Free Freedom by Jenn LeBlanc

Madame Bovary aside; she would read that one later. She suddenly realized she had been quite lucky to have had that particular novel in her stack instead of Mrs. Weston. If the duke had seen Madame Bovary she would have died of embarrassment. She sighed and looked out over the gardens before settling back to start reading.
     
    She was disappearing into Vanity Fair when she heard it: the steady, powerful hoof-beats of the beautiful black horse and the infuriating—and striking—rider he carried. She stood and walked to the French doors, placing her hands lightly on the handles.
     
    She wouldn’t go outside—there was no way she would test the duke’s patience again—but she did open the door a smidge to let the air in. He soon disappeared into the trees and she threw the door wide to feel the spring breeze before going back to her book. She needed someone else’s conflict to occupy her mind for a while.
     
    ***
     
    Roxleigh rode for the clearing. He wasn’t getting any work done with her around. Today was the first time he’d ever used the passages for a nefarious purpose. He’d watched her in his library. She knew the titles, clapping her hands and pulling the books off the shelves to add to her stack.
     
    He watched her read the pages, inspecting the personal inscriptions that were written to his father, grandsire, mother, grandmother, and others, delicately running her fingers over the pages as if each one was a precious treasure. He’d wondered what it felt like to be those pages, handled so delicately and with such care, then realized with his recent behavior that she might actually be wondering which circle of hell she found herself to be dwelling in here, at his manor.
     
    He exhaled sharply as he entered the clearing. He truly needed to find some measure of calm. He was scaring the wits out of Mrs. Weston; he could see it in her eyes. He was ashamed by his behavior as of late, but he didn’t know how to be around this woman. He climbed up on his rock and sat down, high and away from the water’s edge.
     
    All he could think about was the day she’d arrived. He’d cut her dress and corset loose and managed to revive her somewhat. Then he’d carried her from the edge of the clearing up to the manor and to the guest suite. He’d stayed with her, removing the remaining tatters of her bright satin dress while Mrs. Weston sent for the doctor and gathered supplies.
     
    He’d watched her closely, trying to bring her around with gentle hands. He’d loosed her hair and tried to smooth the brambles from it. He’d massaged her back in slow gaining circles to calm her speeding heartbeat. Finally when her eyelashes fluttered, he’d soothed her with hushed words, caressing her face and her hair. When the doctor arrived and she began to come around in earnest, he’d reluctantly stepped out.
     
    He didn’t go far, pacing the hallway outside the room nervously until Mrs. Weston came out bearing news. He’d felt an extreme flood of concern for her, unlike he had for anyone before that day, but when he came back into the room and she was railing about being kidnapped and mistreated and him , he’d lost his wits.
     
    Roxleigh shook his head, laying on the rock with his knees bent, his boots flat, well above the gently breaking water of the pond. He listened to Samson’s quiet huffing and snickering as he grazed nearby, the sun warm and welcoming. He was tempted to slumber, but knew he needed to return to the manor. It was getting late, and he was exhausted from his sleepless nights, thick with dreams.
     

 
    Dr. Walcott had departed the duke’s manor only to be caught by a messenger with a dispatch from Kelso. A town smaller than Roxleighshire by half, Kelso was a little more than an hour south by carriage.
     
    He examined the girl as soon as he arrived. She looked like she had been flung about the woods like a rag doll. The visible damage was so extensive he had no idea where to begin, or where the