AllFreeNovel
Share Us
William had invited Death by deliberately putting himself in close proximity to its agents—here, in this very place. All it had taken was a cold. A particularly nasty cold had settled in his chest and turned into pneumonia. His brother had drowned in his own fluids.
Roland turned around and went back the way he’d come, or so he’d thought. The hallways all looked the same to him. A moment later, he stopped, arrested by a soft, motherly voice. Going to the one door that wasn’t quite closed, he eased it open a bit more and looked in. There was a boy, a very pale, thin little boy in the bed. He was emaciated. Every bone in his face and the arm atop the coverlet stood out in sharp relief.
The woman he had heard was spoon-feeding him from a bowl, her back to the door. “I know you want more than broth, but this is what’s best for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” sighed the disappointed boy.
Roland watched as the child dutifully opened his mouth to accept another meager mouthful. When the bowl was empty, the woman stood.
“But I’m still hungry,” complained the boy.
“I shall tell the night nurse to bring you a bit of bread in a few hours. Now, I want you to rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Roland backed away. His blood boiled. He’d recently signed away a small fortune to support this place—quite a lot of it for provisions. Where had it all been spent? Surely not on broth. He waited until the woman came out. The instant the door closed behind her, he grabbed her and spun her about to face him.
She gasped, her eyes growing huge above the edge of the white mask she wore over her nose and mouth. The bowl dropped from her hands and landed on the floor with a clatter at his feet.
“What sort of an establishment is this?” he demanded, kicking the crockery aside. “Do I not pay to feed them better than broth? Why are you depriving that child of food?”
Her brows snapped together. “Depriving him?”
“Yes, depriving him!” Reaching out, he twitched the ridiculous mask down until it hung off the end of her nose. Strangely, the woman did not flinch. No indeed—she had the temerity to glare at him as though he were a recalcitrant child. He looked down at her, at the stains on her apron, at the messy brown hair straggling out from beneath her white, rumpled cap. There was something familiar about her...
“I was not depriving him!” hissed the insolent wench, yanking her arm out of his grasp and edging away. “He came here yesterday morning at death’s door from starvation. His stomach cannot yet handle more than broth—if I were to feed him anything else, it would only make him ill and do him no good at all.” Her hands went to her hips. “Now, I don’t know why you’re here early, but I must ask you to leave this area at once and wait in the foyer.”
Despite her frumpy dress and imperious manner—or perhaps because of it—he suddenly found her attractive. He’d always liked a woman with spirit. “My apologies. I misunderstood your intent,” he said, smiling his most charming smile and moving a little closer.
She shrank back, the bridge of her nose wrinkling above her skewed mask.
Damn. He’d forgotten about the brandy. He must stink. She, on the other hand, smelled of lavender. It reminded him of...something. “You know, I believe you might be in the wrong line of work. A pretty thing like you belongs in silks and velvet, not this”—he picked at the ruffle on her apron—“coarse thing.”
He expected her eyes to fill with admiration and hope. After all, it wasn’t every day a duke paid compliments to what amounted to a scullery maid. Instead, the girl’s brows pinched together in an expression of complete outrage. His gaze belatedly dropped to her left hand, searching for a wedding ring. There was none.
However, the presence of another, altogether different and very familiar ring stopped him cold. His gaze rose, fixed upon it as that hand traveled up to remove the mask entirely. Once more, he met the woman’s furious, hazel-green eyes.
Oh, my God.
~ * ~
“My Lord Manchester, I demand that you remove yourself from this facility immediately. And you are not to return until such a time as you are sober and can conduct yourself in a manner befitting a gentleman. I believe you know the way out.”
Harriett gave him her back and began walking, making every effort to keep her spine straight and her legs steady. The nerve of the man! Not only to show up a day early, reeking of spirits and poking about where he didn’t belong, but to proposition her! It didn’t matter that it had only been a coarse joke. The fact that he’d even said such a thing was, was—
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and she quickened her pace. Dignity be damned! But it was too late. Before she could reach the door, a vise-like hand gripped her shoulder and again spun her about.
“What the devil are you doing here?” growled Manchester, moving closer, forcing her back a step until she bumped up against the wall.
“I happen to be volunteering my services!” Perhaps, if she was quick, she could slip past him.
He must have read her thoughts, for he raised his arms and laid his palms on the wall on either side of her, trapping her.
“Still playing the martyr, Harriett?” His voice was a soft rasp that caused gooseflesh to break out across her skin despite the heat reaching across the scant space between them. “Do you really think my brother is beneficently watching from on high? That he sees and approves of your toil and sacrifice in his name? I can assure you he does not. The dead have no care for the living.”
His breath stirred the hair at her temple, and she was transported back to that awful day. William had just been buried, and this horrid man had disrupted the memorial service with his drunken irreverence. Giving him the benefit of the doubt—she’d seen he was mad with grief—she’d taken him aside to calm him.
Closing her eyes, Harriett tried not to think about what had followed, but it was impossible with his scent yelling in her nostrils: brandy, tobacco, leather, and something else she couldn’t put a finger on, something uniquely him. He’d staggered into her at the cemetery, resulting in the shock of her life. For just a moment as her hands had braced against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath, she’d looked into his pain-filled eyes...and had wanted to embrace him. Worse, she’d wanted him to return her embrace, to fold her in his arms and tell her she wasn’t al—
