In Love With a Wicked Man Read Online Free PDF

she told herself . Press on. She was of no use to this poor man in a state of agitation. “He’s just taken a blow to the head, Nan,” she said more gently. “He’s merely concussed. His heart sounds strong as an ox.”
    Tucking a clean towel around his face, Kate began to sponge away the blood matting the blond hair at his temple. No, not blond, and not quite brown, either, but a dark, shimmering gold—at least six different shades of it, too, as if he’d spent a great deal of time in the sun.
    And yet his thin, long-fingered hands were impeccably manicured. His shirt was of the finest cambric, the bloodstained collar starched to an inch, though a hint of surprisingly black bristle now shadowed his long, lean cheeks. A gold watch chain swung from his waistcoat, and on his right hand a faceted sapphire winked upon his little finger. There was no mistaking it. The man was a gentleman through and through—and a wealthy one.
    Soon the water in the basin was tinged pink and Kate’s care was rewarded by the sight of an ugly, two-inch gash that now merely oozed blood at his hairline. “There,” she said, settling back onto the edge of the bed. “It will want stitching, I daresay, but the blood’s clotted. Who went to fetch the doctor?”
    “Tom Shearn.” Nancy was still twisting her hands on the opposite side of the bed.
    Just then Mrs. Peppin came bustling into the room with a dark coat slung over one arm, and a brown valise in hand. “Lawk, poor man!” she declared, setting the case atop the chest at the foot of the bed. “Here be his postmantle and gurtcoat, miss. ’Twere strapped to his saddle.”
    The bag, like the rest of him, looked expensive, the leather worn soft as butter. A brass escutcheon glittered below the handle. Kate bent, and tilted it a little toward the light. The tiny strip was engraved with four initials, the first of which were legible as N.E.D. but the last one Kate could not make out; either a Q or an O with a scratch in it.
    After hanging the coat, Mrs. Peppin took his hand, chafed it briskly for a time, then laid it down with a sigh. “If he don’t rouse in a bit, Miss Kate, you’d best roke about in that postmantle and try to make out who he be. Someone, somewhere is apt to be missing the poor gentleman.”
    Kate set her head to one side and studied his face. “For the life of me, I cannot recognize him.”
    “No, miss, he’s not from hereabouts,” said the housekeeper. “Handsome enough, though, idn’ he?”
    “And he had not been to the house, you say?” Kate asked again. “He was, after all, coming back down our hill.”
    “No, not a sight of him. Perhaps he took a wrong turn, saw the castle, and knew his mistake? Mayhap he’d meant to turn down the hill instead of up?”
    “There’s nothing down the hill, either,” said Kate. “Nothing save Heatherfields, which is shut up.”
    “And about to cave in,” added Mrs. Peppin sourly.
    “Ike Shearn is going to ask about the man round the village,” said Nancy.
    “Good. Well. Tom and the doctor might be a while.” Kate tossed the bloody sponge into the basin and shoved away a tendril of hair with the back of her hand. “I think, Peppie, we had better get him undressed and make sure he’s not otherwise injured.”
    The housekeeper tilted her head at Nancy, and lifted one eyebrow.
    “Nancy, go downstairs and watch for Dr. Fitch,” Kate instructed. “Oh, and ask Cook to steep some beef tea.”
    For once Nancy went without argument. There was no question, of course, of Kate being sent from the room. Despite being both unwed and under thirty, she had headed the household for several years. And during those years—perhaps even before them—she had come to be viewed by those around her as an entrenched spinster, comfortable with her state and station in life, and more devoted to the land than she could ever be to a husband.
    Even Aunt Louisa had given up hoping Kate might marry. Kate’s London Season—and the brief