“Good evening, madam,” a woman’s voice drew her attention back to the door. She was a pretty, young girl, maybe sixteen years old, and if she was one of the man’s maids, it looked like he took good care of his staff. She seemed happy enough, so unlike so many of the miserable people in her uncle’s employ. She came into the room when Hannah didn’t object, carrying a heavy armload of fabrics. No, not fabrics, gowns. There must have been five or six in her arms.
“The master had me bring these to you,” the girl offered when she saw Hannah’s perplexed expression. “My name is Violet. I trust you slept well. You looked frightfully exhausted when the master brought you in here, but you’re already looking better, if you don’t mind me saying.”
She noticed then that a large bathtub stood at the opposite end of the room and steam billowed from it. Oh, she hadn’t had a bath in days, and if it weren’t for the hunger and thirst that gnawed at her, she would have been tempted to submerse herself in its cleansing heat. But as if anticipating her thoughts, another woman appeared at the door then with a tray in her arms laden with food and a tall pitcher of some liquid. If it weren’t for her years of training as a lady, she would have lunged for the tray in her desperate need. Instead, she shifted her weight in the bed, leaning back against the wooden headboard, her mouth watering in anticipation.
It was only then she happened to glance down at herself, and a blush stained her cheeks instantly. She was dressed in only her shift. Where on earth had her dress gone? Had the girl removed it while she’d slept? Had the man…Lord Weymouth? Oh, please let it be the maid. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Instead, she turned her attention to the food in front of her as the other girl placed the tray on her lap. Remembering her upbringing as much as she could, she delved into the sustenance her body craved. The cool liquid coated her parched throat as it slid down smoothly, and the food silenced the aching emptiness in her stomach quickly.
The second girl left while Hannah ate, but she returned a few minutes later with two more steaming buckets of hot water. She poured them in the tub, and immediately Hannah felt bad. If she took much longer, the girl would feel compelled to bring up more hot water.
“Do not rush yourself, madam,” Violet insisted, and she wondered in earnest if the girl had some extra sense, reading her every thought.
Violet moved about the room, laying out a gown and then arranging small bottles next to the tub as Hannah took a few more bites, but even though she’d eaten just a little, she couldn’t force down another mouthful. Rising from the bed, she tested her legs and was pleased to find they held her up much better than they had earlier, though it felt as if every part of her body ached miserably.
Violet was right there as she crossed the room to the tub, and she helped her to disrobe before she stepped into the tub.
“Oh dear, whatever happened to you?” Violet gasped and Hannah followed her gaze to the ugly black and blue welts that marred the entire left side of her body.
“A fall, ‘twas all,” she dismissed the topic quickly.
The hot water felt like heaven and she sank down as far as she could in the liquid silk. It helped to soothe the aches from riding for so long and falling off her horse.
“The master wasn’t sure which you’d like,” Violet told her as she held out an array of soaps and shampoos.
Jasmine. She’d loved the scent since she was a child. It always reminded her of her mother. That decided, Violet helped her lather up her long hair and then rinsed it for her. She’d felt so terrible for her maid in her uncle’s home that she’d stopped allowing her to aid her in her daily rituals. Instead, she had insisted Heather stay with her and rest—and her uncle had never been the wiser. Heather had passed away six months ago in childbirth. The child had lived, but her uncle had sent it away, which left Hannah wondering if perhaps there was a reason he didn’t want the child around—if he’d perhaps sired the child himself.
“Lord Weymouth would like you to join him for dinner,” Violet informed her as she reluctantly rose from the sweet heat and was wrapped in a warm, plush towel.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly…”
Violet was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in contemplation. “May I be honest with you, madam?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, perplexed.
“Lord Weymouth is a good and fair master. He really is. I have no complaints. But what you’ll come to learn is what the master wants, he gets. And if he has requested your presence at dinner…” The maid let her thought trail off, knowing no further explanation was necessary.
She nodded, though she considered the new piece of information while Violet helped her to dry her damp body and then rubbed her down with a lotion scented with jasmine as well. Was Lord Weymouth a tyrant like her uncle? She hadn’t gotten that impression from their brief meeting, but he had been rather insistent. Still, if he were cold and unfeeling like Uncle William, why would he have insisted on helping her? Had Uncle William found a lone woman injured in the countryside, he would have left her to rot.
But it didn’t matter. She appreciated Lord Weymouth’s help; certainly she didn’t know where she would be now if it wasn’t for him. But rested and now fed, she couldn’t possibly stay there much longer. As soon as she could, she would purchase a horse—maybe even from Lord Weymouth--and be on her way.
Oh no! Where was her sack? If he’d left it there in the forest…or he’d taken it himself…
Even if he had no intention of keeping it, her story would be thrust into question if he even looked inside. He’d be forced to conclude she’d either lied about her situation, or else she stole the money and jewels from her deceased employer.
“Violet, I had a small sack when Lord Weymouth brought me here. Have you seen it?” she queried as casually as she could manage.
“Yes, madam. He had me leave it on the chair by your bed. Shall I retrieve it for you?”
“No, no. That’s quite all right.”
Violet reached for a clean shift then and helped her into it. A beautiful, sapphire blue gown was next, and she wondered where Lord Weymouth had acquired the gowns. Perhaps he was married. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. And she refused to acknowledge her disappointment at the thought.
She turned her thoughts back to the task at hand. If she hoped to sway Lord Weymouth into selling her a horse, it would behoove her to heed the maid’s advice, and so she would have to join him for dinner. She mentally ran through the lie she’d told the man as Violet motioned for her to sit in front of the small dressing table next to the window. Her long, dark tresses were brushed smooth and then piled on top of her head in a loose knot. Violet left a few tendrils free to fall around her face in mock disarray. The woman was certainly an expert at her task—so much like Heather had been.
“Without a doubt, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” the girl told her when she stepped back to survey her work.
“Thank you, Violet. But I am quite certain it is I who owe you the compliment for turning this ordinary woman into the resplendent beauty you see before you,” she demurred, as she’d been brought up to do. It was improper for a lady to accept such an exuberant compliment.
And with the task of bathing and dressing complete, the time had come for her to join Lord Weymouth for dinner. She replayed her lie in her head once more as she left the room, following Violet’s directions to the parlor. All she had to do was keep it simple, and Lord Weymouth would never be the wiser. She’d be long gone before she did anything to cause him to doubt her story.
Or so she hoped.
Chapter 4
He sat in the high back chair in the parlor, sipping on his brandy and awaiting his lovely dinner guest. She was an enigma, for sure, but he intended to figure her out. He hadn’t believed her story for a moment. Even covered in dirt and dust, with her clothing torn and her hair amess, he knew she was no servant. The way she spoke and how she carried herself, even in her weakened state, told hi
m she was a lady of breeding. And the feel of her soft fingers when she’d brushed him in her sleep had confirmed it if there had been any doubt in his mind.
She appeared in the doorway then, and he stood, making a concerted effort to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. She’d been beautiful, even in the state he had found her, but he had no idea…
She was absolutely exquisite, from her gleaming, dark hair and her crystal blue eyes, to her slim waist and the swell of her ample breasts above the neckline of her gown.
“Good evening, my lord,” she spoke first, jarring him out of his enraptured state.
“Good evening, my lady,” he greeted in return, recognizing the huskiness in his own tone. “Your rest seems to have restored you fully,” he observed as appropriately as he could.
“Yes…about that…you really shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted. He would gladly have paid a hefty fortune to have her there before him in all her resplendent glory now. “It was no trouble at all, I assure you. Now, if you’ll accompany me to the dining room, dinner will be served momentarily.”
He offered her his arm, and she seemed to take it reluctantly, a jolt of awareness sizzling between them at the contact. He breathed in her scent and absorbed the feel of her heat so close to him. Suddenly he wondered if he’d been too long without a woman—he was caught up in her like an excited virgin.
Reining it in, he guided them out of the room and down the hall, pulling out her seat for her next to his. Right then, he noticed the nasty black and blue bruises that rose up high on her back above the gown, and he winced at the sight, wondering what had happened to the woman. A result of her escape, or the cause?
She lowered herself into the chair in the same graceful manner as the hundreds of ladies he’d seen gracing the galas of society’s upper crust. There was absolutely no way the woman was a servant. Still, despite her lie, he had no intention of throwing her out, and he worried that if he pushed the topic, she would flee. So he let it alone for now. He’d get to the bottom of the mystery later. He poured a glass of wine in each of their glasses and took his seat.
“This is too much, my lord,” she persisted not a full moment later. “I appreciate your kindness, I really do. But if I am to stay here I insist that you put me to work, that I earn my keep.”
He did his best to hide the smile that threatened to turn up the corners of his lips. Hell, even if he needed more help, it wouldn’t likely do him any good to accept the woman’s offer. He was quite certain she hadn’t worked a day in her life.
“You look like you’ve had quite a hard time of it. Rest, recover, and then we’ll discuss your future here.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
The woman really was strong-willed, wasn’t she? The idea of getting behind her defenses and bending her to his will suddenly enticed him more than any challenge he could remember. And that would mean keeping her there at the manor until he’d seen it through. A plan formulated in his mind quickly, and though it wouldn’t be difficult for her to see right through, it would provide her with the pretense she seemed to require to “earn her keep”.
“If you are insistent, than I have a proposal for you…Hannah.” He couldn’t help but hesitate at the form of address. If his intuition was right—and he was certain it was—she was likely a titled lady. Still, he liked the informality her lie had provided him and the way her name slid off his tongue.
When she didn’t object, he continued. “I have been cooped up in this manor for too long without anyone to keep me company, to break up the monotonous tedium of my days. Your job, until you’re recovered, will be to keep me company.”
“I don’t know…” she started, skeptical of the proposal, as he knew she would be.
“You wanted work, and I have provided it for you. I will hear no more debate on the topic.” The food arrived at the table then, perfect timing to punctuate the finality of his statement.
She was quiet as she ate, and he watched her surreptitiously, both mesmerized by her beauty and fascinated by the puzzle she’d presented. If he surmised that she was not a maid as she’d claimed, and therefore no part of her story was true, what had she been doing starved, dehydrated and obviously injured miles from anyone?
The only possibility that came to mind was that she’d run away, but from what? A tyrannical husband? Was he infringing on another man’s wife? And if so, did he care? The answer came to him more easily than it should: no, he didn’t care. It was the man’s foolishness and loss to have allowed such an exquisite gem to escape.
But what, if not a husband? Was she so spoiled she’d fled the rule of her father? Had he clamped down on her spending and she’d run off in a flurry of childish defiance? They were both possibilities, but neither sat right. And while no other answer came to mind right then, he wouldn’t let it discourage him. He’d figure her out, if not by her own admissions, then by the quiet inquiries he intended to make.
He’d send a man on the task, making inconspicuous inquiries and listening to gossip spreading throughout the countryside and in London.
***
They retired to the parlor after the meal, but it only took a moment for him to see she was already tiring. Whatever ordeal she’d been through, it would take more than a few hours’ sleep and a meal to restore her to her former health. As much as he wanted to seduce the woman, he wouldn’t lower himself to be such an ogre of a man. He’d let her rest…recover…and then he intended to have her naked and writhing beneath him. God, he couldn’t wait to see what her crystal eyes looked like lit up with passion and pleasure.
“I think it would be wrong of me to keep you any longer, Hannah. Allow me to escort you to your room, and then I will send Violet to you. If you have need of anything, you have only need to let her know.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am rather tired,” she confessed, though something else passed through her eyes then—worry? Was she worried about keeping up with her silly lie? He smiled as he offered her his arm and escorted her up the steps and down the hall to her room.
“Hannah, I have asked nicely, but please do not misconstrue my words. I expect you will do whatever is necessary to restore your health. If you have need of anything—ask. I will be displeased to discover you doing anything contrary to that.”
She nodded, though she looked at him strangely, as if she was trying to weigh his words, perhaps trying to decide if he was a man of talk or a man of action. He wasn’t certain what she found because she hooded her gaze quickly, hiding whatever emotion reflected from her expressive orbs. Regardless, she’d quickly learn he wasn’t a man of idle threats.
“I bid you good night,” he told her when she continued to stand there, so close, so tempting.
“Good night, my lord.”
He strode away before she’d even opened her door, not certain how many more moments he could remain in such close proximity and keep himself in check.
“That is your room?” she queried, a look of distress in her eyes and her lips slightly parted as he came to a halt at the door to the room next to hers.
“I’m afraid the other guest rooms have not been aired out in quite some time.”
She wasn’t the only one who could tell lies. In truth though, it had been an act of restraint that had compelled him to deposit her in the room next to his. Every fiber of his being had yearned to lay the unconscious beauty in his own bed, but he knew he would have her there eventually. Nevertheless, he’d wanted her close. He’d wanted to be able to make sure she was tended to. Hell, he’d been half-tempted to care for her himself, though he imagined that would have done no more than scare her off. And so, he would bide his time, though he questioned his decision to place her so close now. No door—bolted or otherwise—would be strong enough to keep him out should he decide he wanted in.
“Good night, Hannah.”
It was all he could do to force himself to open his door and thrust himself inside when what he really wante
d to be thrusting himself inside was in the next room. He tried desperately to block out the images that sprung to mind at the memory of her parted cupid bow lips, imagining them beneath his…against his flesh…around his hard member that already throbbed painfully at the mere thought.
No doubt, sleep would not come easily to him that night.
Chapter 5
A day passed and then another, and Hannah awoke the following morning to a knock on her door. She flew upright in the bed, the same as she had each day before. More quickly though, she realized she wasn’t in her home, and it wasn’t her uncle banging down her door.
She bid Violet to enter, but then laid back against the pillows, trying to figure out where she was supposed to go from here. Lord Weymouth seemed insistent that she stay—at least until she’d recovered fully. He seemed to think her a delicate flower, incapable of taking care of herself. Though she couldn’t really blame him after the way he’d found her. Still, she’d managed to recover after every one of her uncle’s beatings, and it wasn’t the first time she’d gone a lengthy period without sustenance—a frequent punishment, usually heaped on top of a simple beating.
Still, she questioned the sense in arguing with Lord Weymouth. She knew the look of a man who’d made up his mind. Though he didn’t appear to be a vicious monster like her uncle, she’d sensed an overwhelming power inside him that he kept tightly leashed. What outlet would it take if he couldn’t keep it bound?
“Good morning, madam,” Violet greeted her, drawing her out of her own thoughts. “You’re looking even more recovered this morning. The master is expecting you for breakfast.”
Of course he was. Not an invitation, an instruction. She would acquiesce for now, giving herself a few more days to recover before leaving the manor and Lord Weymouth behind. She rose from the bed then, and Violet was there with a dressing gown.
Her morning ablutions completed half an hour later, she descended the stairs wearing a pale lilac gown with simple, elegant pleats drawing up the hem, and tiny cap sleeves at the shoulders. It was a beautiful creation, not overdone. Whoever the gowns belonged to, the woman had exquisite taste. The thought brought to mind the question she hadn’t been able to pose at dinner—was there a Lady Weymouth? But then, if there was, where was she?
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