Page 38 of Venus in Disguise

A steady drizzle fell, settling on his face as he turned towards his front door. The idea that Narcissa was out in this weather, alone and unprotected, made his insides twist into a savage knot. His fault, he told himself. If he had given her a chance, she might be with him now. Though he still did not know if the tentative relationship that had sprung up between them had any real substance, his instincts told him to trust his gut. Currently, his gut was damning him for losing the one woman who might have made him happy, if only he’d allowed her to try.

Utterly wretched and sick with guilt, Ash walked to his front door. He needed a change of clothes and a bite to eat before he headed back out again. Somehow, he had to figure out where she might go. Delia had been a close friend, so he would start there. Perhaps she had heard from Narcissa, or perhaps Narcissa was already there, safe and well. God, he hoped so.

Ash was about to enter his house when a voice called his name.

“M-Mr Ans-son,” it stammered through chattering teeth.

Ash turned, looking in surprise at a boy astride a bedraggled horse. Rain dripped sullenly off the lad’s hat. His clothes, which were of excellent quality, were too big for him and soaked through. Though the horse looked a superb creature, it appeared as if it had endured an ordeal, its head hanging with exhaustion. Indeed, the two of them looked utterly dreadful, covered in mud from head to hoof. The young fellow held a sodden portmanteau before him on the horse, which slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a wet thud. As Ash watched, the boy’s eyes rolled up in his face and he swayed.

Ash hurried forward, catching the lad just as he slithered from the horse’s back.

“Take the horse round to the stables and see it’s cared for,” he shouted to the footman who had hurried out from inside his house.

“Come along, my lad,” he said, hefting the boy, who weighed nothing at all.

Suddenly, Ash registered the softness beneath his hands. He glanced at the boy’s white, mud-spattered face as he carried him through the door and his breath caught. Just as he told himself he’d run mad, for it could not possibly be… the lad’s cap fell off, revealing a tumble of pale gold curls.

“Christ!” he exclaimed, slamming the door before anyone could see the figure he carried was female, and not that of the young boy she’d appeared to be.

“My lord?” exclaimed his housekeeper, Mrs Fenchurch, gazing at the figure in his arms with alarm. “God have mercy. Is he dead? Or… is that a he?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Fetch a doctor,” he said, giving her a stern look. “And hold your tongue. No one can know she’s here.”

“Yes, my lord,” the woman said with a sharp nod. “At once.”

Ash didn’t reply, knowing he could trust his housekeeper implicitly, too intent on carrying Narcissa up the stairs. She was soaked to the bone, filthy and shivering. He kicked open the door to his bedroom, carried her through, and slammed the door shut again after them before he laid her carefully down on his bed.

“Narcissa?” he said, patting her cold cheek.

She didn’t stir, which made his heart leap with fear. Ash reached for her hands and rubbed them between his, terrified by how cold she was. She let out a soft sound of protest and he breathed a sigh of relief.

With fingers that trembled with fear at just how ill she might have made herself, for she had clearly been out in this dreadful weather for days, Ash reached for her boots. The laces were so wet they would not untie, so he found a penknife and cut them through, tugging the leather boots aside and stripping off the sodden stockings beneath.

He hesitated as he stared at the helpless figure before him, wondering if he ought to send for his housekeeper. A possessive desire to care for her himself, to keep her close, startled him but he did not question it. Like it or not, Narcissa was ruined now, and she had come to him. She had put her trust in him, and he would not let her down. As soon as she was well, they’d be married. Ash did not bother examining the surge of possessive satisfaction that thrummed through him at the idea, pushing it aside as irrelevant.

“For better or worse,” he muttered under his breath as his trembling hands fumbled with her buttons. “I hope you didn’t change your mind on the way, love, or we shall both be in the basket.”

Narcissa mumbled and stirred as he stripped the wet coat and waistcoat from her. Lord, how had he ever thought she was a boy, even for a moment? Beneath the waistcoat she wore no corset, and the fine wet linen plastered itself to the decadent curves of her breasts.

“M-Mr Anson?”

“Narcissa?” Ash said in relief, as her eyes blinked open and she gazed at him, looking somewhat bewildered. “Oh, thank heavens. Come, love. We must get you out of these wet clothes. You’re soaked to the bone, and you’ll catch your death of cold if we don’t get you warm and dry.”

“Y-You’re n-not cross with me?” she asked through chattering teeth.

“Cross?” Ash repeated. “What for? Never mind that. Can you stand so we can get these trousers off? Wherever did you get them?”

“My brother’s,” she said, allowing him to help her to her feet. “I stole them, and then stole one of the duke’s horses,” she added.

Ash looked at her. “My, you have had an adventure,” he murmured.

She nodded, a shadow passing over her face. “N-Not a very pleasant one, but I… I had to see you. I had to tell you. I didn’t mean—”

Ash pressed a finger to her mouth, a lump rising to his throat as regret filled him. “Hush, love, I know already. I ought to have realised, but…. I’m sorry, Narcissa. I underestimated you.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling into one of abject misery. “N-No, you didn’t. I was a coward. I ought n-never to have denied you like that. Only he… he…”

Ash pulled her into his arms and held on tight. “I know. Mrs Pinkerton told me a little, and you shall tell me everything. Once you are warm and dry, we will talk it all through, I promise. For now, though… Hush, love.”