Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 44

Sean and Mr. Bodwin watched the elderly doctor assess Lady Sheridan's condition. She had a nasty head wound and a dislocated shoulder, likely from falling down the steep hill to the lake where Sean had found her. The doctor's eyes narrowed as he motioned for Sean to step forward. He handed the lad a thick piece of leather.

"Put this between her teeth. If she's conscious when I set the arm right, she's liable to bite clear through her tongue."

Sean opened Lady Sheridan's mouth and slipped the leather in. She was still unconscious, still that ghastly pale shade. Sean watched Mr. Bodwin as the doctor took hold of Anne's arm, lifted it slowly, rotated and then popped it back into place. Lady Sheridan's eyes flew open, and she let out a scream that nearly made Sean's ears bleed. The leather strap dropped onto her chest. She started panting, gasping for breath as her eyes fixed on her arm and then flashed up to the doctor.

"A thousand pardons, madam. I had hoped you would remain unconscious for that." The doctor then set a sling for her and began wrapping it around her neck and shoulder. Lady Sheridan, finding no comfort in the doctor's rough handling, turned her gaze toward Sean and Mr. Bodwin.

Sean couldn't help it-he took her uninjured hand in his and began speaking softly to her, though he doubted what he said made any sense. She sighed in exhaustion as her lashes dropped back onto her porcelain cheeks.

As Sean watched Lady Sheridan sleep, he thought it a strange but wondrous thing that he knew he would die to protect her, and yet she'd only been his mistress for a day.

Anne was unaware of her newfound protector. She was locked in a shadowy world where dreams commanded her attention. She saw Cedric's cruel lips and sightless eyes, seemingly lifeless, but the hurt was there all the same. The flight from his bedchamber. The blur of candle wall sconces. The moonlight-bathed forest, the reaching blackness and pain. The endless, unbearable, soul-wrenching pain of loss.

Cedric. Crispin. Her awful secret. It had cost her everything. One stupid, foolish mistake with the wrong man and she'd been robbed of the one thing that had come to matter most to her.

My dear heart, my beloved. She loved him. But that was no surprise. She'd always loved him, from that first glimpse of his name in her copy of Debrett's Peerage when she was just seventeen. He'd been but a silly young woman's daydream then. She'd never imagined she'd grow to love him as much as she did now. She'd loved him up to the moment he'd thrown her from his embrace in fury.

If you'd only let me tell you...if only you knew the truth.

London, April 1819

Anne's fingers dug into her father's arm as he led her into the main dancing room of Almack's Assembly Rooms.

"Chin up, Anne. You are an intelligent, lovely woman. The daughter of a baron. It is your right to be in the best of society," her father assured her with his usual confidence. He had the large, gruff appearance of a formidable bear, but deep down he was all sweetness.

"Be bold." Anne repeated the words with conviction.

At that moment the nearest wall of people parted to reveal a group of tall, impossibly handsome men standing near the dancing couples. There were five men in total, but it was one in particular who held her interest. He had his back to her, but he turned his head to the side as he spoke, presenting a fine aristocratic profile. His broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist and long, fine legs. Anne blushed as she realized that she was assessing him like a stallion. His brown hair had currents of deep auburn buried in the dark chestnut. Anne found her hands twining in her skirts as she imagined her fingers tangled in those silky strands. Anne crept closer, wanting to know what had made this man laugh.

"And so I said to him, 'You wouldn't know a cart horse from a racehorse.' The bloody fool called me out for his honor. I told him he owed me a debt of honor for enduring his awful assessment of English-bred racers."

Anne understood little of what the brown-haired man had just said, but it was obvious he took his horses seriously. She added that bit of knowledge to an ever-growing list of facts about this enticing stranger.

"Well, well, Cedric, it seems you've drawn a rabbit to your fox den," a red-haired man murmured as he scanned Anne up and down with open familiarity that heated her blood.

The man, Cedric, spun about to face her, and that is when Anne knew she was completely and utterly lost. The music faded to a soft hum, and the candlelight at the edges of the assembly room flickered into darkness. All light, all life ceased to exist outside that moment when Cedric met her gaze. His brown eyes were as warm as cinnamon. He crossed his arms over his chest to stare down at her and swept those penetrating eyes of his over her form. He seemed to find her pleasing enough to offer a genuinely charming smile.