Rescued By The Viscount's Ring. Carol ArensЧитать онлайн книгу.
a thing he could bear. This was his ship. He was responsible for the lives entrusted to his care.
The problem was, being so new to owning a steamer, he didn’t know exactly what ‘something’ out of place might look like.
He’d simply have to go by his instincts on it. Ordinarily his instincts were reliable.
Rain pelted his face while he walked past the lifeboats, checking them one by one to make sure they were secure. At least he thought it was rain. It felt more like icy pinpricks assaulting his skin.
As wicked as this storm seemed, Captain Collier had assured him that the Edwina was secure, that she had been through worse and with ease.
Still, it could not hurt to make sure the lifeboats were intact.
He might own a ship whose reputation had taken a blow, but, because it had, the Edwina had been a great financial bargain.
In Rees’s opinion, it was important to invest Glenbrook’s wealth in various places. He knew some in society looked down upon ‘being in trade’, so to speak, but when it came to the welfare of those dependent upon the estate, it hardly mattered what society might think.
If hard times came, and they would, his people would be protected.
And as far as wagging tongues went, he was only a viscount. Gossip over him would not be nearly as ripe as for a duke or an earl.
He stopped suddenly, staring at the row of lifeboats. Something was not quite right here. All of the boats were swaying, but one of them in a different rhythm than the others. It appeared to be carrying a weight that the others did not.
This mysterious weight might shed some light on what he was seeking. Perhaps someone who would rather laze about than perform their duties was hiding inside.
He dashed towards the lifeboat, not an easy thing to do on a wet, rolling deck. Every instinct told him he would find someone whose employment would be terminated when he tossed back the tarp.
He gripped the canvas, yanked it open.
‘What—?’ His fist went slack, but his heart squeezed at the sight of a woman curled in the bottom of the boat.
Not just any woman, but the angelic beauty he had ordered the Captain to escort on board.
What could have happened to her since he last saw her going into the dining room?
‘Collier!’ he shouted, knowing he would not be heard, but needing a release for his anger. Had the Captain not found her proper shelter and left her to fend for herself?
‘Miss?’ He touched her shoulder, giving it a slight shake.
She did not do as much as twitch. Her skin looked thin and far too white, her lips tinged blue.
Reaching over the side of the lifeboat, he scooped his arms underneath her and lifted her out.
Her head rolled back. One arm fell limp at her side. She was heavy, but he suspected the weight had to do with yards of drenched cloth.
‘It’s all right,’ he whispered while easing her head up against his shoulder. ‘I’ve got you.’
The proper thing to do would be to rouse some woman from sleep and ask her assistance.
But then, proper hardly mattered in a life-and-death situation, and instinct warned him that her situation was desperate. His quarters were all the way up on the next deck, but the room would still be warm from the fire he had only recently banked. It would not take much to get a good blaze going.
‘Hold on, angel.’ Her lips were near enough to his ear that he ought to have felt warmth pulsing from them, but did not.
Without a second to be spent rousing a helpful woman or finding a proper room, he ran. His feet nearly slipped out from under him a time or two when the deck jerked unexpectedly.
It seemed an hour, but could only have been minutes before he carried her into his room and kicked the door closed behind him.
The space was warm, but not nearly warm enough.
What to do first? Building up the fire was urgent, but so was getting her out of her wet clothes. No matter how hot the flames, heat would not penetrate her icy garments.
Since he could not lay her down on the bed without soaking the mattress, he went down on his knees in front of the stove. He gathered her close with one arm, opened the stove door with the other. He stirred the coals with a poker. A few weak flames came to life. He added fuel, gave a great sigh of relief when the fire blazed.
If his fingers felt half-numb with cold, he did not want to imagine her condition. Her very bones must be chilled. He feared she was slipping away even as he held her.
This might well be the only gown she owned, but he ripped it from her without a care for the fabric. There was not a second to be lost in fumbling with buttons.
He stripped the clothes from her, then tossed them to the corner of the room—perhaps they could be mended, but he had not been careful, only fast.
Rising, he held her tight and brought her up with him. Carefully, he laid her down on the bed, then covered her with a sheet. Gathering the two blankets heaped at the foot of the bed, he laid them over the stove to warm them up.
‘Hurry up, damn you,’ he muttered to the flames and the wool, as if cursing at them would speed the heating.
There! One was hot, so he ripped away the sheet and tucked the blanket all around her.
If only she would moan or shiver, if only her eyes would move beneath her pale lids.
As soon as the second blanket was heated through, he traded it for the one he had just put on her.
On and on he went like this. He had no idea how long he repeated the process, but it seemed a very long time.
At last she made a tiny sound—a quiet groan.
‘Come on, angel. Listen to my voice, come towards it.’
What he ought to do was summon the physician he kept on staff, but it would mean leaving the lady alone.
It was still too risky for that. She needed warmth, constant and steady heat to bring her around.
Rees was warm. The exertion of caring for the lady had him sweating.
Body to body provided the best and most constant source of heat.
Because his clothing was still damp, he stripped down to his small clothes. He tucked a new warm blanket about and under her so that when they touched, it would not quite be skin to skin.
It wasn’t proper to be this close to her, but neither was it proper to let her die.
Easing on to the cot, he lay down beside her and hugged her close.
Even through the wool blanket the shock of her cold skin against his chest nearly made him recoil. Instead he hugged her tighter, briskly rubbing her arms.
While he did his best to protect her modesty, when it came down to it, they were sharing a bed with no vows spoken to sanctify it.
There would be repercussions for this, but with a life at stake, her life—for some reason, he had been drawn to her from the first when he spied her through the glass—he would deal with whatever came after.
‘Think about a blazing fire,’ he whispered close to her ear. ‘Summertime and warm breezes.’
Perhaps the suggestion of heat would somehow help. ‘Do you enjoy picnics in the sunshine? Walking in the park with it beating down on your head?’
After a time, he thought that her arm did not feel as icy as it had. Maybe her lips were losing the blue tint. He touched them with his thumb, hoping to add some heat and see them grow pinker.
There