Could it be? Brook? When he’d broken my heart and refused to acknowledge my son about a year and a half ago, I thought I’d never see him again. Yet here he was—stooping beside me as if he owned the world. I shifted to mouth his name, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate. Perhaps I’d already fallen within a dream. As I continued searching the eyes that focused on mine, I realized they were not quite as familiar as I’d thought.
The man’s hand was at my chin, his voice urgent. “Stay with me. It won’t be long now till help is upon us.” Footsteps pounded somewhere beyond the black tunnel of my vision. The highwayman shouted up at the open door above us, “We’re in here. Make haste! A woman is injured.”
Then he whispered to himself, “Oh God, what have I done?”
It was not Brook Radcliff speaking beneath that mask. No, the voice was deeper, more refined. In a curious haze, I tugged the rag from the man’s face just as voices crested the open door of the carriage.
“I say! Is everyone all right in there?”
Darkness circled my vision. As the buzzing in my ears drowned out all other sounds, I lay stunned at what my fingers had unwittingly revealed.
It wasn’t Brook who forced my carriage from the road and yelled, “Stand and deliver!” It was his disreputable older brother, Lord Torrington.
* * *
My fingers curled around a soft blanket as I nestled into a pillow. A dull pain hovered around the depths of my eyes, but it remained at bay by what I came to realize was a cool cloth across my brow. For a moment I allowed my mind the space to rest before the whole terrible nightmare of the carriage accident forced me into consciousness.
The room around me stood dark and unfamiliar. A solitary candle guttered on a small table beside the bed. Voices and laughter resounded from beyond the walls. I squinted, peering into the looming shadows that lingered about. I’d never seen the sparse furniture that dotted the room or, more importantly, the figure seated in a nearby chair and slumped forward on the eiderdown.
It seemed my rescuers had found a way to recover me from the coach, after all. However, they couldn’t have taken me far. The highwayman had mentioned a local inn.
I swallowed hard against my parched throat. I was in great need of water, but I didn’t dare move for fear the staggering pain would return to my head. So I gently reached to awaken whoever had been appointed as my nurse, but my hand froze in midair inches from a rather large and muscular arm.
It was a man.
My heart stilled. The doctor?
Whoever rested on my bed must have sensed a change, because he stretched out his arms and lifted his head for a long yawn before turning to face me. His voice was a little above a whisper. “You’re awake. Good. How’s the head?”
I stiffened at the sight of the highwayman himself only to regret my hasty movement. I forced a measured breath. “What on earth are you doing in my bedchamber?”
A practiced half smile crossed his face, which the feathering wave of candlelight made only more pronounced. He leaned forward, his thick, copper-colored hair dipping in and out of the darkness. “You wouldn’t believe me if you tried.”
For once I was speechless. Never in all my life had I imagined such a moment with Brook’s impressive elder brother. My thoughts spun as I tried to make sense of what he’d said. What brought him here alone? To be certain of my recovery? To alleviate his guilt? In the coach he declared the accident a misunderstanding, yet how could that be true?
I caught a probing look within Lord Torrington’s unnaturally pale eyes. He wasn’t here to ravish me. At least, I didn’t think he was. But that he had come with a purpose in mind was utterly clear.
My voice cracked. “Where is my son?”
“He’s asleep with the innkeeper’s daughter in her room. She seems a redoubtable girl with good sense. He will be well cared for in your absence.” He leaned back against his chair and folded his arms, which afforded me the first glimpse of his attire. A dressing gown of all things . . . better yet, my dressing gown.
I jerked the blanket beneath my chin, and my stomach tightened. Had I been wrong about his intentions?
“What do you mean by all this?”
He ran a finger under the lapel. “Not my color, is it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
His eyes softened as he adjusted the cloth that had slipped to the side of my forehead. “The doctor will be quite vexed with me if I rile you. He prescribed rest and quiet, and I assured him I would follow his instructions.” He paused. “The cool cloth, however, was my idea.”
“How thoughtful.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my tone. I angled my chin, waiting for something else, some kind of explanation for his intrusion into my private room. “Well?”
A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “You’re quite right. Undoubtedly you deserve an answer for my being here. Goodness knows it was not my intention from the start; nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ve a bit of a story to impart. But considering the doctor’s implicit instructions, I’m not certain you are well enough to hear the whole of it now.”
I eyed the closed door. How could I possibly sleep without knowing everything? “What time is it?”
“One in the morning. Do you require some water? Your voice sounds hoarse.”
I nodded and watched as he crossed the room to a table near the door. With my initial shock subsided, I swallowed my pounding reservations and appraised my overnight intruder. Torrington certainly had an intelligence about him, even while wearing my robe. His commanding presence, though, was thankfully absent of the overbearing nature of many of his peers.
I squinted into the dim light as he finished filling the water glass and turned back to face me. Though he and Brook favored each other in looks, Torrington had inherited his father’s broad shoulders and regal bearing, whereas Brook had always been lean and more relaxed.
Torrington slid once again onto the straight-backed chair by the bed. Instinctively, my fingers curled tight around the blanket. I had only seen him across a crowded dance floor, but Brook had been right. His brother possessed a daring look. A flawless angle to his face, a firm chin. Years ago Brook labeled him a libertine. Goodness, I’d heard countless stories of Torrington’s conquests, which I remembered all too well—like the time Brook was forced to leave town to pay off one of his brother’s many mistresses. My throat burned at the thought.
Torrington leaned forward and pressed the water glass to my lips, careful not to spill it on the bed. “Easy now. Not too much at once.” After I drank, he settled the glass on the bedside table and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes suddenly somber. “I owe you a rather insufficient apology for what I’ve put you through today. And yet—” He offered a tentative smile. “I feel ridiculous doing so in my current state of dress. Of course, this was the only thing in your trunk I could possibly wear.”
“My trunk, huh? And where, may I ask, are your breeches?”
“Being cleaned at present, although I doubt they shall be able to get out the blood, let alone return them in any reasonable length of time.” He shot me a quick grin. “I have come to learn there is a particularly interesting cock fight in the area. The ostler’s words, not mine. Hence, the White Lion Inn has been crushed with people and the help sadly unprepared.” He motioned to the chair. “Thus, here I sit and wait.”