Rescue Me Please (9 page)

Parker could tell that she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.  He also knew that being alone in the room with her was making her nervous and making his mind dwell on things that had no place in his thoughts at this moment.  He could understand, after all he was a stranger to her.  And she was a wounded soul. 
Damn it.
 
He did
n’
t want to rescue anyone.  He did
n’
t wan
t to be her savior.  He wanted…h
e tore his gaze away.  “I will leave you.”  He gave a small, yet ele
gant bow, then pivoted
and walked to the door, pausing with his fingers on the door latch.  He forced himself to
look back with a small smile.

She smiled gratefully at him before turning back to the cot and her daughter.

“I
’
ll have a tra
y sent up,” he said to her back before slipping
quietly from the room.

Once Mr. Peregrine closed the door, Persephone let out a deep, heartfelt sigh.  “I should be ashamed of myself.”  She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks
again
.  Tillie slept, her short red curls cushioned on the soft mattress, one
hand tucked sweetly beneath her rosy cheek.  Persephone stared down at her for several minutes.  What would happen to Tillie if she had to move on once again?  Perhaps Mr. Peregrine would show mercy and allow her to stay long enough to gain strength.  She smoothed her fingers over a lock o
f her daughter’s soft
red
hair that lay across her forehead.  “He has been nothing but kindness to us,
Tillie, and how do I repay him?  B
y being cold and distant.”  She turned from her sleeping daughter and made her way to one of the
chair
s placed comfortably on each side of the fireplace.  She paused when she
caught a glimpse of herself i
n the gilt mirror over the vanity
.
  She walked to
wards
the
French parcel-gilt painted
mirror
with acanthus leaves and floral sprays
and didn’t recognize her own face. 
She stared at herself and
l
ifted
her hands. 
Her gaunt appearance horrified her.  It had been quite some time since she had had an opportunity to truly look at herself
, but hadn’t realized how much weight she had lost
. 
She still looked tired
even though she had slept for hours
.  Her eyes were pu
ffy and red and even after sleeping the day away, there were
obvious dark slashes under her eyes. 
She ran a hand across
her face.  She must have
been crying even as she slept
.  Would she
ever
stop crying?
 
She lowered her eyes, ashamed to be looking at her disheveled appearan
ce in such a beautiful mirror.

What a fright.
  A troll to his knightly
masculine beauty.

Her eyes skimmed over the assortment of stoppered crystal bottles of perfume and lotions until they landed on the silver-backed brush and mirror.  She picked up the brush and ran it through the t
angled strands of her rich red
hair, counting each stroke just as her mother had until her hair
fell in soft waves to her waist.
S
he
then
laid the brush back neatly on the polished oak top and pinched color into her pale cheeks before turning from the mirror to sink down in
one of
the large, overstuffed chair
s
.  Drawing up her legs and wrappin
g her arms around her knees, she
rested her chin on top to stare into the leaping and dancing fire that sent a much needed blanket of warmth across the room. 
Her body felt heavy, every muscle tired.
  Numb.

Too much had happened, much more than she wanted to comprehend in her short life.  She could trust no one.  She was so exceedingly tired.  She was tired of clinging to a past that would never be hers again.  She was tired of clinging to memories that only led to more anguish and pain.  She was tired.

Although Mr. Peregrine appeared to be a nice enough gentleman, she knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving.  She tried to shake off the feel of his hand on her face, the tender look that flickered in his eyes.  He made her heart beat faster.  She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a handsome face, his tall powerfully built body
, h
is strength.

She glanced around the room.  He obviously came from a wealthy family
.
H
er eyes traveled over
the massive oak armoire and matching dressing table to the costly high oak bed with post the size of tree trunks draped in light airy material shot through with gold threads that glinted like stars in the heavens with the help of the flames from the fire.  It was a room fit for a princess, not a grubby stranger
with a screaming baby and yet—
but she had been fooled before and she could not a
fford to have it happen again.

She despised her weakness.

A small shiver ran down her spine.  There was much more at stake this time around.

A soft knock pulled her from her melancholies.  She looked up as a small figure of a girl, not much bigger than herself, encumbered by a great tray entered
the room and bobbed a curtsy.

“His lordship
a
sked me to carry up a tray, miss
.”
  She curtsied perfectly even with the
large tray perched in her arms.

Persephone looked up with wide eyes, lowering her feet to the floor. 
“His lordship?”

“Yes, miss
,” she replied.  “Lord
Ashford.”

“Lord Ashford?”

“Yes, miss
.
”  She nodded.
 
“
My lord
thought y
ou might be hungry?
”

“Yes, I believe I am.”  Persephone glanced at the heavy tray draped in the fine linen cloth that was placed on the table in front of her.  The maid lifted the cloth to reveal a tray filled with triangles of toast topped with mel
ting butter, a pot of orange marmalade,
buttered eggs, ham, and a
gold-rimmed porcelain tea cup hand painted with red roses on a pink background
next to a
steaming pot of decadent chocolate.  Persephone’s eyes closed as the delicious aromas drifted to her nose.  Her eyes flew open and a flush rose hotly to her cheeks when her stomach took that opportunity to growl quite loudly announcing her obvious hunger.  Her eyes flew to the young woman
—embarrassed
.

“
’Tis
to be expected, m
iss
.
”  A small smile appeared.
 
“
Es
pecially when you’
ve not eaten in some time.”  She
curtsied again, gazing expectantly at Per
sephone.  “My name is Lucy, miss,
if you have need of anything else.”

“Thank you, Lucy.”  Persephone smiled.  “This is perfectly lovely.  Please let Lord Ashford know that I appreciate his kindness.”

“Oh, h
i
s l
ordship is always kind, miss
.”  Lucy gave her a little curtsy once more before exiting the room.

Persephone sat and gazed at the tray for a moment longer until she was no longer able to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her stomach.  She picked up the toast and with t
he silver knife spread
marmalade
atop the melted butter and bit into it.  Her eyes closed as the sweet butte
ry flavor burst on her tongue.

She took another bite, licking her fingers greedily.

***

Meanwhile, Parker sat behind his burled walnut desk
barely able to control his rage as he
penn
ed
letters
seeking assistance from anyone and everyone that was available.  He couldn’t very well send Miss Smith on her way if she had nowhere else to go and more im
p
ortantly if she was in danger.

Such big green eyes.

To see them filled with terror and tears had seared his heart.  A ball of anger still burned deep inside him, one with no place to go.  He thought of his sisters.  He thought of witnessing the same fear
in their eyes
and he slammed his fists on his desk knocking over his ink well. 
He remembered the look in Piper’s eyes when they had rescued her from her kidnappers last yea
r and shuddered at the memory.

He watched the ink spread in a large dark pool on the deep brown leather blotter Piper had give
n him as a gift two years before
,
d
amn
.
He stood
,
pu
lled
out a
fine linen handkerchief monogrammed with his initials fro
m his pocket, still stained with
Miss Smith’s
tears and mopped up the spill before it left
an irreparable
stain.  He discarded the destroyed piece of
cloth in the small waste bin
near his desk and sat back down with a frown.
  His forefinger tapped the desk in agitation.

He
suppressed a frustrated growl
, picked up his quill and
penned a note sending
for his secretary who was currently tidying up some loose ends in London.  He would have to set those aside.  This was more important. 
He didn’t know how long he sat with his head in his hands taking deep cleansing breaths, but he finally heard his name being spoken from the doorway and looked up.

“How is our guest?”  Adele asked from the doorway of th
e study
where her nephew sat
with his head in his hands.  A m
ountain of missives
stacked haphazardly beside his elbow
.  She studied him thoroughly with her critical yet love filled eyes.  The room dark except for the glow of the fire and one candle
set
atop his desk.

At the sound of his aunt’s voice, Parker
raised his head
from his
hands
and forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.  “I would say she is doing much better.”  He rubbed his upper left arm where she had hit him.  “She attacked me when she first awoke thinking th
at I had stolen her baby away.”

“Oh
my.
”
Adele chuckled
.  “I’m sure in her weakened state she wasn’t able
to harm you over much.”

“
No.
”
H
e
echoed her
chuckle.  “Thankfully.”  He leaned back in his chair at his aunt’s approach, lacing his fingers together and rested them on the hard
, flat
surface of his stomach.  He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves earlier, when he had realized that the task of sending off urgent requests was going to take longer than he had hoped.  “Although, she does possess a powerful right hook.”  He fingered the darkening skin around his eye.  “I fear I might show a bruise in the morning.”

Adele sat in one of the two chairs positioned in fro
nt of his desk.  “How I would
have
enjoyed witnessing that,” s
he said brightly, a
little too brightly for Parker’s taste.  One of his b
rows lifted in a sardonic arch.
 
She was pleased that her nephew
was such a handsome man.
It would make the task of finding him a wife that much easier.

A corner of Parker’s mouth turne
d up.  “You are wicked, Aunt.”

“No,” she replied.  “It is good for a man to be taken down a
notch every once in a while.”

Parker barked a laugh.

“It builds character,” she continued and he groaned.

“What have I done to make you so adamant that I build more character?”  His brow furrowed.  “Mucking stables, now being beat, in my own home no less, by a
wee
girl.”  He shook his head, his lip
s
quirked.

Adele
pursed her lips.  “A man must learn his own limitations.”

“Dear Lord,” his head fell into his hands
once again
and he groaned.  “Master of my own
domain?  I’m beginning to think
not.”