The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

would find it within his heart to consider an alternative to forcing them out.
    It could happen, she insisted to herself. Even ogres had hearts, after all.

    Lucy was tipping a spoonful of broth down Lord Drayson’s throat when he coughed and spluttered and opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again with a moan. “Oh, my head.”
    Lucy wasn’t surprised by his moan. He had a nasty lump at his temple with a dark bluish hue to it.
    His eyes blinked open again, more slowly this time. He flickered a glance to the right and to the left before settling his gaze on her. His forehead creased in confusion. “Where the devil am I?”
    She lowered the bowl of broth to her lap, not appreciating his tone at all. “Askern, Yorkshire, in the dower house at—”
    “Yorkshire?” the earl said, cutting her off. “What the deuce am I doing in Yorkshire? And at a dower house, no less?”
    Lucy wasn’t about to remind him. He would remember soon enough, and she was determined to keep the conversation as civil as possible until that time. She stood from where she had perched beside him on the bed and set the bowl on a small bedside table. “You fell from your horse and smashed your head on a rock. My maid and I—”
    “That is absurd. I never fall from my horse.” He paused and frowned. “Or, I don’t think I do. No, I’m quite sure I don’t. That’s preposterous.”
    “Well, you did,” said Lucy, feeling more and more cross. He had rudely interrupted her twice now in order to proclaim his own self-importance. What conceit.
    “Who are you?” He peered at her for a moment before lowering his gaze to his hands, which he lifted and turned over, examining his palms thoughtfully. “Even more perplexing, who am I?”
    Lucy’s brows drew together. He must have hit his head harder than she’d imagined if he could not recall his own name, though sometimes head injuries had that effect on a person, did they not? She was certain she remembered reading about that somewhere, or perhaps Mr. Shepherd had told her as much. He did so love reading medical journals.
    “You do not know who you are?” asked Lucy, curious. How long did it usually take for one’s memory to return?
    “Of course I do,” he said sharply. “I just . . . can’t recall my name at the moment.”
    “What about your mother’s name?” Lucy tested. “Can you recall that?”
    His forehead furrowed a moment before he pressed the heel of his hand against it and groaned. “What did you do, strike me with a mallet?”
    Lucy couldn’t help but think that she would very much like to strike him with a mallet. “I have already told you. You fell from your horse and struck your head on a rock.”
    One light eye opened and he glared at her. “And I told you that I never fall from my horse.”
    “How can you be so sure? You can’t even recall your name,” she countered.
    “Because I am sure about that. I can’t explain why, I just am, like I’m sure I detest broth.”
    Lucy eyed the bowl on the table and shrugged. “To be fair, I cannot say for sure that you fell from your horse, as I wasn’t there to see it happen. All I know for certain is that I watched you ride away, and when I next saw your person, you were lying in the path, unconscious. Perhaps a highwayman rode up behind you and clubbed you on the back of your head—not that I have heard of any highwayman around these parts, but you never know. Or mayhap you ran into a low-lying branch. Or a monkey swung out of a tree and frightened you off your perch.” Lucy barely refrained from describing it as a “top-lofty” perch.
    “A monkey? In Yorkshire?” he asked. “Did you fall and hit your head on a rock, too?”
    “Ah, so we finally agree that is the most sensible conclusion, is it not?” Lucy smiled, feeling oddly triumphant.
    He answered with a frown and groaned again, tenderly touching the back of his head. “How did I come to be in . . . Askern, did you say? Or in this house? I am quite