Will left and Aidan let his head fall back against the chair. He let out a shaky sigh. He spied the glass of brandy on the table, grabbed it, and took a huge swallow, desperate to stop the trembling in his limbs that had just appeared out of nowhere. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so unaware of the danger? Had he been so enchanted by those beautiful blue eyes that his senses had immediately taken leave of him? This woman intrigued him. Who was she? There was something about her that didn't quite fit, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He wanted to know more about her. No matter that she was obviously destitute, she was brave, and he owed her his life. If she hadn't lost her own.
Mrs. Bartlett finally came downstairs to get him. “I bathed her as best I could and dressed all of her wounds, my lord. I put her in one of Mary’s nightgowns so we can wash her clothes, though I don’t think it would be much of a loss if they simply disappeared. Now, I think we'd better tend to you before you see her.”
Aidan glanced at her and shook his head. “It can wait.”
He pushed past her and strode out the door. He hated to just brush her aside, but the need to see his guest temporarily quashed his guilt and drove him up the stairs two at a time. He paused on the threshold of the room, staring at the tiny frame of the woman lying unconscious on the bed. She had a large bandage wrapped around her head and another around one forearm, but she looked much better than she had an hour ago. He approached her quietly, as if he might wake her. Now that her eyes weren’t distracting him, he could see she had fine features, despite the swelling in her face. She was very pale, with long, dark hair that surrounded her in a mass of tangled chocolate curls. She had delicate eyebrows and a petite nose that made Aidan want to run his finger down it. Her skin was clear, but held a slightly gray tinge to it, and she had dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept in days. Her full, perfectly proportioned lips seemed to hold a hint of a smile even though she slept. All in all, he thought she could be an attractive woman.
Mrs. Bartlett came in behind him. “Have a look at this, my lord,” she said, drawing back the covers to reveal the woman's ankle. Around it was a tattered ribbon that held a gold charm. Aidan bent down to study it. It appeared to be a Celtic knot. It seemed oddly familiar to him, though for the life of him, he couldn't think why, nor could he fathom the reason she even had it. As his eyes took in her rail-thin frame, he thought it would have served her much better had she sold it for food. Looking down at her, he couldn't imagine how this half-starved creature had actually knocked two men to the ground in one shot.
“I want to know the instant she wakes up, no matter the time, is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord. I'll be with her the rest of the night. Mary will take over in the morning.”
“Very good.” Aidan nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Bartlett,” he added.
She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "And might I remind you to tend to your cheek before bed? You will be quite a sight at the wedding tomorrow if you don't.”
Aidan gave her a small smile. In so many ways, she had become his mother figure. “I promise, I will.” He turned and headed for the door.
“I also took the liberty of ordering you a hot bath. I thought perhaps you might be in need of a good soak,” she called after him. “And some ice for your face,” she added.
He paused on the threshold. “You are a saint, Mrs. Bartlett.” He smiled at her. “Good night.”
“Good night, my lord.”
He left the room and went to his own bedchamber, stripping off his coat as he walked. By the time he reached his destination, he had managed to get his neckcloth untied as well. His valet, Richards, appeared from out of nowhere, and paled visibly when his eyes came to rest on Aidan and his bloody attire.
“Sorry, old chap.” Aidan stripped off the ruined shirt, which was now beginning to stick to his chest as it dried. He handed the shirt and tie to Richards. “I’m afraid you’ll have to burn these. And see if you can get the blood out of this,” he added, handing him the coat as well.
Richards held the bloodied linens between his thumb and forefinger and eyed them distastefully. “Very good, my lord.”
“That will be all for this evening.”
Richards’s head snapped up. “But, my lo—”
“I am well, Richards. I thank you for your concern. However, I very much want to soak in that bath and sink into bed. I can manage that on my own.”
Richards looked crestfallen. “As you wish, my lord.” He slipped quietly from the room.
Aidan removed the rest of his clothing and checked his face in the mirror. Good God, he looked worse than he thought. There was a small gash running from his left cheekbone to his temple, and the flesh surrounding it was swelling rapidly. The purplish hue did not bode well, either. He sighed, wrapped some ice in a cloth, and then sank gratefully into the tub to let his mind wander over the night’s events. Who was this mystery woman who was willing to risk her life for that of a stranger? And what was it about her that had compelled him to stay even after Smythe had left? It was disconcerting to him.
He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do with her now that she was here, but his sister would be home in a few days. Lainey would know how to handle the situation.
Holy hell, his face hurt.
Chapter 3
Two days. Two blasted days and the girl hadn't so much as moved. Aidan was quite sure his behind had left a permanent impression on the powder blue velvet chair he'd been sitting in watching her for those two days. He had cut a spectacular figure at the wedding with a purple, swollen face, and as a result, he was now being forced to endure continual, probing questions from everyone he knew, which was really beginning to grate on his nerves. Speculation was running rampant about town. And to top it all off, he couldn’t seem to get any work done because he found himself constantly drawn to this woman’s bedside. He and Gavin Mayfield, his best friend and business partner, were about to head to France for two weeks for a purchasing trip. Aidan wanted to know who this woman was before he left, and he wanted to be damn sure she didn't die while he was gone.
He leaned over his charge, peering intently at her. She looked ethereal, lying there with her dark hair spread across the pillow, tangled mess though it was. He studied her every feature, intrigued by her very presence.
“It's time to wake up now, young lady,” he whispered. “I need to know who you are.”
It was growing late. He frowned, watching the firelight flicker over her pale face. He was just about to give up for the evening when the girl startled him by suddenly opening her eyes. Aidan froze, not sure if she was really awake. She seemed to be staring blankly at nothing in particular. He leaned in a little closer to her.
“Hello, there.”
She blinked, and her gaze shifted and locked with his. He wasn't prepared for the raw fear he saw reflected in her eyes. They went round, and she bolted upright, screaming both in terror and at the pain the movement caused her. Aidan reached out to try to help, but it only caused her to shrink away from him, crying out again.
“Miss, it's all right, it's all right,” he soothed, frantically trying to calm her. “I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here.”
Mrs. Bartlett flew into the room, snatching the bottle of laudanum from the dresser as she sailed past. She gripped the girl’s uninjured shoulder and talked her into lying down again. The young woman groaned in pain as Aidan helped her lie back. Her breath came in ragged, short bursts as she gulped for air.
“There, there, Miss,” Mrs. Bartlett soothed. “You need to be still. You had quite an accident.”
The terrified girl looked from her to Aidan and back again. Aidan backed away a little so he didn't appear so threatening. She clutched the sheets to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain wracking her body. A shattered moan tore from her throat, making Aidan wince.
“Mrs. Bartlett, the laudanum, please.” He moved closer to the bed and tried his best to calm his gues
t. “Don't be frightened, Miss. Everything is all right. My name is Aidan Lockwood. We met a few nights ago on the street…do you remember?”
Leighton regarded the man in front of her and blinked, trying to clear the fog in her head. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but it was hard to think through the pounding in her head. It hurt to breathe, too. What was wrong with her? Every inch of her body seemed in agony. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall her last memory. There was a storm brewing, and a bitter wind stirring everything in the street. A man who wouldn't let her pass. A bolt of lightning, horses spooked…and a different man standing in their path. The kind stranger who had smiled at her with friendliness in his eyes. The very same eyes that had looked down at her a moment ago. Oh, the pain she felt! It was making her positively nauseous. She opened her eyes with some effort and struggled to bring his image into focus. Yes, she remembered him. He had saved her from Peter Smythe. But was she now in just as dangerous a situation? She tried to speak, but nothing but a few squeaks came out, so she simply nodded instead.
“Drink a little of this,” the woman beside her said, holding a spoon containing a small amount of what smelled like brandy to her lips. Leighton complied, nearly gagging at the surprising bitterness. “That’s a good girl.” She was rewarded with a sip of water to chase away the aftertaste. Leighton watched the man by her bedside warily as she tried to piece together her hazy memories.
“Can you tell me your name?” he asked gently.
Was there cotton stuffing in her head? It was hard to put a coherent thought together. When she finally spoke, she wasn't sure it was her own voice. “E…Elizabeth,” she mumbled, using her middle name as she had for nearly eight years now, just as she did her grandmother’s maiden name. As far as she was concerned, Leighton Courtwright was dead, and it was best if the rest of England thought that, too. There was only one person in the world Elizabeth trusted enough to tell her real name to, and that was Betsy. “Elizabeth Townsend.”
“Miss Townsend,” Aidan said. “Do you remember what happened?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and thought hard, trying to clear the fog. “There…there was…a carriage,” she said slowly. “You were in the way.”
“Yes, that's right,” Aidan smiled. “You pushed me to safety.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “I knocked you down,” she said listlessly, forcing her eyes open. “Were you hurt?” She could see now the damage to his face.
Aidan chuckled lightly. “Just a little.” He was gazing down at her with something in his eyes that Elizabeth could not discern. He pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat, studying her. “You saved my life, Miss Townsend,” he said softly. “I am forever in your debt.”
Elizabeth blinked, not sure she was hearing things correctly. Men did not put themselves in debt to Elizabeth. They usually wanted something from her. Surely she must be dreaming. Or dead. No, that hardly seemed likely. She was in too much pain to be dead. She was certain a knife must be lodged in her side. She shifted to make the pain go away, but only succeeded in making herself wince.
“Please, Miss Townsend, you must lie still. You have broken ribs, and Lord only knows what else you have done.”
She watched him with a guarded expression. Whatever that woman had given her was making her feel very strange.
“I will send for the doctor in the morning. He will be pleased to know you have awakened.” Aidan paused, seeming at a loss of what to say. “Miss Townsend, it is my wish that you remain here until you are fully recovered. It is the least I can do in return for your selfless act. Is there some family I may contact so as to inform them of your whereabouts?”
The question was an innocent one, but it sent a thread of yearning through Elizabeth’s heart. Family. She longed to be able to tell this man that there was, indeed, someone who would be missing her, but the truth was, she was alone. The echoes of that harrowing summer’s night eight years ago still rang in Elizabeth’s head. She would never forget that man’s voice as long as she lived. Your family for mine, Mrs. Courtwright…Kill them…I will hunt her down. But she’d never stopped believing that her parents were alive, and hopefully looking for her, too. So far, her search had been fruitless. But it was difficult to search when one had to stay in hiding.
“Miss Townsend?” Aidan prompted.
“No,” she said quietly, jarred from her memories. “I have no one left.” She closed her eyes against the memory as her head began to pound in earnest.
“I can see you need to rest,” Aidan noted. “I shall take my leave of you now. Perhaps we may continue our conversation when you are feeling better.” He stood to go, but not before he tried to allay her fears one more time. “You are quite safe here, Miss Townsend. Mrs. Bartlett, here, will oversee your care, and Mary has been assigned to you should you need anything.” He nodded to Mrs. Bartlett and slipped from the room.
“Get some sleep now, dear,” Mrs. Bartlett said, running a cool cloth over Elizabeth's forehead. “Are you comfortable enough?”
Elizabeth floated on a sea of bliss. She couldn't tell if the pain was finally starting to ebb or if she just couldn't be bothered to care about it anymore. She barely managed a mumbled answer before she slipped into oblivion.
Chapter 4
“N…no more.” Elizabeth clamped her lips firmly against the spoon that was trying to pass them. She'd had enough of feeling fuzzy and detached from her body. She would deal with the pain. It reminded her she was still alive.
“Miss Townsend?”
Elizabeth cracked an eye open to find a young girl of about fifteen peering anxiously at her. She managed a weak smile.
“I don't want any,” she mumbled, trying to reassure the girl.
“Beggin' your pardon, Miss?” The girl looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Can I get you some tea, Miss?”
“Please,” Elizabeth croaked, not sure if the word sounded the same out loud as it did in her head. Everything was so difficult. She could barely open her eyes let alone put a coherent sentence together. She tried desperately to shake the fog that surrounded her like a shroud—not an easy task when all she wanted to do was sleep. She felt hands slip behind her head to help her drink, the cooled tea feeling wonderful on her parched throat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a decent cup of tea. Truth be told, she couldn't remember much of anything at the moment.
“Are you comfortable, Miss? Warm enough?”
“Yes, thank you,” Elizabeth managed. She forced her eyes open to look at her companion. Through the haze, Elizabeth could see that she was a thin girl with huge brown eyes that twinkled, and mousy brown hair that was pulled back in a simple style. Her fair skin was covered with a smattering of freckles. She was staring at Elizabeth and wringing her hands.
“What's your name?”
“Mary Bartlett, Miss. The housekeeper’s great-niece. I've been helping tend to you.”
“I see.” Elizabeth still couldn't tell if she was speaking clearly. Her tongue felt so thick, and the words didn't seem to want to come off of it. “Where am I again?”
“You're at Lockwood House, Lord Ashby's residence, Miss. Don't you remember? You've spoken to him several times now.”
“Oh…yes, that's right,” Elizabeth said sleepily. The man who'd been sitting by her bedside. Had they actually spoken? She couldn't remember. She just knew that he'd been floating at the edge of her consciousness, a ghost of a man.
Something filtered through her cloudy mind. “Lord Ashby?”
“Yes, Miss. That's right.”
Gracious! She was in a nobleman's guest room? Mary must have seen the surprise on Elizabeth's face, because she rushed to reassure her. “He's a very kind man, Miss. You needn't worry. He’ll take very good care of you.”
Elizabeth grimaced. Kind men were rather like unicorns. Mythical. She hadn't met a truly kind man in eight years. He did, however, deserve credit for caring for her while she recupe
rated.
“He'll be wantin' to talk to you. We haven't gotten much out of you these past days.”
“Days?”
“Yes, Miss. You've been sleeping on and off for three days now.”
“Three days? Goodness.” Right now, going back to sleep sounded good. Anything to get rid of this haze. She didn't like this feeling one bit.
“You look like you could still use some rest,” Mary noted. “Are you hungry at all?”
“I’m…not sure. Maybe a little.”
“I’ll bring you toast and some tea. Auntie said it would be best to start you off with something plain. How does that sound?”
“That's lovely, thank you,” Elizabeth mumbled, already nodding off.
“Very good, Miss. I'll let you rest.”
Elizabeth was asleep before Mary crossed the threshold.
It was much later in the afternoon when Elizabeth awoke again to find Lord Ashby himself sitting by her bedside. Good heavens, but the man was diligent. Elizabeth blinked to clear her blurry eyes and found that the fog that had surrounded her earlier had dissipated a bit. Unfortunately, the pain had increased, and she couldn't stifle the groan that accompanied a slight shift in position.
“How are you feeling, Miss Townsend?” Aidan asked, frowning slightly.
She studied him for a moment. He was much better looking than she remembered. He had a finely chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, one of which was discolored with bruising. His straight nose led her eyes down to full, beautifully shaped lips. The man exuded confidence, elegance, and power, an intoxicating and very dangerous mix. Even sitting in the chair with his legs casually crossed, he resembled a panther about to pounce. He had a thick mass of dark hair that fell in perfect waves, curling about his ears and giving him a hint of a roguish look. It was a bit longer than was fashionable, but it suited him, Elizabeth thought. She hadn't seen him smile yet, but she had the feeling that when he did, it had a devastating effect on every female within twenty yards.
All That I Am: A Victorian Historical Romance (The Hesitant Husbands Series Book 1) Page 3