The Sweetest Touch Read online

The two oafs laughed and ignored her wish.

  “Please listen to me. I live here.” She wiggled and tried to kick them, but they walked too fast for her efforts to be of any consequence.

  Upon reaching the gates, they threw her onto the dirt road and closed the tall iron gates behind her. She glanced at her scraped palms as her knees throbbed from the impact of the fall. Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Don’t come back, or we’ll inform the constable of your trespassing,” the shorter one snipped.

  The constable. Once again, hope gave her reason to breathe. She would find this man and demand he take her home…or at least to Frank. Her cousin would certainly recognize her.

  She glanced at her pitiful, tattered clothes and frowned. At least she prayed he’d recognize her. Nonetheless, she must get in that house and confront her cousin.

  In exasperation, she tore away from the gate and ran toward the village, hoping to be relieved of her sadness and misery, and especially her confusion. Answers. She must find answers today.

  * * * *

  Trevor Worthington, Fourth Duke of Kensington, gritted his teeth and tightened his hands on the reins. He’d had enough of gossipmongers and their viper tongues. If he heard one more mention of his late wife’s name, he’d shake the person senseless. Betrayal weighed heavily in his heart, which had made the customary mourning period difficult. Why couldn’t people just let go of the past?

  He snapped the reins, urging the horse to pull the curricle faster. He wished he’d taken his steed instead of the vehicle, but the dinner party he’d just left called for formal attire. Trevor hadn’t wanted to attend the blasted affair in the first place, but his mother insisted he re-enter society now that his year of mourning was over.

  The more he thought about his deceased wife, the angrier he became. He didn’t want to think about her. A normal life was what he sought. Although, he certainly would never trust a woman again.

  A cloud passed over the moon, bringing forth more shadows. Whether these shadows or the gloomy shades in his head, they were still irritating and he wished they’d disappear.

  He slowed his horse slightly when he rounded the bend, only because he wasn’t going to flip the curricle just because someone at the dinner party had mentioned Gwendolyn’s name and upset him.

  As the clouds cleared the moon, a shadow near the road caught his vision. Before he had time to react, someone darted in his path. He shouted and tugged on the reins, but it was too late. His horse clipped the person and knocked them to the ground.

  Cursing, Trevor pulled the horse to a stop. He jumped down, praying he hadn’t killed anyone. He searched the area, but the person had disappeared. Trevor straightened and scratched his head. He’d felt the jolt, so the body must be around here somewhere.

  Off to the side, the road dipped into a small gully. He crouched and squinted through the shadows. “Is anyone there?” He waited, and then said, “Please answer me. I need to know if you are all right.”

  The moon’s light disappeared again, so he carefully slid down the hill and into the gully. Immediately, his foot knocked into something soft...and unmoving. He bent and placed his hand upon a warm body.

  He drew back, aghast. Good heavens. It was a girl!

  He fell to his knees and ran his hands over her legs and arms, feeling for any broken bones or blood. He touched her face, and then slid his fingers down her slender neck to feel her pulse. There was a beat, but very faint.

  Hastily, he cradled her in his arms and rose. A small moan came from her, but she didn’t awaken. Against his hand, a warm, sticky substance coated her arm. He groaned. Blood.

  He needed to get her to a doctor. Since his manor was closer, he’d take her there and send for his physician. Using great care, he carried her out of the gully and placed her on the seat of his vehicle before climbing next to her. He slowly urged his horse into motion. Her body rolled toward him and he braced her with his arm. The awkward bend of her frame made maneuvering difficult.

  The road and horse cooperated, and soon he reached the manor. Cautiously, he lifted the girl and hurried inside, shouting for his servants. Right away, his butler greeted him.

  “What’s amiss, Your Grace?” Hobbs’ gaze dropped to the girl and his eyes widened.

  “There was an accident.” Trevor rushed up the stairs. “Send for my physician posthaste. She’s alive,” he paused, looking at her dirty smudged face and the many scratches, “but barely.”

  Trevor took her to the closest guest room and toward the bed. Mrs. Smythe, the housekeeper, bustled in only seconds behind.

  “Oh dear,” she exclaimed, wringing her hands against her middle. “What do we have here, Your Grace?”

  “There was an accident. I hit her with the curricle.”

  The older servant gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, dear Lord.”

  He placed the unconscious heap on the bed after Mrs. Smythe pulled down the covers. Now he had a better chance to look at the girl, he realized her appearance was head to toe…grime. He couldn’t possibly guess her hair color because it probably hadn’t been washed—or brushed—in over a month. Her skin held a deep layer of dirt, and her tattered clothes…

  He shook his head. A vagabond, obviously. Probably an orphan. And by the thinness of her face and hands, a half-starved one at that.

  A wrenching pain squeezed his heart. Poor pitiful thing. And to think he’d run her over! But she was still alive, which meant he had a chance to help her in more ways than one. He’d fatten her up a mite, and before sending her out the door, he’d secure her a position as a maid or a cook somewhere in London. He couldn’t bear thinking about her starving and wearing tattered clothes for the rest of her life.

  “Mrs. Smythe, please clean her up before the doctor arrives.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “And take care not to disturb the wound on her shoulder.”

  His housekeeper nodded once before waddling out the room as fast as her chubby legs would carry her. He bent over the girl and swiped the hair out of her face. What circumstances landed her this way? How long had she lived like this? And…was she dangerous?

  As he took in her slender features again, he concluded she couldn’t possibly be a threat to his household. Whatever she did for a living didn’t require strength, evidence by her slim arms and legs.

  The blood on his hand and sleeve pulled his attention away from her. While waiting for the physician, Trevor would clean himself up as well. Hurried footsteps down the hall had him turning toward the door. Mrs. Smythe and two other maids quickly entered, their arms full of towels, bandages, and a woman’s nightdress.

  “I shall leave now that the girl is in good hands.”

  “Not to worry, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smythe promised. “We’ll take special care of her.”

  Nodding, Trevor released a heavy sigh and strode out of the room. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t gone out tonight. Mother insisted this evening’s dinner party was the social event to attend his first time out after mourning. Dowager Duchesses usually knew these things, but his mother would not have realized the bad luck following him around since he’d married three years ago.

  As he entered his chambers, he instructed his valet to prepare a bath. Trevor sat on his cushioned chair, dug his fingers in his hair, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t let the girl stay. Trevor couldn’t guess her age, but he assumed she was young. He didn’t have any position available for someone of her youth.

  Thomson, his valet, rushed through the door carrying buckets of water; two other servants behind him carrying more. Trevor tried to shake away the memories of his wife as he undressed. The ache of betrayal throbbed in his head, and he wished he could forget the past. Because of Gwendolyn, his outlook on life had changed and made him more cynical.

  Perhaps that was a good thing. Women could not be trusted, and learning that now would help him in the future.

  He hurried through his bath, mainly so he wouldn’t have time to think o
f Gwen. His new life started today, although he seemed to have mucked that up by running over a girl and nearly killing her. His heart grew heavy, knowing she could still die.

  Thomson had fresh clothes laid out for Trevor, so it didn’t take long to dress. After he combed his hair, he hurried back to the guest room to see about the injured girl. Mrs. Smythe and the maids were just leaving.

  “How is she?” he asked, stepping inside the room.

  “She’s still unconscious, Your Grace.” Mrs. Smythe frowned. “Poor woman has scrapes and bruises all over her.”

  Trevor blinked in surprise. “Woman? She’s not a young miss?”

  “No, Your Grace. I’d say she was at least in her nineteenth year, perhaps a mite younger.”

  “But she’s so tiny.”

  “That she is. She’s nothing but skin and bones. We’ll need to fatten her up, I’d say.”

  He nodded. “My thoughts exactly. As soon as the doctor has checked her over, I want some soup brought up. Will you see to that, Mrs. Smythe?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” She kept silent as the other maids brushed past them before the older woman leaned in closer to him. “I think you should also know, the woman has scars on her back.”

  He narrowed his gaze on the housekeeper, then to the woman lying on the bed. “Scars, you say?”

  “Yes. Like she’s been…whipped.” Her voice lowered.

  His stomach churned. “Someone whipped her? As small as she is?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, yes. And they are not new scars, either.”

  “If I get my hands on whoever did that…”

  Anger at the unknown person responsible pushed Trevor toward the bed. Magically, the girl he’d brought home earlier had evolved into a woman, and all because the maids had washed her and placed nightclothes on her. Long, blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves, still wet from her bath, and rested against the bosom of a woman full-grown. A pale face contrasted with the dark, thick lashes sweeping over her high cheekbones, causing shadows to play on her face.

  The woman was quite beautiful, if he dared admit. Certainly nobody he knew, but from the tattered appearance of her clothes, he wouldn’t have associated with a woman of her class.

  Voices rose from the stairs and down the hall. He stepped to the door to see whom Hobbs had with him. Trevor sighed with relief. His physician had arrived.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Trevor told him.

  An older man, Doctor Bryers’ white hair thinned on his head, showing more spots of bald than not. His spectacles perched on a long, straight nose as he opened his black medical bag. “Your servant tells me there was an accident.”

  “Indeed there was, doctor. I hit her with my curricle as I traveled home this evening. She’s still alive but has a faint heartbeat.”

  Doctor Bryers walked to the bed. “Mrs. Smythe? I shall need your assistance while I check her.” He glanced at Trevor. “Your Grace, would you be so kind as to wait outside?”

  “Certainly.” Trevor left the room and shut the door behind him.

  For the next hour, he paced the maroon strip of carpet up and down the hallway. He hadn’t been this impatient since the birth of his son and daughter...or actually, the birth of Gwen’s son and daughter. He still didn’t know if the children were truly his.

  Groaning, he rubbed his forehead, willing the awful memory to leave. Time would tell whether they were his offspring or not. The Worthingtons had dark hair and blue eyes. They were tall; even his mother, and they towered over most of their childhood friends. The twins had gray eyes, and their hair wasn’t as dark as Trevor thought it should be for a Worthington. He’d know soon enough if the children were Gwen’s lover’s, for that man had red hair.

  The bedroom door creaked open, bringing Trevor from his thoughts. Mrs. Smythe motioned him to enter. He hurried to the doctor, anxious to hear how the injured woman fared.

  Doctor Bryers rolled down his shirtsleeves. “She’s most fortunate, Your Grace. I could not find any broken bones. She has a large wound on her shoulder, which I assume came from the impact of the horse slamming into her or when she hit the ground. She has a sizable goose egg on her head, which will disappear within time, as well as the scratches received from the fall.” He shrugged on his overcoat before meeting Trevor’s stare. “Until she awakens, I will not be able to tell if she received any internal injuries.”

  “Internal?”

  “Mainly head trauma.” He scratched his chin. “Please send for me when she comes to, and I shall check her again.”

  “Certainly, doctor.”

  “I request you not move her for a few days to give her time to heal. She will be stiff and sore from the accident and will have a few bruises.”

  Trevor nodded. “I shall keep her here as long as necessary.”

  The doctor patted Trevor’s shoulder. “You are a good man, Your Grace. This woman fell into the right hands.”

  Trevor wanted to believe anyone would have acted the same way and shown similar concern, but he didn’t speak his mind in front of the doctor. He managed a small smile and shook the older man’s hand.

  “Thank you again for your hastiness into this matter.”

  “You are most welcome, Your Grace. I’m only pleased to be of assistance.”

  “Would you like Mrs. Smythe to get you a cup of tea and biscuits before you leave?”

  “Thank you, but no. I was on my way to another call before I came. If you will excuse me.”

  “Of course.”

  While Hobbs showed the doctor down the stairs, Trevor walked toward the bed. Still as death, she lay, yet her chest rose and fell with gentle breaths. Perhaps the woman’s fate wouldn’t be as fortunate if she stayed here at the manor as the doctor had suggested. After all, Trevor had nothing but bad luck with women. They always seemed to die in his presence. If this one passed away, he’d know his fate was sealed.

  Plain and simple, Trevor had killed his wife, so perhaps this young woman would meet her maker soon as well.

  Chapter Two

  Pain throbbed in Louisa’s head with every beat of her heart. Her whole body ached as if she’d been trampled by a large animal. Even her eyelids hurt to open, but when she squinted, she figured she’d died and gone to heaven. Why else would she be in a room like this, wearing warm nightclothes and snuggled between nice sheets on a soft bed? Even the smells were different. Everything was too…clean.

  Moaning, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, which hurt immensely. What had happened to her to put her in this shape? Her mind swam in a fog, and she couldn’t remember anything.

  A sweet, kind voice whispered soothing words, as a warm hand touched her fingers. Louisa drifted into a peaceful sleep again, only to be awakened moments later by the faint tantalizing scent of food like nothing she’d smelled for a long time. Was it bread? No matter, her stomach growled.

  “Come now, dearie. Open your eyes,” the kind voice prompted.

  Louisa blinked and slowly opened her eyes. The room wasn’t as bright as it had been earlier, thank goodness. The older woman leaning over her wore a servant’s black and white attire, with a white mobcap covering her brown hair.

  “Let’s sit you up, shall we?” The servant helped to adjust Louisa by stuffing pillows behind her.

  Louisa gritted her teeth against the jarring pain, but once the pillows were in place, she relaxed, which relieved the pain slightly. She glanced at the pretty sleeves covering her arms, so white, and so beautifully embroidered with lace. This all must still be a dream. It had to be.

  “How are you feeling, dearie?” The older woman asked, amber eyes narrowing with worry.

  “I—I—” Louisa cleared her dry throat a couple of times, before the servant brought up a cup of tea for Louisa to sip. She closed her eyes and savored the taste. Wonderful.

  When the servant took the cup away and set it on the stand next to the bed, Louisa cleared her throat again. “I ache all over.”

>   “That’s to be expected from the dreadful accident, or so the doctor explained.”

  Louisa’s head throbbed harder. What accident? She didn’t remember any accident. “I do not understand, ma’am. What accident are you referring to?”

  “Why the accident you had last night when His Grace hit you with his horse and curricle.”

  Fright consumed her, making her head pound even harder. Why couldn’t she remember? Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t recall being hit by a horse and carriage. Worse, she couldn’t remember…anything.

  She focused on the strange woman beside the bed. Louisa’s cold hands shook as she placed them on her cheeks. Tears pooled in her eyes and a lump of emotion caught in her throat. “I—I—I do not remember.”

  “Hush, dearie.” The servant sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Louisa’s hair. “The doctor mentioned you would be disoriented a bit when you awoke. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Louisa shook her head. “You don’t understand. I cannot remember anything.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve no memory of what I did last evening, or before that, or the day before that.” Her voice rose in panic.

  “Shhh...not to fret, my dear. Calm yourself, and I’m certain your memory will return.”

  Louisa lowered her hands to her lap. “Do you truly believe so?”

  The servant nodded. “Yes, I’m certain. My name is Mrs. Smythe. I’m the housekeeper here at Kenbridge Hall. I shall take care of you until you are better.”

  Louisa nodded, trying to take the woman’s advice and calm her fears. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smythe. My name is Louisa…” Her memory stopped. Once again, fear flared inside her, bringing a state of panic with it. “Oh, no. I—I do not even recall my name!”

  “Good heavens, child.” Mrs. Smythe took Louisa’s hands. “You do not remember your own name?”

  She shook her head. “Just Louisa.”

  Mrs. Smythe rose from the bed, wringing her hands against her middle as she switched her gaze from the door to Louisa. The older woman’s amber eyes widened. “I need to inform His Grace about this unexpected turn of events. I think we should have the doctor return posthaste.”