Priding on himself on his self-discipline, he forced himself not to think of her while he practiced, swinging and ducking, blocking and parrying, nor when he ate supper that night alone in his room. As he laid down to sleep, he was plagued with questions about the beautiful stranger that left him restless as he got up and began to pace his chambers. Her clothing was strange, where did she come from? What happened to her petticoats and what were her boots made of? They were as strong as thick leather with especially thick soles. Who had been chasing her? and why?
He groaned.He had to stop troubling himself with her. To prove that he could, he returned to his bed and closed his eyes, vowing not to open them again until he had slept. But all he could see was her face behind his eyes. Finally, he left his bed and went to the kitchen.
She was still asleep. He stood over the bed until the sun broke through the window. He hoped she would live. He thought he might be the only person cheering for her. Maddeningly, itmade him want to reach out and run his fingers over her hair, her face. She was far from home. Her feet testified to it. But as each moment passed, his head talked his heart out of whatever spell he’d fallen under. “There’s no place in my life for you,” he whispered. “I must rein in my intrigue and my desire to protect you and stay away. So, get well, my lady. Get well and live.”
Chapter Two
Fable opened her eyes and saw a man turning away from her. She didn’t scream because her throat was on fire–and also because of his words, spoken in the softest of masculine voices, still echoed around her ears. His desire to protect her? That wasn’t something a guy who chased you through time said. It seemed to be something no one said in 1718. She’d been here four days now or was it five? Alone and impoverished–running from a man who was trying to catch or kill her, stuck in the eighteenth century. No one would believe her if she made it back. But worse was the hunger. She was starving. Literally. She couldn’t sell the pocket watch since she’d hidden it in the wall of a church in Ipswich. She was sure it was the only way to get back home, and whoever was chasing her wanted it. She led him away from it and she knew how to defend herself but he wasn’t some homeless, hungry guy on the street. He carried around a bloody sword and Fable had no doubt he could use it.She also wasn’t sure if she could actually kill him once she got him down. So she did what she did best. She ran. She didn’t know how far she’d gone. Someone told her she was in Colchester but how far was that from Ipswich? She had no idea. She’d needed to get herstalker off her back and then, once she was well again and her feet could withstand it, she’d get back to that church.
But the first thing Fable needed was food. No one had helped her. No one had even looked at her since she arrived. No one but this man. She wanted to reach out and stop him from moving away. But the only thing she caught was a glimpse of his profile, his strong, square jaw and raven brow low over his eye. He was going to stay away. That was fine with her. She just needed food to feel better and then she would be on her way. She was used to being alone. No big deal. Sleeping outside on the streets of New York City had prepared her for the worst, but at least at home people offered a hand to help her eat. Here, everyone was basically as poor as she was.
Everyone except this man. Was she safe here? Was the man chasing her close by? Were those apples she smelled?
She didn’t open her eyes again for the next two days. When she did, a thin shaft of sunlight streamed through a narrow window to her right, providing light for her to see the bundles of apples stacked behind her head. She was hungry. She looked around. Where was she? Did she dream of the man’s voice telling her he had to resist his desire to protect her and stay away. She almost laughed out loud at herself. Of course it was a dream. Who had ever wanted to protect her?
“Oh, my lady, you’re awake!” A short older woman with pink cheeks and graying hair hurried toward her. “His Grace will be pleased. How are you feeling? I’m Edith. I’m here to serve you. Don’t try to get up. Just stay right where you are and I’ll bring you some soup.”
Before Fable had a chance to respond, the woman left her sight. Fable could hear her busying herself preparing her soup beyond the storeroom. What did the woman mean by “serve her”? Who told her to do so? Fable’s belly gave a loud growl. Shewasn’t sure soup would be enough. Then again, the thought of actually eating turned her stomach.
“Thank you,” she said when the woman returned to her beside carrying a tray with a bowl on top. “May I ask…you mentioned His Grace. Is there a man…a lord here?”
“Yes, the duke,” the woman told her and spooned some soup into her mouth. “He’s away in Ardleigh, but he should be returning today. I think he’ll be pleased to see you awake. He was concerned for you.”
“Me?” Fable asked, and then closed her eyes to stop her tears from pouring out. She never tasted anything as good as the carrot soup Edith was feeding her.
“Yes,” Edith confided with a sly smile. “I have never seen His Grace give a fretful thought to anything. He even paid the physician to come see you.”
“I don’t remember him too much,” Fable told her, though the foggy image of a man cradling her in his arms invaded her thoughts.
“You were quite ill, lady. His Grace ordered Stephen and I to feed you clear soup so you wouldn’t die of starvation. It was quite difficult since you were asleep.”
Fable wasn’t sure what to say. She’d never met anyone with such a kind heart as this “His Grace” guy.
Everything was going fine until another woman came forward and eyed her as if Fable were the filthiest creature she’d ever seen.
Fable agreed that she probably was. But it wasn’t easy staying clean while being chased down dirt paths, getting struck by another woman on the street with three missing teeth and an even dirtier face than Fable’s. Oh yes, and she’d never forget the guy who had promised her a bowl of stew and then tried to capture and sell her as a slave.
“So, you’ve decided to wake up,” the woman breathed in disgust. She was dressed in a pretty, dark brown gown. She would have appeared plain, especially in the candlelit space where they were, if not for the gold earrings dangling from her delicate lobes and the pearl encrusted choker around her neck.
Fable thought they would be worth a pretty penny on the streets.
“Will you eat all our food now?”
Fable turned away from the spoon Edith held up to her. She hated imposing on these people. This woman was probably the wife of the guy who had helped her. She obviously didn’t want Fable here.
“Prudence,” a man’s voice said, his husky pitch reverberatingin Fable’s blood. "Will you leave on your own or should I have you removed again?”
Fable stared at the man striding toward them. He was tall and lean and dressed completely in black. He reminded Fable of a wild stallion. Guys didn’t look like him unless they were in the movies. And she knew after walking from Ipswich for four straight days and not seeing any cars, trains, or planes that this wasn’t a movie.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, taking a step closer to her and then stopping himself.
She was tempted to smile at him, though he offered her an aloof scowl. She didn’t think he would hurt her–and she had no other choice but to be friendly. “Hungry, and very displaced and disoriented.”
The woman in the pearl choker glared at Fable first, and then at the man standing between them. He stood as straight as an arrow, with quiet power, and didn’t seem to mind her.
“Benjamin, how can you treat me with such contempt because of someone you just met?”
His name was Benjamin. Fable thought it was a manly name. He looked like what she imagined a Benjamin would look like. Tall, dark, and handsome. Who was the villainess? His wife? They had money if this was their house. She needed money to live until she could get home. She would hate to rob him since he helped her out but one of the many things she had not learned to be when she was growing up on the streets, was loyal.
