Reese's Bride. Kat Martin

whirled to leave.

      “And don’t tell anyone else I’m going.”

      The little maid understood. Though she had never said so, she didn’t like Mason Holloway, either. She bobbed a curtsey and rushed out the door.

      Ignoring a wave of dizziness, Elizabeth returned to her packing. By the time Sophie returned, she was dressed in a simple black woolen gown, her hair pulled into a tight chignon at the back of her neck, a crisp black bonnet tied beneath her chin.

      “I need help with the last of the buttons,” she said to her maid, turning her back so that Sophie could do them up. As soon as the task was completed, Elizabeth grabbed her black wool cloak off the hook beside the door and whirled it round her shoulders. She swayed a little with the effort.

      Sophie rushed forward, alarmed. “My lady!”

      “I’m all right. Just promise you will keep silent until morning.”

      “Of course. You can trust me, my lady. Please be careful.”

      Elizabeth smiled, grateful for the young girl’s loyalty. “I’ll be careful.”

      Heading down the servants’ stairs, satchel in hand, it didn’t take long to reach the door leading out to the stable. Holding two small bags, Mrs. Garvey stood next to Jared, who looked up at Elizabeth with big, worried brown eyes.

      “Where are we going, Mama?”

      Until that very moment, she hadn’t been completely certain. Now she looked at her son, felt a rush of dizziness, and knew what she had to do.

      “To see an old friend,” she said, and dear God, she prayed that somewhere in the darkest part of his heart, he would find that in some small measure, it was still true.

       Three

      Reese awakened from sleep to a banging at his door. Frowning, he swung his legs to the side of the high four-poster bed and shoved himself to his feet. The pounding started again as he dragged on his dark blue silk dressing gown.

      Grumbling, he grabbed his cane, crossed the bedroom and jerked open the door to find Timothy Daniels standing in the hallway.

      “For God’s sake, man, what is it? Keep that up and you’ll wake the whole house.”

      Timothy’s flaming red hair glinted in the light of the whale oil lamp he held in his hand. “It’s an emergency, sir. There’s a woman. She’s downstairs, sir. She says she needs to speak to you. She says the matter is urgent.”

      “It is well past midnight. Why the devil would a woman wish to see me at this bloody hour of the night?”

      “Can’t say, sir. But she’s here with her son and she seems overly distressed.”

      Apprehension trickled down his spine. He had seen Elizabeth and her son two days ago. Surely this had nothing to do with her. Then again, he had never been a man who believed in coincidence. “Tell her I’ll be down as soon as I can put on some clothes.”

      “Aye, sir.”

      Timothy disappeared and Reese made his way over to the wardrobe. Unconsciously rubbing his leg, he jerked out a pair of black trousers and a white lawn shirt, sat down and pulled them on. As he tucked in his shirt, pain shot down his leg. Since he’d taken a chunk of grapeshot at Inkerman, it was stiff, but not completely. Once he began to walk on it, it usually loosened up. At this hour the blasted thing felt like a lead rod connected to his body.

      Reese ignored it. As soon as he was dressed, he headed downstairs, wondering what sort of problem awaited him at this hour of the night.

      Leaning on his cane, he took the stairs as fast as he could, reached the bottom, and looked up to find his tall, skinny, very dignified butler standing next to a woman dressed in black.

      Time seemed to slow. He knew those finely etched features, the pale skin and raven-black hair, the perfectly shaped eyebrows and lips the color of roses. Images assailed him. Elizabeth in the garden of her home, laughing as she raced him to the gazebo. Elizabeth in his arms as they whirled around the ballroom. Elizabeth out on the terrace, her fingers sliding through his hair, her mouth soft and welcoming under his.

      He straightened, met her gaze squarely. “You are not welcome here.”

      She was trembling, he saw as she walked toward him, her movements as graceful and feminine as he recalled, a small woman, though she had never seemed so. “I must speak to you, my lord. It is urgent.”

      He wasn’t used to the title. Major suited him far more, and it jarred him a little. He might have told her he had no time for a woman of such low character as she, but then he saw that she wasn’t alone. A gray-haired woman stood in the shadows next to the boy he had seen in the village, the boy who was Elizabeth’s son.

      “Please, my lord.”

      “This way.” He moved off toward the drawing room, limping only a little, hoping his harsh tone of voice would compel her to turn and leave. He walked into the drawing room and waited as Elizabeth moved past him, her full black skirts brushing against his legs. He closed the sliding door, making them private, but didn’t offer her a seat nor take one himself.

      “It’s the middle of the night. What is it you want?”

      She lifted her chin and he noticed her complexion was far paler than it should have been. She was fighting for composure and the realization filled him with satisfaction.

      “I—I know you what you think of me. I know how much you hate me.”

      He laughed without mirth. “You couldn’t begin to know.”

      She bit her bottom lip. It was as full and tempting as he remembered and the muscles across his abdomen contracted. Damn her. Damn her to bloody hell.

      “I came here to plead for your help. My father is dead. I have no brothers or sisters, no true friends. You are a man of honor, a veteran of the war. I am here because I believe you are not the sort of man to turn away a desperate woman and her child—no matter your personal feelings.” She swayed a little and beads of perspiration appeared on her temple.

      Reese frowned. “Are you unwell?”

      “I … I am not certain. I have been feeling ill of late. That is part of the reason I am here. Should my condition worsen, I am concerned for what might happen to Jared.”

      “Jared? That is your son’s name?”

      “Yes.”

      She swayed again and he started toward her, using his cane only once as he crossed to where she stood and caught her arm to steady her. He was a gentleman, no matter how difficult at times that might be. “Sit down before you fall down.”

      She moved forward, sank unsteadily onto the burgundy sofa, her black silk reticule falling into her lap. She reached a trembling hand to her temple, then looked up at him with the beautiful, haunting gray eyes that invaded his dreams. The memory of a thousand sleepless nights hardened his jaw and fortified his resolve against her.

      “I am not the help you need.”

      “There is no one else I can turn to.”

      “You’re the Countess of Aldridge. Surely there is someone.”

      Her hands gripped the reticule in her lap. “I intended to go to London. I might have tried to make it tonight if I hadn’t been feeling so unwell.” She looked at him with those beseeching gray eyes. “I believe my in-laws may be doing something to my food or drink. If my condition continues to worsen, my son may be in grave danger.”

      His jaw tightened. “You’re speaking of Mason and Frances Holloway?”

      “Yes. I’m afraid that even should I reach London safely, my brother-in-law will arrive within days. I’m afraid he’ll find a means of forcing my return to Aldridge Park. Once I am there …” She shook