A Mistress for Stansted Hall Read Online Free PDF Page B

and pray that his injury was not as severe as she feared. She stared down at his blood streaked face, it was the first time she'd had the opportunity to look at him closely. Of course she had noticed the scars that puckered the right side of his face, but these were mostly hidden by his overlong black hair.
    Gently she smoothed his hair away from his forehead. It grieved her to see how badly he'd been burnt; how he must have fought to save his wife and child from the blaze. Poor man – to lose a spouse was hard enough but to lose a child would be agony indeed. Her babies were her life, the reason she forgave her profligate husband time and time again. For without him she would not have her precious children.
    This man was as different from her husband as chalk is to cheese. Where John had been blonde, slim and weak willed, not famous for his courage under fire. The man whose head she held was as dark as a raven, strong and formidable and prepared to risk his life to save those he loved. Her eyes pricked, not for her own loss but for his. His grief must have been terrible for him to have abandoned hope like this.
    His breathing was even, his colour pale but not frighteningly so. She remembered a doctor telling her you could check the pulse of a patient by putting your fingers at the juncture of the chin and the neck. Sliding her own down, she felt the roughness of his unshaven cheek beneath her fingertips. As she pressed then into the place she had been shown, his eyes opened.
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    Rupert gazed upwards through blurry eyes. His head was resting somewhere soft, a golden haired angel was staring down at him. That was a relief, he'd not been pitched into the fiery furnaces as expected. The angel looked vaguely familiar and far more anxious than an angel should.
    Devil take it! It was Mrs Reed. His head was cradled in her lap. He tried to sit up but gentle hands restrained him.
    ‘Please, sir, lie still. You have sustained a nasty injury to your head, it is going to require the attention of a physician. I am certain that Mr Foster will be here in a moment, that will be the time for you to attempt to get up.’
    Her lap made a comfortable pillow, it was many years since he'd enjoyed such intimacy. He might as well make the most of it.
    *
    Emma felt his shoulders relax. Thank goodness; she was terrified that as soon as he moved the hideous gash on the back of his head would reopen and his life would be at risk. His eyes had closed, now they opened for a second time. They were fully cognizant, he knew exactly what he was about.
    A strange flutter began in her chest as his mouth curved and his eyes widened. He was all but irresistible when he wasn't scowling and roaring at her. It was decidedly improper to be sitting in this manner, she was tempted to abruptly tip his head from her skirts but did not dare do so.
    ‘My dear Mrs Reed, do you think you could explain to me how I come to be in this…this peculiar position? The last thing I recall I was about to remove a book from the shelf.’
    Under his scrutiny her cheeks flushed. ‘You overbalanced, sir, and when you fell you hit your head on the corner of the desk. I have managed to stop the bleeding temporarily, but the injury will require sutures.’
    Lazily he raised his left hand and fingered the dressing she'd cobbled together. ‘I see. It is fortuitous that you had about your person the wherewithal to make this bandage, is it not?’
    His innocent enquiry was accompanied by a slightly raised eyebrow. Now she was puce from head to foot. The wretched man was well aware from whence the material must have come and was deliberately goading her. She refused to remain in this invidious position a moment longer.
    At that precise moment Mr Foster appeared. With remarkable aplomb he nodded. ‘I see, the master has met with an accident. I shall fetch Tom Coachman and the groom to assist you, sir, and send a stable boy to fetch Doctor