Gratitude stole across his face when he gazed at her once more, causing heat to rise in her cheeks. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Allow me to present my daughter, Lady Teresa,” Papa murmured right before sweeping his hand in Mama’s direction, “and my wife, the Duchess of Ilverton.”
Teresa paused only briefly before retreating to the sofa so Mr. Clemmens could sit. In spite of his clear discomfort, he seemed reluctant to do so while she remained standing. Sure enough, the moment she lowered herself to the sofa, he sank into the chair with a sigh of relief.
“It appears you hurt your leg in the fall,” Papa said while Mr. Clemmens stuck out his hands to warm them from the fire.
“It pains me to walk,” Mr. Clemmens admitted, “though I’m sure it’ll be all right in a couple of days.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as it takes,” Papa told him. “As soon as the storm has eased you can dispatch a letter informing your family of the delay.”
“Your Grace’s hospitality is greatly appreciated,” Mr. Clemmens said.
Wesley returned at that moment. “The room and bath have both been prepared. If the guest is ready?”
Teresa watched as Mr. Clemmens struggled to his feet. He took what appeared to be a fortifying breath before dipping his head in silent thanks and starting toward the door where Wesley waited.
“Are you by any chance hungry?” Teresa asked before he left the room.
He jerked to a halt and looked at her. His blue gaze snared hers until it was hard for her to recall the words she’d just spoken. The hint of a smile curved his lips, softening them in a most appealing manner. Teresa’s heart tripped over.
“Indeed, I would not mind something to eat if that’s possible,” he said. And then he was gone.
Teresa stared at the door, unsure of what to make of the captain or her reaction to his presence.
“Well, Teresa, you’d best inform Cook,” Mama said, bringing Teresa out of her reverie. “That poor man’s eyes glowed with pleasure when you mentioned food.”
Eager to help the captain as best she could, Teresa went to make sure a plate filled with tasty leftover Christmas Eve dinner would be prepared.
Anthony Clemmens leaned back against the plush pillows and sighed. Clean, dry, and warm, he stretched out on the bed in a set of clothes most likely loaned by a servant. His right leg still ached all the way to his hip, the long purple bruise he’d seen when he’d bathed a testament to the severe impact of his fall.
But he was here now, out of the storm and able to rest. The tray a maid had brought him earlier sat beside him, the plate completely empty now and his belly full.
Contentment settled deep within the confines of his chest. As a runaway who’d worked his way up the ranks from the bowels of his first ship to the quarter deck of The Black Raven, he knew a thing or two about unkindness. His father had not been any less frugal with the cane than some of the men Anthony had met later while at sea. For the most part, those in positions to help had turned their backs on those in need. It was simpler to ignore a problem than to face it.
This had shaped his view of the world and the people in it. Over the years, he’d met only a small handful of people in whom he could place his trust. So it was comforting to happen upon the Duke of Ilverton’s family and their generosity. After all, they did not know him and had no obligation to help. Actually, he’d have expected their high rank to make them all the more dismissive of a bedraggled stranger.
The fact that they weren’t but that they had done what they could to ensure his comfort and recuperation gave Anthony hope. Perhaps the world wasn’t nearly as awful as he viewed it.
A soft knock at the door surprised him. Considering the late hour, he’d expected to be left alone until morning.
“Enter.”
The door eased open, revealing the lovely Lady Teresa. Anthony stared at her in dismay. She should not be here, in his bedchamber of all places, without a chaperone.
She looked as uncertain as one might expect from a proper young lady raised to adhere to the rules of Society. Eyes wide as if her presence surprised her as well, she looked everywhere but at him.
“I saw the light beneath your door,” she began, then cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. A new sort of resolve seemed to bolster her, for she raised her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. Keen observation confirmed the slight tremble in her hands, though she clasped them together as if to steady them. “It is Christmas Eve, a time meant to be enjoyed in the company of loved ones. No one ought to spend it as you have, so I thought to take it upon myself to improve upon it. I…I hope you won’t think this too forward, but I brought you a gift.”
“A gift,” he repeated, the very idea as astounding as her visit.
“Everyone deserves a gift on Christmas.”
He stared at her, baffled by that statement and by her overall beauty. Golden hair dressed in crystal beads shimmered in response to the oil lamp burning on his bedside table. Hazel eyes set beneath long black lashes, and soft rosy lips curved ever so slightly in an almost hesitant smile, made her one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen. But there was more to her than physical beauty. Lady Teresa also possessed a kind heart, and this was what called to him most.
“You should not be here without an escort,” he said even though he dearly wished her to stay.
“Perhaps not, but since you are wounded and thus unable to compromise me, I thought it might be all right, provided I leave the door open.”
Anthony had to choke back a laugh and a far more primitive groan on account of her words. To be sure, his leg was something of a hindrance at the moment, but only with regard to walking. He was fairly certain he could still compromise her if he chose to. Provided she did not make him chase her. But he’d never abuse her father’s hospitality in such a way, or her trust. So he merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of her statement and waited to see what she would do next.
She took a deep breath and entered the room more fully, leaving the door wide open as she approached the bed. She stared at him for a long moment before eventually perching herself on the edge of the mattress. It dipped ever so slightly in response to her weight.
“I see the food appealed to your taste,” she said, the words slightly breathless as she glanced at the tray.
“Everything was delicious,” he told her, keeping his gaze upon her and doing his best not to let her nearness affect him. Which was much like hoping a blazing fire would cool him down.
Her throat worked a little as if in an effort to find the right words. Eventually she blinked and began riffling through the right side of her skirt as if in search of something.
Anthony’s curiosity rose until her hand disappeared inside a pocket from which she retrieved a folded piece of linen. “I’m sure you must have an endless amount of handkerchiefs already, but it was the best I could do on short notice.”
Her apologetic tone accompanied by the offering itself filled an empty space in his heart to overflowing. He took the handkerchief from her and ran his thumb over the neatly embroidered T.S. in one corner while admiring the intricate lacework adorning the edges. “It’s perfect.”
Having her initials on it made it all the more special.