Damn him!Gaby’s temper flared, and she snapped back, “Hiding something? You and your horse almost killed me! Why should I confide anything in you?”
“Perhaps you’re a spy sent by my traitorous cousin.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and you, sir, are paranoid!”
“Quite a big word for a peasant.”
“How dare you insult my intelligence. I’d rather be a peasant than some pompous English la-di-da who has his head up his a—”
Gaby bit her lip just in time. Nevertheless, she’d clearly hit a nerve, because Jack kicked open the door to his bedroom, nearly knocking it off its hinges. He strode to the bed and dumped her on it like a sack of potatoes.
She gasped at the pain in her midriff. “Do you know something? You’re a bully.” Fresh tears stung her eyes as she saw the anger flash in his. She covered her face, worried he might hit her.
“Rest assured, under no circumstances would I ever raise my hand to a woman,” he said in a stiff tone. “I am a gentleman, and I am respectful of the opposite sex, no matter her station. What is your name, wench?”
“Gabriella.”Wench?
“Your surname.”
“Gabriella D’Angelo.” She wanted to ask him why he was so angry at her. His anger seemed so misplaced, as if he was taking out on her what was meant for another. He’d mentioned his traitorous cousin, but she dared not ask him. Everything about him was formidable, from his towering height to his broad shoulders, to his brawny arms and thighs. And those huge hands! When he looked at her, it made her quiver like a leaf caught in the bluster of an October wind. She’d never had such an emotional reaction to anyone, let alone a man, and it was wreaking havoc with her ability to think clearly. Her attraction to him mystified her. Yes, he was gorgeous, but she’d never allowed herself to fall for a handsome man in the past.What does it say about me?
“I will make inquiries as to who your people are. Hopefully, we can find your relatives so that they can collect you.”
Gaby rolled over and bit her lip, trying to control the torrent of tears that was threatening to burst, but she couldn’t keep her shoulders from shaking.
“Damn and blast!” he said.
Gaby refused to turn around. Refused to say anything more. She heard Jack’s footsteps recede and then the door close with a thud.
Good riddance, you jerk!
How had she gotten here, and why was she here? And more importantly, where could she go? It seemed her time in this house was limited. All she wanted was to go home, but if Jack was correct, she’d landed in Italy in the early 1900s. There was no going home from here. At least not by boat or airplane.
She eased onto her back and scrunched her eyes closed as the pain from her midriff took her breath away.I need to get up. Find something to treat this wound.
Oh my God! What if it gets infected? Did they have antibiotics in 1902? Okay, calm down, Gaby! Get a grip on yourself.
“I told you, I cannot abide a woman’s tears.”
Gaby’s eyes flew open in surprise at his return. A jolt of pain made her flinch, and the sudden motion elicited a cry as a sharp stab tore through her.
Jack hastened to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. There was contrition in his face. “Now, now, it’s not that bad. Let me have a look.” His nearness made her heart thunder in her chest, and she feared he could hear it. Her keen sense of smell drank up his masculine scent that overrode the salty brine of the sea. An exotic, spicy, woodsy aroma emanated from his skin and tickled her olfactory senses.
Gently he raised the shredded blouse and frowned as he examined her wound. “It’s not too bad, just a surface cut. Mrs. Livingstone will clean and bandage you up, and you’ll be good as new in no time. And, of course, you will remain here until you are recovered. I will not risk you wandering the bluffs and taking flight.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. Perhaps there was some kindness in Jack after all. “I’m truly sorry to have put you through this.”
“Never mind, although I’d like to know what you were doing standing near the edge of a cliff.”
“I—I don’t remember,” she lied. “If I did, I would tell you, but I assure you, I’m not suicidal. I think the traumatic experience robbed me of my memory.”
“I daresay you’ve had a shock and need rest. Hopefully, your memory will come back to you after you’ve had a decent sleep.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I hope so.”
“Well then, I should leave you to Mrs. Livingstone—she should be here any moment.”
“Thank you for your kindness.”
