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front of the hearth while she gathered her
scattered wits about her.
    Despite
being battered and bruised, he had far too much of an impact on her
than she liked. He was gentry, and that fact alone should be enough
to ensure any fluttering of attraction she felt towards him came to
nothing. Nevertheless, the raw masculinity of the man lying in her
bed was impossible to ignore.
    Undoubtedly a rake , Amelia thought
to herself. The Ton was littered with them, and they were all the same. Good
looking, sophisticated, charming and with far too much money than
was wise or fair. They had little to do in a day other than eat,
drink and bed women, leaving the poor to work from dawn to dusk
running their estates for them in exchange for a
pittance.
    Somewhat
mollified that the initial fluttering of attraction she had felt
for him had been banished to the far corners of her innermost
thoughts, Amelia carefully spooned a bowl of broth and returned to
the bed. Ideally, now he was awake she should hand him his clothes
and order him out of her cottage. Despite the weather.
    Although
she had kept herself to herself while she had lived on the
outskirts of Glendowie, people in the village knew her or knew of
her. Her reputation could be tarnished as easily as any
aristocratic young lady’s, simply by having him in her cottage.
Injured or not. She couldn’t afford for the village, or Sir Hubert,
to cast her out. Her very survival depended upon their respect and
belief in her integrity.
    Turning
back towards the bed, she was surprised to find him still awake and
watching her carefully.
    “ You didn’t answer me,” Sebastian murmured, watching the
delicate curve of her feminine brow arch in silent question.
Despite the sparseness of the room, there was something about her
that spoke of quality. “Where am I?”
    “ You are in a small village of Glendowie, on the Scottish
borders,” Amelia replied, helping him sit upright enough to plump
the pillow behind him.
    Silence
settled between them as she sat tentatively on the edge of the bed
and began to spoon the fragrant broth into his mouth. He managed to
consume half of the bowl before he motioned he was full with a weak
wave of his hand, and a murmur of thanks. He greedily drank the cup
of water offered to him and eased back into the pillows with a
sigh.
    Amelia
watched him with a pang of longing. He looked so comfortable lying
on her small mound of pillows. She longed to be able to lie down
and go to sleep herself, but given he occupied the only bed she
owned; it was the cold, hard floor for her. Shaking her head in
disgust, she silently cursed the aristocracy and returned to the
hearth.
    “ Are you married?” She turned at the raspy rumble and
considered her answer. Should she reveal the truth, and leave
herself vulnerable to him? After all, she still had to learn who he
was and what had happened to him. If he was one of the Ton , with his looks he
was undoubtedly a rogue. She certainly didn’t want him considering
her to be vulnerable prey, there to service his every desire before
he left for home. But if she said she was married, she couldn’t
produce a husband to come home. The longer he was in her cottage,
the more evident it would be that there was no man in
residence.
    She
found herself unable to lie to him. “Can you remember how you got
here?” Amelia asked, hoping he would accept her change of
subject.
    Sebastian had already surmised she was unwed. Although
sparsely furnished, the single room cottage had a touch of
femininity about it. Wild flowers sat in a small pot upon the
well-scrubbed, but rickety wooden table standing in solitary
splendour in front of the only fireplace in the room. The retiring
screen in the corner, which undoubtedly hid the chamber pot, was
draped in female paraphernalia. There were no boots, cloaks, or
signs of masculine presence. Indeed, if it weren’t for the
clothing, there would be very little sign of Amelia living
there.
    Bringing
his attention