Fletcher's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

firmly.
    â€œIt was my fault that you fell and got yourself covered in mud,” he said, in a voice that was remote and yet somehow intimate, too. “Won’t you come along to my house and have a bath?”
    Rachel’s face went scarlet, and words failed her. Had she been able to move, she would have raised her hand and, without regard for the repercussions, slapped Mr. Wilkes again.
    Jonas smiled, and his eyes sparkled. Clearly, her outrage and shock amused him. “I’m not trying to seduce you, Urchin,” he said reasonably. “My housekeeper will be there, to defend your innocence.”
    Rachel dared to dream of a hot bath, perhaps with scented soap and soft, fluffy towels. . . .
    And then, suddenly, the slight drizzle became a pounding downpour again.
    Rachel was chilled to the bone, and she was dirty and she was, of course, wet. Despite considerable qualms about going anywhere with this particular man, especially to his house, she simply could not endure the thought of trudging back to that miserable, flea-ridden tent and shivering there, wrapped in athin blanket, while she waited for her dress to dry. Her only other gown was a somber, ill-fitting affair made of scratchy brown wool, and wearing that seemed, at the moment, even less appealing than draping herself in a blanket.
    â€œI promise you will be perfectly safe,” Mr. Wilkes prodded smoothly. And, in spite of the circumstances, the expression in his eyes was warm and inviting. All around them, rain dashed at the ground and danced in brimming brown puddles and made a sound like fire on the roofs of the brick cottages.
    Certain that she’d gone quite mad—and just since breakfast, too—Rachel took the arm Mr. Wilkes offered and the two of them hurried down the grassy embankment to the main road. There, the magnificent carriage waited, like something stolen from someone else’s sweet dream.
    Mr. Wilkes wrenched open one gleaming door and helped her inside. When he sank into the cushioned leather seat across from Rachel, she thought she saw a look of veiled exasperation in his eyes.
    She set aside the sodden blue shawl and trembled slightly. “This isn’t proper,” she said.
    Jonas Wilkes sat back, folded his arms, and extended his booted feet. “No, Urchin, I’m sure it isn’t. But why should Rebecca McKinnon’s daughter be bound by such a fatuous concept as propriety?”
    Rachel’s mouth fell open, and blood pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. After a long time, she managed to rasp, “You know my mother?”
    Jonas chuckled, but a note of contempt rang in his answer. “We’re partners, Becky and I. Perhaps I should say, we were partners; we’ve had several serious disagreements in the past few years.”
    Rachel forgot that her skirts were clinging, like clammy hands, to her thighs and ankles. She forgot that her shoes were full of water and most likely ruined. She even forgot that she had gotten into a carriage with a man she barely knew. “My mother lives here—in Tent Town?”
    A look of indulgence curved the seraphic lips. “Urchin, Rebecca McKinnon would never stoop to living in a place like Tent Town. She runs a highly—er—respected establishment on the outskirts of Providence.”
    Rachel’s heart was flailing against her rib cage, and her mouth felt dry. “Please—take me there!”
    Calmly, Jonas Wilkes shook his head and surveyed Rachel’sdripping hair and muddy dress pointedly. “Surely you don’t want to be reunited with your mother looking like that, Urchin.”
    Rachel felt real despair. “No.”
    â€œSoon enough,” remarked Mr. Wilkes, half to himself and half to Rachel, as the carriage made its rattling, splashing way through the mud and rain. “Soon enough.”
    Rachel was full of questions, but she could not, for the moment, articulate them. She felt gratitude