“Had to put down one of the ‘osses,” said the farmer sadly. “T’other had kicked through the traces. Scratched and bruised up a bit, but he should make it just fine.”
“Seein’ as how you knows about herbs and medicine an’ all, Sir Sidney, we brung her along here. I hope we done right?” Tommy looked extremely anxious now.
Sidney turned to them. “Take her inside please. Mrs. Tooting will tell you where. And yes, Tommy, you did the right thing. I doubt the doctor will be back in the village for a few days. By the looks of things this poor woman won’t last that long.”
Mrs. Tooting frowned. “Are you sure, sir? This is a bachelor establishment, you know. Perhaps she’d be better off with young Mr. Trethearne and his wife.”
Sidney frowned. “They’re a good five miles the other side of Jacob’s house, woman. That’s more than two hours from here, and you know it. Besides…” He glanced once more at the unconscious form. “She’s wearing a wedding ring. I expect there’s a husband looking for her. She’ll be gone soon. If she survives at all.”
So without further ado, the men gently lifted the gate from the back of the wagon and bore the fragile burden lying on it into St. Chesswell, preceded by a grim-faced Mrs. Tooting.
Finally, the house settled again, and Sidney had chance to view his newest houseguest under the stern eye of his housekeeper.
“How bad is she, sir?”
Sidney sighed and pulled the sheet up over her still form. “Hard to tell. I can see no obvious injury. No broken bones, I think her ribs are intact, and other than the scratches and bruises, she’s in one piece. But it’s this one bump on her head that troubles me.”
He ran his hands through her hair. “A large one. Looks like she may have hit her head on a rock or something when she was thrown from the carriage.”
“Is that why she’s still sleeping?” Mrs. Tooting moved nearer the bed, smoothing the hair away from the woman’s face in a comforting gesture. “Poor thing.”
“It could well be the cause of her unconsciousness. Nasty things, head injuries. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He stood up. “Have someone near at hand for her in case she wakes, Mrs. Tooting. She’ll not know where she is or what happened and I’d as soon not frighten her further.”
His housekeeper nodded. “Very good, sir.”
“I must rest a bit. Wake me if anything changes…” He yawned. “Probably the best thing she can do right now is sleep. Give her body a chance to heal itself.”
Sir Sidney left the woman to the care of his housekeeper and headed off to his room. He was exhausted, no nearer a solution to Adrian’s problem than he had been for several weeks now and facing this new development.
He needed sleep. With any luck he’d awaken before his son, which would give him chance to warn Adrian of their unexpected guest.
It would also give him time to work out a good way to tell Adrian something else about their guest—she had red hair.
*~*~*~*
Pain. Shattering, stultifying, unbearable pain.
It washed over Katherine in waves, bringing tears to her eyes as she gasped for breath. Even the act of breathing hurt, as if her very lungs were bruised.
Returning to consciousness through a red mist of agony, she fought to raise her eyelids. To see where she was.
To see if she was dead.
Although if she was, there was going to be a serious discussion with St. Peter about the quality of the after-life. It shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t feel like knives running down one’s body or the solid weight of a boulder on one’s chest, not to mention a headache that was nearly blinding in its intensity.
Mustering every ounce of strength remaining inside her, Katherine opened her eyes and blinked away the tears and mists of unconsciousness.
She was in bed, in a room—a nice room to judge by what she could see from her vantage point—and a fire was blazing in the fireplace, sending dappled shadows across the walls and canopy.
The sun must be setting. How long had she been here? Was it the same day of the accident? Where was she? Somewhere along the south coast, that much she knew…but after Lymington she’d lost her way and the darkness hadn’t helped.
Vague memories oozed back into the quicksand of her brain, images of horses pulling fiercely on their harnesses as she tried to hold them. The sound of Jessie, her maid, screaming.
Oh God. Jessie. Where was she? Was she alive? Was she in this house too? Where was this place?
Panic rose inside Katherine’s throat and she struggled to cry out.
A shadow crossed the room and dimmed the light from the fire. “Sssh.” As if sensing her distress, a hand rested on her forehead. A cool hand, large and firm, it stroked down her cheek, soothing and easing her confusion.
“Sleep now.” It was a man’s voice, strangely comforting.
Too weak to protest, Katherine Edgeworth Byerly did as she was bid.
She fell asleep.
Chapter Six
Sidney glanced at Adrian over his glass of port. “I expect you heard the news?”
“About the accident? Yes. Nasty business.”
“There’s something you should know, Adrian…”
Adrian stopped him with a wave of his hand. “If you’re going to tell me about the red-haired woman in the guest room, no need to.” He permitted himself a small smile at Sidney’s exasperated snort. “Any idea who she is?”
“Not a one. Nor am I absolutely sure that she’ll recover. Her head injury is the most severe, and those are damned hard to deal with. I suppose it’s mostly in the Lord’s hands at this point. I gave her a little laudanum, but other than that there’s not much I can do.” Sidney looked sad.
“If anyone can help her, Father, it’s you.” Adrian nodded reassuringly. “And she seems to be healthy enough.”
He received a sharp glance from his father. “I was a little concerned that seeing her would be difficult for you, given her hair color.”
Adrian shook his head. “My Nemesis haunts me with fire, Father. This woman has more of a dark smolder to her. I confess myself curious to know what color her eyes are.”
“And who she is. That’s what I’m curious about. She has a wedding ring, her clothes are of good quality, and she’s well-groomed. Yet there is not one single thing amongst her possessions that gives a clue as to her name.”
“The other woman did not survive, I heard?”
Sidney sighed. “Correct. She fell awkwardly. Her neck snapped. T’was quick and painless, but still a waste of a life.” He finished his port and set the glass down beside him. “She will be interred at the churchyard soon. We cannot wait for our guest to wake. It could be days or even weeks. When—or I should say if—she does, we’ll erect a grave marker.”
Adrian nodded. All, it seemed, was in order. Except for the mystery of the injured woman. “Would you mind if I sat with her for a while?” A smile crossed his face. “She might be the harbinger of this curse I’ve heard so much about. I’m curious.”
And he was. This would be an opportunity to evaluate his responses to a woman without concern about his nature, or any input from her whatsoever. And she might talk in her stupor perhaps, or mumble something… Finding excuses for his request, Adrian buried the notion that perhaps the softness of her skin was luring him.
He’d been lured enough by soft skin and heated hair.
“Of course.” Sidney rose from his chair. “I have work to do, and it would set my mind at ease to know you were with her. Plus it would give the servants a break. With only two girls suitable to attend our injured lass, it’s getting wearing on both of ‘em.”
Adrian nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Good lad.”
His father patted him affectionately on the shoulder and left the room with a smile. Adrian knew he was eager to return to his books and his studies. Picking up his own glass, he sipped a little more of the port and smiled.
The slight hint of tasting something as simp
le as this rich liquid was a pleasure Sir Sidney had gifted him with—a gift that he could never repay.
He wondered absently what their guest would taste like. A completely inappropriate thought, but one that slid seductively into his head as the port slid over his tongue.
With a mental chastisement, he finished his wine and quit the room, an unusual degree of anticipation lurking in his mind.
Who was she? Why was she without any identification? Who was the other woman in the carriage? Where was she from?
All valid questions, important questions. So why weren’t they uppermost in his thoughts? Adrian had no idea of the answers to any of them. And yet there was one more question overriding his desire to solve this little mystery. One more question to which he was determined to discover the answer.
What color were her eyes?
*~*~*~*
Katherine sighed and stretched, aware of warmth and a dull ache beneath her breasts. She was naked in the bed, a strange occurrence in and of itself, since the human body should always be clothed.
Who’d told her that? She couldn’t remember, nor did she care. It felt delightful, and she relished it.
Drifting back to awareness, she breathed in air that smelled different, unlike the sour sterile smell of…no. She wouldn’t think about that. She had left all that behind.
When she had run away.
Wits clicking into place like a well-oiled clock being wound, Katherine realized she needed to establish an identity. Had Jessie spoken with the people who were tending her? Did they already know who she was?
So many questions.
And one more plagued her…whose hands had soothed her pain?
She should have been more concerned, but something muffled her worries, cushioned her thoughts and prevented her from panicking.
She heard a door open quietly and close again. She stilled, the beat of her heart loud in her ears through the silence of the room. Even though she’d immediately closed her eyes, she could feel a presence, a person, coming closer to the bed. A servant perhaps? The owner of the house? The lady of the house?
Katherine tensed, all her senses as alert as she could make them, for any clue as to the identity of her visitor.
The air moved against her bare shoulder and a hand caressed her cheek softly, obviously not wishing to wake her.
She stayed motionless, willing her eyelids not to flicker, forcing her breathing into a regular semblance of sleep. It was not difficult, since a strange languor still invaded her limbs.
The hand moved lower, reaching for the sheet covering her—and drawing it away from her body.
Still she did not move.
The air was cool against her chest, and when the sheet was drawn further down exposing her breasts, Katherine could feel her nipples hardening against the chill. How far would this go? Was she now to be assaulted after suffering an injury? Should she scream? Cry out?
Her ribs were bared, then her belly, in a leisurely revelation of all that she possessed. There was a light touch against a spot that felt sore…a bruise perhaps…was this a physician examining a patient? Or was it more…
Katherine couldn’t help but wonder as the sheet drooped lower, letting the air of the room slide down between her thighs.
How she kept her countenance she had no idea. Every instinct was screaming at her to leap up, to grab the bedding and cover herself while hurling insults at the barefaced intruder who was so intent upon seeing her nakedness.
She waited, heart thudding erratically, for whatever would come next.
Nothing did.
The sheet began the return trip up her body to settle even higher around her shoulders, and she couldn’t help a slight sigh of relief at the secure sensation of coverings.
“You may open your eyes now.”
She jumped and immediately her eyelids snapped apart. He was standing next to the bed, an amused grin on his face and he was quite the most astoundingly handsome man she’d ever seen.
“A genuine redhead. And with blue eyes. How attractive.” The voice was silky, smooth and deep, yet edged with something—some inflexion—that she could not quite place.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Her lips were stiff, her throat dry.
“A natural question. Before I answer, I must inquire as to how you feel. Whether I should summon the man who has cared for you thus far? Any aches? Pains?” One sculpted eyebrow rose in query, a little too casually for Katherine’s tastes.
“Yes. I feel as if I’ve been run over by a carriage. Anything else?” The urge to smack this man’s self-confident gaze off his face was overwhelming and sent strength to muscles that had lain quiescent throughout his examination. “I repeat. Where am I? Where is my…my friend? How long have we been here?”
His expression altered slightly, becoming less saturnine and more serious. He eased himself down on the bed next to Katherine and tucked her in—an oddly comforting gesture. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you that your friend did not survive the accident.”
Katherine’s mind blanked.
Jessie was dead. Flighty, funny, inefficient Jessie, who was the worst ladies’ maid she’d ever had and the sweetest person—was dead. Her eyes closed against a pricking of moisture.
A cool hand found hers and held it. There was nothing overtly objectionable in the gesture, it was purely one of support and Katherine appreciated it. Soothed a little, she opened her eyes and blinked away the tears. “Thank you for telling me.” She bit down on her emotions in the way that had become so much a part of her nature.
“Who are you?” The grip on her hand tightened a little. “May I know your name? Is there someone we should notify?”
Alarms rang in Katherine’s brain. She sagged limply against the pillow, trying to muster her thoughts.
Jessie was dead. She’d not survived the accident, so it was quite possible that nobody knew their identities. This was an unlooked-for development, but perhaps one that could be used to her advantage. Rapidly, she reassembled her life to fit these changed circumstances.
“No. There is nobody to notify.” Katherine turned her head away as if in grief. She could not meet those unusually piercing eyes as she spoke her hastily-constructed lie. “We were traveling to meet her aunt. Her name was Mrs. Byerly. Jessica Byerly. She was a widow, as am I. I…I was her companion.”
“And your name?”
Silent for a moment, Katherine thought rapidly. She could not—would not—dare to take a new name. Too much could go wrong, she could fail to recognize it or answer to another—no, there were too many risks. “Kitty Edgeworth.”
The die was cast.
Having neatly reversed hers and Jessie’s lives, Katherine was now Kitty, genteel companion to the late lamented Widow Byerly. She crossed mental fingers. If her charade worked, a new and better life might begin right at this moment. If not…
She’d almost forgotten the man sitting next to her, until he leaned closer and studied her face. “Hmm. Somehow I think you’ve been misnamed. You don’t look much like a Kitty.” He ran a cool fingertip down her cheek to her chin and onwards, passing lightly over the pulse beating in her neck and stopping at the top of the linen. “Especially without the sheet.”
He grinned as her color rose and she pulled her hand from his in a quick and angry gesture. “Sir. That is uncalled for.”
“You’re correct. My apologies. I needed to check your injuries, no more.” He flicked her nose lightly. “But you still don’t look like a Kitty.” Dark eyes penetrated her thoughts, plunging deep into her gaze and disturbing her more than she cared to admit. “You’re a cat, my dear. A sharp-clawed cat with more secrets than lives, I’m thinking.”
He stood, allowing his hand to brush her breast as he moved. Involuntarily, Katherine’s nipples hardened, obvious peaks beneath the soft sheet. She drew a breath, which only made matters worse.
He grinned. “You’re a heated cat too. You have fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter
than your hair. It could sear a man and reduce him to ashes. The wrong man, that is. The right man? He’d take your fire in his hand and make it explode.”
By now Katherine was furious. “I hope you don’t imagine that you are the right man, sir.” She snapped out the words coldly and precisely.
“Not at all. I don’t imagine any such thing.” He looked down over her body once more and Katherine felt naked beneath his gaze. “I don’t imagine it, little cat. I know it.”
*~*~*~*
Adrian quit the room before his lust overcame him.
From the first moment he’d seen her, scented her and touched her skin, he’d known she was going to be trouble. Trouble for him.
There was something about her body that lured him, called to him, told him how well they’d fit together in bed. How incredible it would be to fuck her to the edge of oblivion and beyond.
There was something about her that hit him hard in the gut, beneath the superficial attraction of male for female, beneath the need for a warm body and an explosive release.
Almost as if she challenged him, Adrian felt an anger of a sort build within him. She was lying through her teeth, without a doubt. She was no more a companion than he was. Every movement spoke of breeding and education, every gesture of elegance and refinement.
And every glance from beneath her lashes spoke of disdain for his presence—something he fully intended to rectify at the earliest opportunity.
For the first time in all his years of darkness, the full force of his need smacked him hard. He wanted a woman with the fierceness born of a lust that went deeper than his cock and his balls. It was coupled with a desire to feed on her heat, her passions—her soul.
Adrian strode outside St. Chesswell and stared across the harsh and rugged split in the land that was the Chyne. His emotions felt as fractured as the landscape, his hands shaking and his innards in turmoil. He sensed the stirring of his fangs—a stinging prickle around his lips signaling their awareness.
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