‘I’ve got a need for a servant,’ Fitzgerald said. ‘I was going to put in an application, but I will take her instead. It’ll save you the trouble of punishing her further.’
Hardcastle seemed to consider the proposition for a moment, regarding Fitzgerald with his keen blue eyes. Then he shrugged. ‘If you wish. File the paperwork in the next couple of weeks.’ He turned to the guards. ‘Cut her free, Mr Fitzgerald will take her from here.’
With a slash of a knife, one of the guards cut the woman free, sending her tumbling into the dust. George could see she’d recovered from the faint, but her movements were stiff and her head still bowed. Slowly the crowd began to disperse, muttering at the odd conclusion to the day’s events. George wasn’t sure if they were disappointed there hadn’t been more violence or glad for the woman’s relatively light punishment in view of what the guard had planned for her.
‘Can you stand?’ George asked softly as he moved over and crouched down next to the woman.
He felt the air in his lungs being sucked out of him as she slowly lifted her head, fixing the bluest pair of eyes on his he’d ever seen.
Without answering she began to rise to her feet, wincing in pain as the remnants of her dress brushed against her shredded back. George reached out a hand to help her, but she stiffened at his touch, glaring at him from under her long eyelashes until he backed away.
As she rose she had to hold her dress to her body to stop it slipping down and George quickly shrugged off his jacket, placing it gently over her shoulders.
‘What’s your name?’
Ten seconds passed, then twenty. He knew she wasn’t mute after hearing her screams not ten minutes ago, but right now she didn’t look as though she would answer him.
‘I’ll not be your whore,’ she said eventually.
‘Excuse me?’
‘That’s why you saved me. So I could be your whore. I’ll not demean myself in that way.’
George had never been lost for words before in his life, but found his mouth opening and closing in surprise.
‘Thank you for your intervention, but I will take my chances at the factories.’ She began to hobble away, every step the pain evident on her face.
‘Stop,’ he called out, wondering whether to assure the young woman he hadn’t asked the Lieutenant Governor for her just so she could serve him in the bedroom, or to point out that it didn’t much matter what she wanted—she’d been assigned to his farm. ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding.’
He could see the anxiety in her expression, the naked fear as her eyes darted over him. Alongside that there seemed to be a hint of anger, directed at him even though they’d only just met. He moved a fraction closer, spreading his hands out in front of him to try to make himself look less intimidating. ‘I merely wished to employ you on my farm, nothing more.’
‘Why?’ she asked, still looking mistrustful, but standing her ground, her eyes narrowing.
George hesitated. In truth, he didn’t know. She was nothing to him, a stranger, yet he’d risked a whipping for getting in between her and the guard’s harsh but lawful punishment. And now he’d lumbered himself with a convict worker he did not need.
‘Call it Christmas charity,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My good deed for the year.’
‘It’s not Christmas for another month.’
‘Then I’m banking it for later.’
They stood five feet apart, both regarding the other for a long minute. Then she gave a gracious nod, as if she were a queen and George a lowly servant requesting a favour.
‘You don’t touch me,’ she said, thrusting out her hand and stabbing a long and dainty finger in his direction.
‘On my honour.’
She inclined her head once again and allowed him to guide her along the street, the most unlikely of couples.
Copyright © 2019 by Laura Martin
ISBN-13: 9781488047695
A Deal with Her Rebel Viking
Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Styles
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