Read Dawn Thompson for Free Online Page B

am.”
    “Scalp wounds are nasty bleeders, sir,” the valet offered. “Take care not to stress the mend. It won’t stand opening, else I have to stitch it closed, and that will leave a nasty scar. Even as it is . . .” He clicked his tongue again. “Time was, young ladies of quality
behaved
like ladies. And that is all I have to say in the matter.”
    Joss suppressed a smile. Over the years, Parker had said much about many matters. Hearing the words that had become his mantra—especially now, when things were so unsettled—put the situation into perspective.
    “Don’t worry, old boy,” he said. “Believe me, I shall keep my distance hereafter.”
    The valet nodded and said no more, attending to his chores. A quick glance in the cheval glass and Joss was on his way to the breakfast room for fortification before the dreaded interview with Miss Cora Applegate.
    What did one say to draw such a person out? She was like a cornered animal—a lioness with sharp, hooked claws poised to pounce. How could he put her mind at ease? Hah! How could he hope to range himself close enough to attempt it?
    Such were the thoughts that ruined his breakfast. He was scarcely aware that he’d downed two cups of coffee, and a plate of Cook’s best coddled eggs and ham. He asked twice for reassurance that Miss Applegate had been likewise fed, and almost asked again, though he did agree to a third cup of coffee to delay the inevitable. Preoccupied as he was, he was painfully aware that all eyes were directed toward the nasty gashes upon his scalp and brow. Thankful that the servants were well trained to keep their place, he finished his third cup of coffee, and quit the breakfast room.
    Outside the yellow suite bedchamber door, he hesitated. He raised and lowered his hand several times before his knuckles addressed the wood. At first, no answer came.
Grace can’t still be sleeping,
he thought. The sun had risen hours ago. He rapped again; still no answer. He waited, his hand hovering over the door handle, but only for a moment before he gripped it, turned it, and stepped inside.
    A gasp from the bed stopped him in his tracks. His eyes flashed toward the wing chair. It was vacant. Anger flared his nostrils. Why had they left her alone? His firstinstinct was to close the door behind him. That would be a mistake. Instead, he left it ajar.
    Cora vaulted upright in the bed, yanking the counterpane up to her chin. “Do you make it a habit of barging into ladies’ bedchambers, sir?” she snapped at him. God, she was beautiful with the snowy dazzle streaming through the window picking out the coppery lights in her chestnut hair. It was painful to gaze upon.
    “What have you done with my housekeeper?” he asked.
    “Done with?” she said. “I dismissed the poor woman, you tyrant. She was exhausted. I am hardly in need of a nursemaid.”
    “You can trust me when I say—”
    “I trust
no
man, sir,” she interrupted, narrowing her almond-shaped eyes. Blue. They were blue. He had wondered about that. How could he not have noticed? They were the color of the bluebells that carpeted the fells in spring.
    “—when I say,” he went on with raised voice, “that Grace was not stationed here for that. She and Amy, my housemaid, were instructed to stay with you in shifts so that you would not wake alone in a strange place—and for propriety’s sake, lest you be . . . compromised.”
    “Where is Lyda?” she demanded.
    “Who?”
    “Lyda, my abigail,” she said. “It is her function to see that I am not compromised, sir.”
    Joss’s shoulders sagged. They were down to it too soon to suit him. He’d been hoping to make some kind of peace with the girl before breaking bad news. This did not bode well for a favorable first impression. She had already drawn blood, and now as he took a stepnearer, he saw her eyes flash in all directions in search of something else she might hurl at him. When she reached for the porcelain basin on the