The rain fell in relentless, slanting sheets, turning the courtyard into a muddy lake. Mr. Rye, his own coat already soaked through, carefully lifted the Duke's heavy, unconscious form. He carried Eric to the waiting carriage, his face grim with worry. Delia followed close behind, her simple dress clinging to her, her own body shivering from the cold, but her mind was entirely focused on the man in Mr. Rye's arms.
As they got to the carriage, Rye took off his own dry coachman's coat. "Milady, please," he said, offering it to her. "You are freezing. You must keep yourself warm."
Delia took the heavy wool coat, but she did something that surprised him. She didn't wrap it around her own shivering shoulders. Instead, she carefully draped it over Eric's still form once Mr. Rye had settled him on the seat. She tucked it around him, then took his cold, limp hands in her own, rubbing them vigorously and blowing her own warm breath onto his skin.
