stumbled.
"Careful," she warned, wrapping her arm more snugly about his waist. "Lean your weight on me and perhaps we can take a few steps."
Gritting his teeth, Stephen placed his arm around her shoulder and took a tentative step. It was slow going, but they eventually made it around the room. She then helped him to sit on the edge of the bed.
"I feel so damn weak," he muttered, disgusted that the short walk had exhausted him so.
"You've been very ill. Give yourself time to regain your strength. The doctor recommends that you not travel for several weeks to allow your ribs to heal. You are welcome to remain here with us for as long as you need." Crossing the room, she stood by the door. "Try to rest and I'll check on you in several hours." She turned to leave.
"Hayley."
She looked back, her gaze questioning.
"Thank you. For all you've done. You saved my life."
She smiled. An angel's smile. "You're very welcome." And then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
* * *
In London , a lone figure stared with narrowed eyes out the window of the
Park Lane
town house. Restless fingers clenched into fists and a spurt of hot, hate-filled anger ripped through the figure's veins. Where the hell are you, Stephen? If you're dead, why isn't your body where it's supposed to be? And if you're alive, why haven't you returned home? The figure took several deliberate, deep breaths in an effort to calm down. It matters not. If you're dead, your body will turn up eventually. And if you're alive … well, you won't be for long.
Chapter 4
« ^ »
A t
ten a.m.
the following day, Justin Mallory, Earl of Blackmoor, glanced up from the mountain of papers piled on his desk.
"What is that you have, Randall?" he asked his unflappable butler who stood at attention next to the mahogany desk. "I would hope not more correspondence."
Randall bowed and presented an ornate silver salver with a sealed letter resting in the center. "A young man delivered this, my lord, saying it was urgent and he would wait for a reply."
Justin raised his brows. "Urgent?"
"Yes, my lord. He said the note was given to him by a Miss Hayley Albright from Halstead, and was to be delivered to a Mr. Justin Mallory." Randall's offended sniff left no doubt as to his feelings regarding such an unprecedented breach of etiquette.
"Indeed?" Justin glanced down at the note and froze when he read his name on the outside. He immediately recognized the distinctive slope of Stephen's handwriting. Why was Stephen sending him an urgent message through another person? "Who did you say sent this?"
"A Miss Hayley Albright. From Halstead. I believe that's in Kent , my lord."
"And where is the messenger?"
Randall pursed his thin lips. "I left the ill-mannered lout on the doorstep."
"I see. Leave me now. I'll send for him after I read the note."
"Yes, my lord." Randall left the room, closing the door behind him.
As soon as he was alone, Justin opened the note and scanned its contents.
Dear Justin,
My plans to spend several days at my hunting lodge have changed. I am fine, but I need you to come to the Albright home in Halstead immediately. Everyone here believes my name is Stephen Barrettson and that I'm a tutor. Please bring me some clothing—not my finest, mind you—something more that a tutor would wear, and dress yourself accordingly. I ask that you identify yourself simply as Justin Mallory. I also request that you not reveal the contents of this letter or my whereabouts to anyone, including
Victoria
, until we have spoken. I shall expect you later today, tomorrow the latest, and I'll explain all.
Stephen
Justin glanced at a second sheet of paper that listed directions to the Albright home. What the devil sort of mess had Stephen gotten himself into? He reread the note. Whatever the problem, at least Stephen was all right, or he claimed to be. But something was clearly amiss.
Tucking the disturbing missive into his pocket, Justin strode to
"Careful," she warned, wrapping her arm more snugly about his waist. "Lean your weight on me and perhaps we can take a few steps."
Gritting his teeth, Stephen placed his arm around her shoulder and took a tentative step. It was slow going, but they eventually made it around the room. She then helped him to sit on the edge of the bed.
"I feel so damn weak," he muttered, disgusted that the short walk had exhausted him so.
"You've been very ill. Give yourself time to regain your strength. The doctor recommends that you not travel for several weeks to allow your ribs to heal. You are welcome to remain here with us for as long as you need." Crossing the room, she stood by the door. "Try to rest and I'll check on you in several hours." She turned to leave.
"Hayley."
She looked back, her gaze questioning.
"Thank you. For all you've done. You saved my life."
She smiled. An angel's smile. "You're very welcome." And then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
* * *
In London , a lone figure stared with narrowed eyes out the window of the
Park Lane
town house. Restless fingers clenched into fists and a spurt of hot, hate-filled anger ripped through the figure's veins. Where the hell are you, Stephen? If you're dead, why isn't your body where it's supposed to be? And if you're alive, why haven't you returned home? The figure took several deliberate, deep breaths in an effort to calm down. It matters not. If you're dead, your body will turn up eventually. And if you're alive … well, you won't be for long.
Chapter 4
« ^ »
A t
ten a.m.
the following day, Justin Mallory, Earl of Blackmoor, glanced up from the mountain of papers piled on his desk.
"What is that you have, Randall?" he asked his unflappable butler who stood at attention next to the mahogany desk. "I would hope not more correspondence."
Randall bowed and presented an ornate silver salver with a sealed letter resting in the center. "A young man delivered this, my lord, saying it was urgent and he would wait for a reply."
Justin raised his brows. "Urgent?"
"Yes, my lord. He said the note was given to him by a Miss Hayley Albright from Halstead, and was to be delivered to a Mr. Justin Mallory." Randall's offended sniff left no doubt as to his feelings regarding such an unprecedented breach of etiquette.
"Indeed?" Justin glanced down at the note and froze when he read his name on the outside. He immediately recognized the distinctive slope of Stephen's handwriting. Why was Stephen sending him an urgent message through another person? "Who did you say sent this?"
"A Miss Hayley Albright. From Halstead. I believe that's in Kent , my lord."
"And where is the messenger?"
Randall pursed his thin lips. "I left the ill-mannered lout on the doorstep."
"I see. Leave me now. I'll send for him after I read the note."
"Yes, my lord." Randall left the room, closing the door behind him.
As soon as he was alone, Justin opened the note and scanned its contents.
Dear Justin,
My plans to spend several days at my hunting lodge have changed. I am fine, but I need you to come to the Albright home in Halstead immediately. Everyone here believes my name is Stephen Barrettson and that I'm a tutor. Please bring me some clothing—not my finest, mind you—something more that a tutor would wear, and dress yourself accordingly. I ask that you identify yourself simply as Justin Mallory. I also request that you not reveal the contents of this letter or my whereabouts to anyone, including
Victoria
, until we have spoken. I shall expect you later today, tomorrow the latest, and I'll explain all.
Stephen
Justin glanced at a second sheet of paper that listed directions to the Albright home. What the devil sort of mess had Stephen gotten himself into? He reread the note. Whatever the problem, at least Stephen was all right, or he claimed to be. But something was clearly amiss.
Tucking the disturbing missive into his pocket, Justin strode to
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