Cinders and Ashes (Cavendish Mysteries 2)

“Will you be alright to sit up by yourself?” She waved her hand vaguely towards his ribs, watching his wince as he tried to sit. Clearly he was in considerable pain.

“Hold the sheet,” she ordered, as she moved forward to help. As soon as her hands touched his warm flesh, her treacherous body began to respond. It took every ounce of self preservation she had to ignore the delicious lemony scent that seemed to ooze from him. She stared blankly at the wall and tried to ignore the urge to turn her head and kiss his bristly cheek.

Well really! She silently chastised herself, frowning when she felt his ribs shake slightly.

She stood up and looked down at him. Immediately her gaze was caught and held by his smiling blue eyes. She knew he was aware of her discomfort and was grateful when he simply smiled at her in sympathetic amusement.

Sebastian wished his brain was working well enough to offer some smooth repartee, and wisely kept his mouth shut. Instead he nodded his thanks with a soft smile as he assumed a seated position directly above the chamber pot.

“I’ve got to get some more wood in. I’ll be back soon.” She turned away quickly, missing the dark scowl that immediately fell over Sebastian’s face at her announcement.

Hurrying to the door, she snatched her cloak from the table on the way, wincing as she tugged the damp material around her. Within moments, she was standing outside in the pouring rain again, waiting for her heart to slow to its normal pace.

You’re a fool Amelia, he isn’t for you, she chastised herself, watching the steady sheets of rain splash onto the muddy puddles lying in the middle of the cart track. How she was to find dry wood now, heaven only knew, but at least it would give her something to do. She heaved a sigh, and headed into the woods.

CHAPTER TWO

Sebastian watched the door close behind her and muttered a dark curse. She shouldn’t be heading outside in weather like this for any reason. He should have gone, and would have if it wasn’t for the cursed injuries he now carried.

Where had they come from? What was he doing here? Amelia hadn’t told him where she had found him, and when, and he hadn’t thought to ask. How long had he been asleep?

He could feel exhaustion claiming him and, having seen to his most pressing need, carefully eased himself back down onto the bed with a deep sigh.

“Amelia,” he murmured softly, considering the intriguing bundle of femininity who had been his saviour. She had undoubtedly saved his life, but who was she?

As sleep drew him down, his mind latched onto the one nagging question that wouldn’t go away. Whoever Amelia was, she was living in bleak deprivation with no protector, and no guardian. Although her clothing was rough and work-worn, she glided like a lady, spoke in cultured tones rather than local dialect, and lived in desolate exile rather than a country house somewhere. He was almost certain she was gentry of some sort, if not Ton. So, why was she there? Who was she?

As the questions swirled around him, Sebastian made a promise to himself that whatever happened, before he left the tiny, ramshackle hovel Amelia called home, he would learn all of her secrets.

Amelia had been so preoccupied with the presence of the man in her bed that she had forgotten to feed herself. A fact her empty stomach reminded her of frequently, as she trudged through the woods looking for the driest sticks she could find. The steady pile of timber she had collected would be enough to get them through the next few days if they were lucky.

The woods were nearly impossible to get through. During the storm, the relentless winds had torn down several large branches that now blocked the path she usually used to get to Sir Hubert’s house. Luckily, that meant there was fresh wood now available if she snapped off the smaller branches she could carry.

Unfortunately, it also meant that she couldn’t get through to the main house until the light increased enough for her to forge another way through the dense woods. She could only hope Sir Hubert would understand her absence, and be alright fending for himself for a few days. Reluctantly, she trudged through the deep mud towards home.

Once there she quietly she eased the front door open, shoving the wood through the door before toeing her mud-laden boots off with a sigh. She didn’t know how she was going to get them and her dress clean. She watched the small puddle of water gather rapidly around her feet with a sigh. She hated getting wet, and because of the events over the past day or so, had already worked her way through nearly all of the contents of her scant wardrobe.

Her stomach rumbled loudly in the silence of the room. Glancing quickly at the bed, she was pleased to see her new guest was resting peacefully. Taking advantage of the solitary moment, she disappeared behind the retiring screen and changed into her last dry dress, before turning her attention to the remainder of her many chores.

Eventually, exhaustion began to catch up with her. Unable to take another step, Amelia settled down on the floor in front of the hearth. Tugging the thin blanket around her, she tried hard to ignore the cold of the stone beneath her seeping through her dress, and wriggled around in search of a more forgiving spot on which to lie.

Her fitful doze was interrupted sometime later by a long, low moan coming from the bed. Despite the discomfort caused to her aching limbs by sleeping on the cold stone floor, she lurched to her feet and crossed the room.

“Damn,” she muttered, placing a gentle hand upon the soft pelt of his chest hair. The skin beneath her fingertips burned as he tossed his head upon the pillow.

Instinctively she tried to soothe him, tenderly running her fingers across his forehead and down his cheek.

“Rest now, you are perfectly safe, Sebastian.” Amelia wasn’t sure how much he understood, but was fairly certain he had heard her when he immediately settled.

Her fingers continued to stroke the soft skin of his brow, over and over. She couldn’t be certain whether the fever was caused by unseen injuries, or the chill of being soaked to the skin wearing nothing but a thin cotton shirt. But there was little she could do except watch and wait.

Briefly, she wished she had chosen to live in the village. At least then she would have a neighbour she could call upon to summon assistance. At that moment, as she sat in the silence of the tiny cottage watching him thrash about in feverish confusion, she had never felt more alone, or more scared, in her entire life.

Well, not entirely, she reminded herself with a shake as stark memories returned. This situation, though, involved someone else’s future.

Social strictures notwithstanding, there was a very real possibility that this gentleman of nobility, who was undoubtedly heir to a vast fortune and estates somewhere, could very well lose his battle for survival. Alone. With her. In her cottage. Then what would happen to her? Her life, su

ch as it was, would be left in tatters. His would be gone completely.