has its price.” Truer words had never been said. Hadn’t Jack, in effect, bought a duke for her?

“You’re paying them?”

“They need to survive, too.”

She considered this before replying. “People do what they have to.” Just like she would. She would do what she must to make sure she never became that girl again. The one cast into the river. She wouldn’t be naive and stupid again.

His head tipped to the side. As though he didn’t expect her to say that.