to
stretch into minutes.
Without another sound, the stranger’s eyes
closed again. She dragged in a shaky breath and shook off the
paralysis that had stolen over her. She could not, however, shake
off her sense of unease.
Her hands were still shaking when she dropped
the damp cloth into the basin. Pushing aside her trepidation, she
moved to the bottom of the bed to remove his boots. She hesitated
only a moment before placing one hand on the heel of the black
leather molded to his right leg and the other on his knee. A jolt
of awareness surged through her at the contact and she jerked back.
Her gaze flew to the stranger’s face, and she breathed a sigh of
relief when she saw he was still asleep. She would have died of
mortification if he’d seen her foolish reaction to touching
him.
She tugged off his boots before turning her
attention to removing his coat, but she knew her bravery did not
extend that far. Her bedcovers were already turned down and it took
only a couple of tugs to free them completely from under his legs.
Concentrating on the blankets and not on his form, she covered him
before exhaling the breath she’d been holding. Most of him was now
hidden from sight, but she found it impossible to ignore the keen
sense of awareness brought on by the knowledge that a very
attractive man now slept in her bed.
Trying to ignore the less than chaste
thoughts that rose, unbidden, to her mind, Louisa retrieved a
blanket for herself from the trunk at the foot of her bed and
settled into a chair to wait. When John returned from seeing to
their unexpected guest’s horse, he tried to insist on taking her
place, but if the stranger’s condition took a turn for the worse
John wouldn’t know what to do. He helped her to remove the man’s
coat and loosen his cravat before returning to his own room, but
only after extracting her promise to fetch him when the man
woke.
It was a long night. The stranger’s slumber
was restless, interrupted, at first, by frequent bouts of thrashing
and murmured words that were indecipherable. Eventually, he settled
into a deep sleep and she was able to close her eyes and get some
rest. She had just drifted off when a low moan woke her. She
struggled up from her cramped position in the armchair by the
bedside, and her blanket slid to the floor.
“Papa? Do you need anything?” she asked,
disoriented after being pulled from the middle of a strange
dream.
But the man lying in the bed, her bed, wasn’t
her father. She was confused for a moment before the memories
rushed back. After a year of failing health, her father had finally
succumbed to death six months before. She leaned back in the chair
and examined the stranger more closely in the faint morning light.
She hadn’t dreamt him after all.
The fire had long since gone out and she
shivered in the cool morning air. She picked up the blanket from
where it had fallen, wrapped it around her shoulders, and took the
few steps to the bed. Leaning forward, she laid a hand on the man’s
forehead and breathed a sigh of relief when she found his
temperature was normal.
She looked over at the window where the first
rays of morning light were already creeping over the horizon and
sighed softly. So much for a good night’s rest, she thought as she
began to work the kinks from her knotted muscles.
* * *
Nicholas Manning’s head was killing him, but
he was used to that. He raised a hand to rub at his temples, hoping
to massage away the pain. Unable to stop himself, his thoughts went
back to that time a few years ago, before his parents’ deaths.
They’d been content, their love still evident even after more than
thirty years of marriage. But then his father started complaining
of headaches and his health began to deteriorate rapidly. Nicholas
had spent most of his time in London, away from Overlea Manor, but
he’d witnessed his father’s strange moods and increasing surliness
on several occasions. Had witnessed how his father had pushed
stretch into minutes.
Without another sound, the stranger’s eyes
closed again. She dragged in a shaky breath and shook off the
paralysis that had stolen over her. She could not, however, shake
off her sense of unease.
Her hands were still shaking when she dropped
the damp cloth into the basin. Pushing aside her trepidation, she
moved to the bottom of the bed to remove his boots. She hesitated
only a moment before placing one hand on the heel of the black
leather molded to his right leg and the other on his knee. A jolt
of awareness surged through her at the contact and she jerked back.
Her gaze flew to the stranger’s face, and she breathed a sigh of
relief when she saw he was still asleep. She would have died of
mortification if he’d seen her foolish reaction to touching
him.
She tugged off his boots before turning her
attention to removing his coat, but she knew her bravery did not
extend that far. Her bedcovers were already turned down and it took
only a couple of tugs to free them completely from under his legs.
Concentrating on the blankets and not on his form, she covered him
before exhaling the breath she’d been holding. Most of him was now
hidden from sight, but she found it impossible to ignore the keen
sense of awareness brought on by the knowledge that a very
attractive man now slept in her bed.
Trying to ignore the less than chaste
thoughts that rose, unbidden, to her mind, Louisa retrieved a
blanket for herself from the trunk at the foot of her bed and
settled into a chair to wait. When John returned from seeing to
their unexpected guest’s horse, he tried to insist on taking her
place, but if the stranger’s condition took a turn for the worse
John wouldn’t know what to do. He helped her to remove the man’s
coat and loosen his cravat before returning to his own room, but
only after extracting her promise to fetch him when the man
woke.
It was a long night. The stranger’s slumber
was restless, interrupted, at first, by frequent bouts of thrashing
and murmured words that were indecipherable. Eventually, he settled
into a deep sleep and she was able to close her eyes and get some
rest. She had just drifted off when a low moan woke her. She
struggled up from her cramped position in the armchair by the
bedside, and her blanket slid to the floor.
“Papa? Do you need anything?” she asked,
disoriented after being pulled from the middle of a strange
dream.
But the man lying in the bed, her bed, wasn’t
her father. She was confused for a moment before the memories
rushed back. After a year of failing health, her father had finally
succumbed to death six months before. She leaned back in the chair
and examined the stranger more closely in the faint morning light.
She hadn’t dreamt him after all.
The fire had long since gone out and she
shivered in the cool morning air. She picked up the blanket from
where it had fallen, wrapped it around her shoulders, and took the
few steps to the bed. Leaning forward, she laid a hand on the man’s
forehead and breathed a sigh of relief when she found his
temperature was normal.
She looked over at the window where the first
rays of morning light were already creeping over the horizon and
sighed softly. So much for a good night’s rest, she thought as she
began to work the kinks from her knotted muscles.
* * *
Nicholas Manning’s head was killing him, but
he was used to that. He raised a hand to rub at his temples, hoping
to massage away the pain. Unable to stop himself, his thoughts went
back to that time a few years ago, before his parents’ deaths.
They’d been content, their love still evident even after more than
thirty years of marriage. But then his father started complaining
of headaches and his health began to deteriorate rapidly. Nicholas
had spent most of his time in London, away from Overlea Manor, but
he’d witnessed his father’s strange moods and increasing surliness
on several occasions. Had witnessed how his father had pushed
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