She is willing to give up her love for his honor ...
He is willing to give up his honor for her love ...
Lady Beatrix Gillingham ran from her duty years ago...
Giving up her family's status and childhood dreams.
No one would suspect the barmaid is...
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General Hero Curbain watched as his rescuer returned to the room. Resuming her place on the bed, she pressed the cloth against the wound.
He made sure not to make a sound of pain as she added more pressure. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth he could feel pouring from where their bodies touched.
She was pretty, whoever she was, and Hero noticed something very unexpected about her. Grace. She didn't have the gauche of a woman born of her current life. She'd moved like a duchess when she'd left and returned to the room. She'd spoken like one when she'd told him to remain silent. It reminded him of his mother, a true duchess.
His guardian angel clearly had no clue who he was, or she'd not have spoken in such a manner.
"I couldn't stay where I was," he said. "I'd have been killed if I did."
Those irritated green eyes looked his way again. Her lashes were long, gold, but far darker than the wig she wore. He wondered if she were bald underneath it.
She was very pretty nonetheless. He even liked her annoyed look. The crease that formed on the bridge of her tiny nose. The way her lips pushed out just so, making them appear fuller, round. "What were you doing out by the docks on your own? Surely, you should have had a footman with you."
Her accent was quite refined for a woman from East London.
He decided not to tell her why he'd been at the docks. "What is your name?"
"Betty. Where is your footman, Aristocrat? Are you alone out here? Is there someone I can send a message to?"
He shook his head. There was no one he wished to see him like this. His family was already dealing with their own grief and, as a general, he shied away from appearing weak to anyone who knew him.
It was only by chance that she'd taken him in, given him her cramped bed, and shown kindness. "Reach into my pocket," he told her.
She leaned back and glared at him. "I'd rather not."
He laughed and had to fight to not move his stomach muscles. "I assure you, miss. I've no plans to do anything indecent. There is a purse in my pocket. I wish you to take some coins for your troubles."
She physically relaxed and then color spread across her cheeks. "Oh. Well, thank you, but I'll manage."
"I insist."
"Sir."
"That's better than 'Aristocrat,'" he joked.
She glared at him.
He wondered what made her so brave when others shied away from him.
She'd clearly read his mind and said, "You're injured and at my mercy."
He was at her mercy and never had he had a more churlish nurse than this!
Still, he'd not have wished for anyone else to find him but her. He liked her bravery.
