CHAPTER3
A DUKE THAWS DESPITE A CHILLY RECEPTION
Afew minutes later in the front salon of Whyte Hall Park
Never had brandy tasted as good as the smoky liquid that flowed over his tongue and burned his throat. Never had he drained a glass as quickly as he did in that moment, his hunger nearly as painful as his thawing body.
Nearly as painful as whatever was being done to his forehead. A throbbing had begun somewhere below his hairline and inside his skull. At least his arm no longer ached.
“Careful,” Katherine admonished him. “We want you warm. Not drunk.” Her gaze lifted to Mrs. Hutchins, who had just finished wrapping the man’s head with gauze. She had cleaned and covered the cut with a bandage, clucking about the possible need for stitches.
“Do you think you could eat something?” Katherine asked, ignoring the housekeeper’s comments. She held a bowl of thick soup and a spoon, the scent suggesting something fresh from a garden.
His eyes rounding, Thomas was about to reach for the bowl but realized he was still wearing his gloves. His attempt to remove the leather fingers from one hand proved impossible when he couldn’t get the fingers of his other hand to work.
Katherine set the bowl on the table next to him and took the chair adjacent to his. “Allow me,” she said in a quiet voice. Glancing up at Mrs. Hutchins, who seemed at a loss as to what to do next, she said, “See to our best bedchamber for His Grace. And do include a hot brick or two.” She glanced down at his feet. “Send Jackson in. He’ll need help removing his boots.”
Still shivering, Thomas watched in fascination as Katherine placed one hand beneath his wrist to lift it while the long fingers of her other hand plucked and pulled each finger of the glove until it came free of his hand. She set it on the table and turned to repeat the process with his other hand.
Thomas saw how his hands shook. Shivered. Practically vibrated. The brief moment when their bare fingers touched, a jolt seemed to awaken the feeling beneath the skin. From the pins and needles sensation that followed, he almost wished his gloves were still on his hands.
“I’ll hold the bowl for you,” she offered. “Do you think you can handle the spoon?”
Tempted to scold her for treating him like a child, Thomas reached for the utensil and discovered he couldn’t grip it. He couldn’t make his fingers perform the simple task. “Dammit,” he muttered. His eyes once again rounded. “Apologies. I... I—”
“Allow me to help,” Katherine said as she lifted the spoon and began feeding him. “Do you remember what happened? What brought you here?”
He swallowed. “Where exactly are we?”
She furrowed a brunette brow. “Whyte Hall Park, of course. Near Bath,” she replied. “How did you get here?”
He swallowed another spoonful of soup. “Walked.”
She blinked. “From where?”
Shaking his head, which only worsened the incessant throbbing, he grunted. “Somewhere between here and the Old Bell. The horses were changed there.”
“At Warminster?” She said the words with a good deal of shock.
He nodded and winced when the movement caused his headache to worsen.
“That’s over twenty miles away,” she remarked, feeding him another spoonful of soup. She straightened in her chair. “Did something happen to your traveling coach?”
Resisting the urge to nod, Thomas said, “Fredericks—my driver—he, uh... he seems to have suffered a... apoplexy.” He had to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
“Oh, dear. Is he... is he still with the coach? I can send my—”
“He is... gone. I... I had to leave him.”
Katherine gave a start, as if he’d slapped her across the face, then she appeared flummoxed. “So... why didn’tyoudrive the coach? I recall you were at one time rather good at driving coach-and-fours at breakneck speeds near Richmond.” The comment held no hint of awe or appreciation of such an accomplishment, but rather derision.
“I was asleep at the time and unaware anything was amiss until I woke up in a coach traveling at breakneck speeds. I nearly broke my neck when it tumbled into a ditch,” he countered. “After which it burned up when the curtains caught fire from the coal in the brazier.”
Her mouth forming an ‘o,’ Katherine stared at him a moment before she said, “I thought there was a faint hint of smoke smell about you.” She sighed. “Well, it certainly explains why you have that awful gash on your forehead. And why your hat appears as if it was crushed on one side.”
Wincing, he took the bowl of soup between his two hands and tilted it to his lips. He drank deeply before setting it aside. “Apologies, but I am starving.”
Katherine angled her head to one side. “I take it you didn’t eat at the Old Bell?”
