“My name is Leonard Notley, and this is my land.” His dogs whimpered, but he ignored them. He wouldn’t overwhelm the poor woman with their attention.
How in the hell could she possibly have come to be there? Did she work in the home of one of his neighbours? If so, why in the devil was she so filthy, and why had no one come looking for her? And what had happened to cause her to be so frightened of him? The woman was full of mysteries that Leo wished to have solved, but he could scarcely interrogate her when she appeared to be so near to fainting.
She swiped at the tears on her face, leaving streaks of dirt on her cheekbones. Her breath was coming fast, her small, oval face obscured by each foggy puff. “My name is Juliana S-Smith.”
Another painful squeeze gripped his stomach. “You must be frozen through,” he observed, stepping closer. “Won’t you come to my estate and warm yourself by the fire? I’ve food and water, as well.”
What the devil are you doing, Leo?his inner voice rebuked. Indeed, inviting a woman—astranger—into his home was the very last thing that he ought to be doing.But such an intriguing puzzle.A shiver shook her body, and his mind was made up, no matter how ill-advised. He would not let her remain out there, alone, cold, and hungry.
He closed the distance between them and extended his hand to her.
* * *
Juliana’s heartskittered wildly in her chest. She wouldn’t,couldn’ttrust him. However… Her stomach growled plaintively, and her mouth felt dry as cotton. As much as she hated to admit it, she was in desperate need of help.
As though timed by the heavens, the clouds parted above the trees and lent a shaft of light over his body, giving her a clear view of his features. His clean blond hair was thick and wavy, and it hung down past his shoulders. His blond beard was short beside his ears and lengthened along his jaw toward his chin, where it must be at least two inches long. It was clear to her that his facial hair was grown not merely out of indolence, but was carefully chosen and maintained. Indeed, the hair around his full, ruddy lips was shorn back, kept clean and neat so as not to fall in the way while he ate.
Above his beard, his cheeks were pinkened by the cold, and his thick brows were two shades darker than his golden hair. And his eyes… His eyes were a shocking shade of pale blue that looked almost grey.
This is it, Juliana. You’ve finally gone mad with hunger, for surely no man as large and hairy as this could ever be so beautiful. And nor would his faint cinnamon-and-coconut scent make you wish to press your nose to his skin just to get another smell.
If this was delirium, she would die happy, she supposed. But just to be safe… With jerky movements, Juliana crawled to her pistol and shoved it in her costume’s pocket—safely among her other treasures—before she accepted Mr. Notley’s hand.
“Christ,” he muttered. “You’re frozen stiff.” He removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Coconut-soap-and-cinnamon-scented material engulfed her, and the warmth left over from his body nearly had her in a swoon. “Thank you.” She was tempted to duck her head inside the coat’s folds and absorb the heat and the absurdly comforting fragrance, but she resisted.
He called over his shoulder to his man, and several servants came from around a corner. “We will return on the morrow week to continue our hunt. For now, we have enough meat to sustain us, and this young woman—Miss Juliana Smith—requires sustenance and warmth.”
There were murmurs of response before the men leapt into action. Time seemed to whirl past as she was guided toward the edge of the forest and whisked upon a mount to ride across great stretches of land. The man’s two greyhounds broke into frenzied barks and sprinted away, over hills and alongside stretches of previously tilled earth. Juliana did not know with whom she rode, and she truthfully did not care; he was warm and solid, and despite the slight jostle of the horse, she found herself dozing off, her hand securely wrapped around her pistol.
* * *
His failure wasthe bitch’s fault entirely.
The fact that he was forced to spend his nights at this shit inn on the outskirts of Nottingham—the walls cracked, the paint stained and peeling, and the bed lumpy—was her fault, as well. At least the place didn’t have lice.
With the tip of his toes, he dragged the table’s other chair nearer and rested his bared heels on it, hissing at the pain jolting through his chest. He’d just redressed the wound that grazed his ribs, the stitching angry, and with every movement, every stab of pain, came a deeper hatred for Lady Juliana Sinclair.
Fresh determination rushed through him, and he reached for his pistol to begin cleaning. He would find her, just as he’d promised, and he would not only carry out his task, but he would make her pay for what she’d done.
* * *
Darkness lifted,but the fog in Juliana’s mind remained. Pain jolted through her scalp and skittered down her spine to tingle in her legs. The staccato chattering of her teeth echoed in her ears, and a shiver wracked her. A beam of sunlight shone through the ceiling of her enclosure, highlighting dust motes that drifted lazily through the air.
How long had it been since the accident? How long had she been lying thusly?
Air. She needed air.
The door’s handle was frozen shut, and the more she pushed at it, the more her pulse sped. Trapped. Her nails caught on the wooden frame, ripping and bleeding. But she couldn’t get out.
The air around her became too light. She couldn’t breathe.
A scream wrenched from Juliana’s throat, and her eyes snapped open as she woke. Her chest heaved as the nightmare memory faded from her mind’s eye. Sweat saturated her night rail and the hair that framed her face, and shivers shook her frame, fresh fear and anxiousness washing over her.
“It’s quite all right, miss.” An elderly gentleman appeared at the edge of her vision, and she moved to shift away from him on the…On the bed?
When had she gone to bed, and in whose bed was she lying? And why couldn’t she move?
