A Lady of Notoriety. Diane Gaston

and Mr Pitts set down the trunk and left the room.

      ‘Do you wish to see the rest of the house now?’ Mrs Pitts asked Daphne.

      ‘I will see the gentleman settled first,’ she replied.

      ‘Let me see to the meal, then, ma’am.’

      Mrs Pitts left and a few moments later, the men helped Westleigh to the bed.

      ‘Where am I?’ Westleigh asked, tense and confused. ‘Where have you taken me?’

      Daphne came to his side and touched his hand. ‘You are in a cottage on the road to Maidstone.’ She used her most soothing voice.

      ‘Not going to Maidstone. Going to London.’ He tried to stand.

      Daphne put a hand on his shoulder and he sat again. ‘You are too ill to travel to London.’ She had been making explanations like this for the past two hours—every time he woke and did not know where he was. ‘You were in a fire and you injured your eyes and your head. You need to rest in this bed here and we will care for you until you are better. Then you will go to London.’

      ‘Rest?’ He relaxed. ‘Then London.’

      Carter spoke. ‘You should leave the room, m’l—Mrs Asher, while I undress him.’

      She turned to the housekeeper’s husband. ‘Would you bring him water? Soap and towels, too, if possible, so Carter can bathe him a little? I am certain he will be more comfortable when clean again. Be gentle with his face, though.’

      ‘Water, soap and towels are already here, ma’am.’ The man pointed to a chest of drawers upon which sat a pitcher and basin and folded towels. He left the room.

      Carter spoke. ‘I’ll clean him up, ma’am. Leave him to me.’

      Daphne moved her hand, planning to step away, but Westleigh groped for it and seized it, pulling her back. ‘Do not leave,’ he rasped. ‘Do not leave me alone.’

      His firm grip and his intensity shook her. She did not know how to calm him.

      She stroked his hair—what little hair was not covered by bandages. ‘Shh, now,’ she said, trying to sound like the abbess who’d soothed her when she’d become overwrought. ‘You are not alone. Carter is here.’

      ‘I am here, sir,’ Carter said.

      Daphne continued. ‘Now remain still and Carter will take off your boots. Will that not feel more comfortable?’

      ‘I’ll give you a little wash and put you in clean bedclothes,’ Carter added.

      Daphne felt Westleigh’s muscles relax.

      ‘Do not wear bedclothes,’ he murmured.

      Chapter Two

      The dragon pursued him, its fiery breath scorching his skin. Stinging his eyes.

      Hugh pushed himself to run faster, to escape.

      The way out was ahead, a pinpoint of light that seemed to become more distant the harder he pumped his legs to reach it. The flames roared, as if the dragon laughed at him. The blaze encircled him, bound him. Devoured him.

      He jolted awake.

      To darkness.

      He sat up and his hands groped for his eyes. ‘I can’t see! Why can’t I see?’ His eyes were covered in cloth.

      Then he remembered. The fire had not been a dream. It had burned his eyes, all brightness and pain. Was he blind?

      ‘The bandages. Take them off!’ He pulled at them.

      There was a rustle of fabric and the scent of roses filled his nostrils. Cool hands clasped his.

      ‘Your eyes are injured.’ The voice was feminine and soothing, but not familiar. ‘The bandages need to stay on for you to heal.’

      ‘Who are you?’ He swallowed. His throat hurt when he spoke.

      ‘I—I am Mrs Asher. You carried me out of the fire—’

      He remembered only one woman he’d carried out of the fire, down the flame-filled stairway, all the way to the cool night outside.

      ‘Where am I?’ he rasped.

      ‘You—you are in my cottage in—in Thurnfield.’

      Thurnfield?

      The village on the road to London? He’d passed through it many times.

      She went on. ‘You cannot travel, so we brought you here.’

      That made no sense. ‘I was in Ramsgate. If I cannot travel, how is it I came to Thurnfield?’

      Her voice turned cautious. ‘We could not find a place for you in Ramsgate. Not one where you could receive care.’

      She was caring for him? Who was this woman? He wanted to see her. Look her in the eye. Figure out the reason for the uneasiness in her voice.

      But that was impossible.

      He cleared his throat. ‘You said we.’

      ‘My maid and footman and me.’

      She had a maid and a footman. A woman of some means, then. Of wealth? Were there more servants, perhaps? ‘A maid and footman. Who else is here?’

      ‘A housekeeper and her husband.’ She paused. ‘That is all.’

      Modest means, then, but she was holding back something, he would bet on it. ‘Where is Mr Asher?’

      ‘I am a widow.’ Her voice turned low, and that provoked a whole new set of emotions.

      He suddenly recalled that the woman he’d carried had weighed hardly more than a whisper. She’d curled trustingly against his chest, hiding her face from the fire.

      He cursed the bandages covering his eyes. He wanted to see her. Face her like a man.

      ‘My name is Westleigh.’ He extended his hand, which seemed to float in empty space.

      She grasped it.

      Her hand felt soft, like the hand of a gently bred woman.

      ‘I know who you are,’ she said, her voice turning tight again. ‘We learned at the inn that you are Mr Hugh Westleigh. We have your trunk. Like ours, it was with the carriages and spared from the fire.’

      Had she also learned he was the younger brother of the Earl of Westleigh? Was this a factor in bringing him here?

      If only he could look into her eyes—he could read her character.

      If only he could see.

      He pressed the bandages covering his eyes. The pain grew sharper.

      A soft, cool hand drew his fingers away as it had done before. ‘Please do not disturb your bandages. The surgeon said your eyes are to remain bandaged for two weeks. That is how long they will take to heal.’

      ‘Will they heal, then?’ he demanded. ‘Or am I to be blind?’

      She did not answer right away. ‘The surgeon said they must stay bandaged or they will not heal. That much is certain. He said they could heal, though.’

      Hugh laughed drily. ‘Could heal. That is not very reassuring.’

      Her voice turned low again. ‘I am only repeating what he told me.’

      He caught himself. She obviously had taken on the task of caring for him. He need not be churlish in return.

      He lifted his throbbing head again and turned in the direction of her voice. ‘Forgive me. I do not customarily succumb to self-pity.’

      ‘Of course you do not.’ Now she sounded like his old governess. ‘Are you thirsty?’

      Good