All night she had dreamed about Trevor…dreamed of what kind of life she’d have as his wife. Although utterly ridiculous, she needed to dream—to feel alive.
In the morning, confusion settled in her head and she wondered if she’d ever kissed a man before. She seemed to know how. For some reason, her past held this secret, and she didn’t know if she wanted answers. It was easier to be oblivious.
Today Mrs. Smythe put her in with the laundry maids. Determined to learn something without messing it up, Louisa listened to instructions and followed their example the best she could. Occasionally she caught herself slipping into a fantasy about Trevor, but before too long, she pulled herself out. She must impress Trevor’s household staff. She must not disappoint him again.
Louisa really had to watch herself in the laundry room. Touching Trevor’s clothes, she wanted to close her eyes and run the cloth along her cheek, but she refrained—although it was extremely hard to do. She tried to act as if her heartbeat didn’t pump out a crazy rhythm every time she touched an article of his clothes, and could practically picture him wearing them.
As she turned to move, she accidentally bumped into the hot stove. Her palm burned and she jerked away from the heat. Through the thick fog still in her mind, a memory formed.
She was a small child around five years of age. She had touched the hot poker from the fireplace and burned her finger. Her father lifted her in his arms and soothed her while her mother spread some kind of ointment on her skin.
Louisa couldn’t see faces, but in her heart, tenderness grew from this memory and she realized she must have had a loving childhood. Odd, but her parents weren’t dressed in servants’ clothes or rags. Instead, they were dressed similar to Trevor and his mother.
Within seconds, the memory faded and another replaced it. She was frightened. Terribly so. A bulky man stood over her with a poker from a fireplace—much different than her earlier memory. This man was angry. Threatening her. “If ye slip up one more time, I won’t hesitate to use this.”
All at once, a place on her leg began to throb. This man had burned her on purpose before as a form of punishment. Louisa bent as she lifted her skirt and touched the very spot he’d harmed her. She’d noticed the puckered section of skin the other day and wondered about it. Now she knew.
An ache pounded in her head and she squeezed her eyes closed and willed the pain away. Questions swam in her head. Where were her parents—and how did she end up with that terrible man?
Time slipped by quickly since there was a lot of work to be done with the laundry. By the end of the day, Louisa’s arms were as heavy as wet rags. Not only was her body exhausted, so was her mind since she hadn’t been able to remove those two confusing memories from her head.
Thoughtful Mrs. Smythe had a hot tub of bath water waiting for Louisa in her room. She quickly undressed and then sank in the water, sighing aloud as it relaxed her. Before she became too weak, she washed her hair and piled it on top of her head as she finished scrubbing the rest of her. She laid back and closed her eyes, enjoying the peacefulness.
She pushed aside the bad memories and an image of Trevor surfaced…the library…and being in his comforting arms. Especially the wonderful kiss by the pond. Unfortunately, something else niggled at her mind. Why had she pleaded with him not to withhold her meals as punishment? What had happened in her life to make her say that? And who was Macgregor? She didn’t want to think about the shadowy vision she’d had before Trevor had taken her in his arms and comforted her beyond belief, yet the man Macgregor was a mystery that needed to be solved. Although she couldn’t picture his face, she knew she feared him. She also knew he was somebody she did not want to remember.
Fear like never before encompassed her, and she wanted to hide away forever. If Trevor hadn’t arrived when he did, who knows what might have happened in her frame of mind.
Suddenly, Macgregor’s voice rang clear in her head as she remembered the threatening man with the poker in his hands. Gasping, she sat up straight. Chills ran through her body, testifying that the man with the poker was indeed Macgregor.
She quickly climbed out of the tub, dried her body, and threw her night rail on. Taking the brush, she slowly walked to the fireplace to warm herself, dry her hair, and think. Withinminutes, footsteps boomed on the floor down the hall, marching up toward her room.
Her heart dropped.Oh, no. Not again.
Chapter Fourteen
Out of allthe garments for her to shrink, why did it have to be his favorite shirt?
Trevor marched toward Louisa’s room, anger filled him with each step. Yesterday, he’d promised not to blame her for messing up, but this was where he drew the line. Did she even realize how much he’d spent for that shirt?
He hadn’t realized it was a size smaller until readying himself for a dinner party tonight. When he pulled the shirt over his head, he knew right away something was amiss. The material hugged his shoulders and chest more than they should. The sleeves were not billowy or long, but snuggling against his arms and ending just below his elbows. He didn’t have to ask Mrs. Smythe where she’d put Louisa today. His ruined shirt told him enough.
He reached her bedroom door, stopped, and pounded. “Louisa, I would like to speak with you, if you don’t mind,” he snapped.
“Uh…” Bare feet padded on the floor. “As you wish, but—”
Trevor didn’t wait to hear the rest of her thoughts before he swung open the door and stepped inside. “Do you realize what you have done—”
Near the fireplace, wrapped in a night rail as damp hair hung down her shoulders and arms, stood Louisa. She took his breath away. Oh good heavens… Why hadn’t he waited for her answer?Gazing at her made it hard to breathe, and if his throat kept tightening, he wouldn’t be able to swallow, either.
She stood clutching a towel to her bosom with wide eyes. Her mouth parted as if she wanted to speak, but only quick breaths escaped.
Inwardly, he groaned. “Forgive me, Louisa. I should have waited for you—”
She gasped and pointed to his shirt. “Did I do that?”
It took him only a moment to realize what she was referring to—the very reason he came here in the first place but seemingly forgotten about. Before he could respond, she hurried to him and clutched his arm. Tears swam in her eyes.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I honestly thought I had followed directions in the laundry room.” She sniffed and wiped away a stray tear. “But I fear I have no skills at all.”
