The Right One (One and Only Series)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “That’s enough for now. Come over here and have a seat.” Doc picked up the black bag and pointed to the set of cushioned chairs. “I want to have a look at your eyes.”

  She hesitated, wondering if she should trust him.

  What choice did she have?

  Trying not to appear too frightened, she gathered her courage, moved the necessary steps, and sat.

  He pulled an object from the bag and held it to her face. “Now. Look at me. Follow my finger.” With a light in her eyes, he moved a single finger back and forth. Her eyes followed the motion. After a few moments he stepped back. He must have sensed her distress. “I don’t see any sign of concussion.”

  “Are you a real doctor?” Kat cringed. The question flew out of her mouth before she could think about it.

  He chuckled. “As much as any other one, I suppose.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from asking what he meant and prayed for courage to ask her next question. Steadying her nerves, she straightened her uneasy backbone. “May I go now?”

  Blue eyes bore into hers. “Even if you did not stab Lord Whetherford, there is still the matter you stole from him.”

  “What,” she squeaked.

  Doc picked up his bag. The cold look in his eyes could have frozen her. “Do not take my kindness for dull-wittedness. Or mistake my calm nature as weakness. Lord Whetherford is my friend. Surely you do not expect me to take your side. No amount of tears, suggestive offers, or willing promises could turn my head.” His voice lowered to a growl. “I’ve seen them all.”

  Kat gaped at the man in astonishment. He returned her stare as though branding his words in her mind. Leaning back, he gathered his things in his bag and left. Unable to form a coherent thought, she stayed mute, the closing of the door the only sound in the room.

  Staggered beyond belief, she started to shake—this time in anger. Stole from him? What the blue blazes was he talking about? Lord Whetherford. Her protector was a nobleman? They thought she’d stolen from him? And if he was unconscious, he couldn’t very well affirm her innocence.

  What was she to do?

  “Hold on, Doc.” George approached as he closed the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Don’t go giving me fine airs. I want to know why you were being nice to that bloody female.”

  He took a deep breath. “That bloody female, as you call her, has a black and purple mark on her face.”

  The fight went out of George like the wind suddenly stopped blowing a ship’s sails. “Couldn’t be helped. Jeremy didn’t mean to hit her so hard.”

  “Jeremy? He struck the woman?” Doc could hardly believe it of the boy.

  “Nothing else we could do. She acted like a wildcat.” George shrugged.

  “Two men bearing down on a woman. What did you expect? Of course she panicked.”

  “Don’t think so. You better watch out, Doc. She used Toby to get the Whetherford jewels.”

  He thought on that for a moment. “Young Toby? He’s the one who helped her?”

  “Young buck. Let his tallywacker do his thinkin’.”

  Doc smiled. “Toby had a lapse in wisdom. A fledgling boy’s fantasies. A beautiful woman took advantage of his unseasoned youth. Surely you have not forgotten the urges of your untried years.”

  “No woman ever got her hooks into me,” George grumbled. “The Eastcote chit probably had him salivating for a simple kiss.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on the boy.” Doc stepped around George and strode down the corridor to Morgan’s room. He slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

  Morgan lay unconscious on a massive bed with a sheet pulled just above his loins. A large white bandage stuck to his side with strips of cloth wrapped around his middle, contrasting with the dark hair covering his chest. Where he’d been pale, color now filled his cheeks.

  “When will he wake up, Doc?” George asked from behind him.

  Doc took a deep breath. “Hard to say. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “Jeremy and I thought he’d bleed to death afore we got him home. We couldn’t take care of him and fight a she-cat at the same time.”

  He glared at George as he grated his words. “So you beat her?” Even if the woman stole from Morgan, she didn’t deserve to be manhandled. Doc drew the line at laying a hand on a woman.

  George looked aghast. He choked on his own denial. The moan coming from the bed drew their attention.

  “Get me some water,” Doc said quickly.

  George hurried to the jug on the table. He poured fresh water into a cup and handed it to Doc. Morgan groaned again.

  “Morgan. Can you hear me?” Doc asked.

  Eyes roamed under closed lids. At long last, they fluttered open. A glassy film conveyed their weakness. Doc raised Morgan’s head and pressed the cup to his lips. He barely took a sip before his eyes closed and he went limp again.

  “That’s a good sign, ain’t it, Doc?” George shuffled his feet.

  “Yes.” Doc put the cup on the bedside table and wiped the sweat from Morgan’s brow. “The fever is gone, thank God.”

  “He’s been in worse scrapes.”

  “The cut went deep.” Doc turned his gaze on George. “That girl didn’t do it.”

  “Hell, Doc. We know that. A mite like her can’t get the best of himself.”

  Doc glared at George. “You let us believe she stabbed him.”

  George frowned. “She was fightin’ like a bleeding wildcat. Some of those moves a lady don’t know by herself. She’s been taught.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I tell ya she’s been taught. By a sea-faring man if I had my guess. She kicked and struck me where no lady would.” His hand lingered just below his belt, demonstrating.

  “Anyone could have taught her a maneuver to get free if she was restrained.” The door opened catching their attention. Mrs. Beasley came in with a tray.

  “Brought the master some broth.”

  “Take it away, Mrs. Beasley, and bring me some real food.” Morgan barely croaked the words, but all three turned in surprise.

  “Praise be, my lord,” Mrs. Beasley cried.

  “Welcome back to the living,” George said. “You gave us a good scare.”

  “Couldn’t have been as bad as I feel,” Morgan rasped.

  His eyes were still closed and his breathing a bit labored, but his words were balm to Doc’s ears. “Bad enough. Broth for you for a day or two.”

  Morgan’s eyes creased open. “How the devil do you expect me to regain my strength without food?”

  “At this point, I don’t expect you to keep anything down. So take it slow.” Doc turned to Mrs. Beasley. “Broth for him until I say.”

  Mrs. Beasley shot a glance to Morgan then nodded her assent to Doc.

  “Good. Now I need to check that dressing.”

  “And I’ll be about my business.” George opened the door and waited for Mrs. Beasley to precede him.

  After the door closed, Morgan spoke again. “A traitor in my camp.”

  “Mrs. Beasley knows what’s best for you.” Doc gently prodded the puckered skin. The hole in his side had to burn like the very devil. Morgan gritted his teeth as if to prove it. “He did some damage with that knife.”

  “It feels like he cut out my insides.”

  “He nearly did,” Doc said. “I can give you something for the pain”

  “I’d rather have a bottle of brandy,” Morgan said in a low rumble.

  “I’m sure you would,” Doc uttered. “You lost enough blood to make me wonder why you’re still alive. You need rest. And don’t go getting out of that bed. If I have to get George to tie you down, I’ll do it.”


  Morgan’s eyes cracked open.

  “Yes, Morgan. When I said it was bad, I didn’t exaggerate.”

  “Bloody hell. I can’t believe I let him stick me. Should not have been . . . in that alley.” His words grew weaker and then drifted off.

  “You can tell me about it later. You’re weaker than a kitten denied his mother’s milk.”

  “It’s not her,” Betsy rushed into the kitchen.

  Agatha Beasley stared at the girl while she told her startled heart to slow down. That girl must have a bee in her cap. “What are ya talking about?”

  Betsy set the tray down with a clatter. “She ain’t the one what was here afore.”

  “Lord Eastcote’s daughter?”

  Betsy gave an unlady-like snort. “She was a she-devil, that one.”

  The scuttle-butt in the kitchen had been about the lady coming to the manor. None of them had been looking forward to the return of the young miss who moved in while the master was gone. She’d been impossible. But Agatha had worked for the master’s father, and she loved Whetherford Manor. She did what she was told and took care of the guests—even if she had to chew her cheek raw while in Miss Eastcote’s presence.

  “Are you saying the lady upstairs is not Miss Eastcote?”

  “She’s got the same red hair. I don’t know who she is, but it ain’t her, thank the good Lord.”

  “Now, Betsy,” Agatha scolded.

  Betsy stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “What? You didn’t like her neither and don’t be denying it.”

  “Never mind about that.”

  “Wonder who she is? And they keep her locked up.”

  “She stabbed the master.” Agatha still couldn’t believe the last remaining heir hung on by a thread. They’d waited years for the new Lord of Whetherford to return and accept his responsibility. It was a shame what happened to his parents and brother. But he couldn’t handle his grief. No one had been gladder than her to see the young lord finally come home.

  “She ought to be tarred and feathered,” Betsy grumbled.

  Agatha was not a violent woman but she agreed the girl should not be treated as a guest. Why should she show any patience toward a woman who stabbed the master? “Maybe I’ll give her some burnt toast for lunch.”

  Betsy continued, “Why don’t you season her food with a little rat poison?”

  “If that’s what you’re serving for dinner, I think I’ll decline.”

  Both women jumped at the sound of a deep voice. A guilty flush heated Agatha’s face.

  Doc entered with a friendly smile. “Did I interrupt the making of a new recipe?

  Chapter 5

  Kat stood by the window, her gaze following the insufferable man headed to the stables. She longed to go with him. Well, not with him, actually. Kat had no true desire for the daunting man’s company, simply his destination. If she could get to a horse, she’d be long gone before they’d catch her. As far as the eye could see, miles of endless lush green draped the landscape and swathed the deep sweep of the valley. Surely there must be someone out there who would help her. She’d been kept in this room, given food, and the only fresh air she received came through her open window. She’d already considered that avenue of escape. But she preferred to keep her body intact. She disliked broken bones—which is what she’d end up with, foolishly falling from this height.

  Her heart warmed at the spirited grey prancing into the light. How she loved horses and missed the freedom of riding on the back of her own mare.

  She shoved away from the window. What was she supposed to do with herself?

  Four days she had been sequestered and the Lord of Whetherford had yet to make an appearance. It was intolerable. With each passing day, the fear of his death gnawed at her, and the waiting fueled her anger—she had no idea if he lived or died.

  When her meals were delivered, the bearded man stood guard while the maid brought in a tray gawking at Kat with something between confusion and abhorrence. She’d done nothing to the girl.

  Except try to kill her employer.

  Like the others, she must believe Kat guilty of stabbing the lord of the manor. Did he know these men kidnapped her? Did he know they kept her locked in this room, in his home? Surely he’d discovered their error by now. The very thought sparked her temper.

  A brisk knock sounded on the door. She glared at the wood wondering if she could singe the person on the other side with fire from her eyes. But she had seen the bearded man below her window. So it wasn’t him.

  “Come in.”

  Doc opened the door. “Good morning.”

  Kat released the breath she’d been holding. It might be a good morning for him. “As you can see for yourself, my bruising is gone. I am fine. Unless you’ve come to release me from my prison, I have no use of your services.”

  He gave a brisk laugh. “That’s exactly why I’ve come.”

  She couldn’t believe her hearing. “What?”

  “I thought you might like to escape the confines of your room. Pardon me. Poor choice of words. Temporarily leave your room to go into the sunshine. Perhaps for a walk?”

  “What of Lord Whetherford?”

  “What about him?”

  Willing her legs to hold her steady, Kat gathered the courage she needed to ask the question haunting her mind. She leveled her gaze and slowly inhaled a silent lungful of air. “Has he . . . recovered?”

  Doc settled his gaze on hers. “Luckily for you, he is a strong man.”

  Kat’s anger returned. “Then why am I still here? Why am I locked in this room?”

  “In due time, Lord Whetherford will answer your questions.”

  “In due time?” All apprehension suddenly fell away, replaced with boiling ire. Too impulsive for her own good, she lashed out like she did when someone angered her beyond all reason. “How can you say such a thing? How can you keep me here? Surely he has told you I did not stab him. Or is he able to speak? You have no right to keep me here.” Kat’s fury brought tears to her eyes. “This is preposterous. Where is he?”

  The doctor’s cold stare made her burst of bravado sizzle, like flames of a burning fire doused with a bucket of cold water. “I will give you one hour to compose yourself. At that time, if you want to refuse my offer of a visit to the garden, a simple no will do.”

  Kat stood speechless as she watched the door close behind him. Oh, why couldn’t she control her temper? He’d given her a chance to get out of this room. Once again she had to suffer the result of her unguarded tongue.

  She’d begun to wear a hole in the patterned rug when he returned.

  The door opened.

  It was not Doc.

  A tall man with golden-blond hair entered. Judging by the way he stood, the expensive cut of his clothes, he appeared a nobleman. Tall, strong build, a handsome man with a smile that did not reach his blue eyes.

  “Good Morning. Allow me to introduce myself. Wesley Montgomery Hathridge.”

  Warmth flowed through her limbs as his gaze ran up and down her body. Her teeth worried her lower lip while she stood uneasy under his inspection.

  Suddenly, he smiled like the cat that had lapped up all of the cream, making her wonder if she should be afraid of him. Shoulders erect, she stood as straight as her bones would allow, and returned his stare—not about to let him break down her wall of self-preservation.

  “Are you ready for a stroll out of doors?”

  Kat swallowed her mounting fear. “Do you mind telling me who you are, other than your name?”

  “A lady in your position should not ask so many questions.”

  “Where is Doc?”

  “Ah, another question,” he said dryly.

  Don’t let your tongue test his patience. “Doc said
he would return in an hour. I simply wondered if he would still come.”

  “I have come in his stead. If you are ready, I will escort you.” He stepped to the side, and with an elegant swerve of his arm, he motioned to the doorway

  Kat considered her options. After a moment’s hesitation, she arched her neck, hoisted her chin, and stepped past him. He ushered her through the door and down several corridors giving Kat her first glimpse at Whetherford Manor and its extensive wings. She had little opportunity to take in the impressive dwelling as he steered her down the stairs and out into the sunshine.

  The garden, as Doc had called it, was a massive maze of color, full of the most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen. Amaryllis, Bluebonnet, Iris, Queen Anne’s Lace—too many to name. Eyes agog she spun around, ignoring the presence shadowing her. Vibrant fragrances assailed her senses. “Blue Cornflowers, my favorite.” So excited to be out-of-doors, she did not care her patronizing escort surveyed her every movement.

  She took a few paces down the path and stopped beside the extravagant blooms. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the sweet fragrance. She would love to snap the stem for her own. Tempted, she glanced back at the man who followed. He spread his arms and shrugged. “I am merely here to keep you company.”

  To make sure I don’t get away. How much longer would she have to wait before the lord of the manor recovered?

  With Hathridge only steps behind, she followed a path leading to a water fountain. The few clouds above were not enough to block out the sun’s sparkling reflection. She studied the water trickling into the pool, the hair on her neck tingling, as though someone watched her closely. She glanced at Hathridge. He stood with his arms crossed, a smirk of arrogance on his face. No. What she felt at this moment was peculiar, different from Hathridge’s watchful regard—like a predator monitoring its prey waiting for the right moment to strike.