The Perfect Stranger Read Online Free PDF

dinner. Be nice to this woman. Was it that very deep voice he had? There was something mesmerizing about a deep, masculine voice.
    Stevens handed her a bowl of stew and a chunk of bread. “Here y’are, miss, eat it while it’s nice an’ hot.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Stevens.” She waited for the others to be served. Fragrant steam rose from the bowl. She longed to just dive in.
    As soon as everyone had been served, she closed her eyes to say grace. The noise of vigorous slurping interrupted her.
    “Miss Merrit, will you say grace, please?” said the man at her side.
    There was a sudden suspension of chewing sounds. Stevens froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Sorry, miss,” he mumbled, his mouth still full. He put down his bowl and waited.
    Faith, her cheeks aflame, quickly recited grace, then devoted her attention to the stew. It was the best meal she’d ever eaten. The meat was tender and tasty, studded with chunks of potatoes and flavored with wine and herbs.
    “It’s wonderful, Mr. Stevens,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ve eaten a tastier stew.”
    Stevens’s battered face crinkled with bashful pleasure. “Have some more, miss. There’s plenty.”
    “Perhaps Miss Merrit would like a cup of tea, Stevens,” suggested Mr. Blacklock at the end of the meal.
    Tea! Faith did not know how long it was since she’d had a proper cup of tea. The French made it differently, and Felix detested tea. He only drank wine or coffee.
    “Would you, miss?” asked Stevens.
    “It would be lovely, th-thank you.” Her voice broke as emotions suddenly came welling up from nowhere. Faith bit her quivering lip and blinked furiously to keep back the tears. She had been through so much already without crying one drop; it was ridiculous to be brought undone by something as simple and homelike as the offer of a cup of tea. Especially now, when she’d just had a delicious meal and was warm and safe for the first time in weeks.
    It would be utterly missish to give in to tears now! And she would not be missish! She pulled out her handkerchief and blew into it fiercely.
    Nicholas Blacklock watched, frowning. She was like no female he’d ever met. Young, gently born and delicately built, she’d escaped gang rape by a hairsbreadth and afterward had fought to control her emotions. She’d endured the pain of salt water on a hundred cuts and scratches and not made a single complaint. She’d borne his ministrations on her twisted ankle without a sound, and yet now, at the simple offer of tea, she was fighting off tears.
    She was quality through and through.
    In the last few years he hadn’t come much in contact with young ladies of quality—his mother’s recent efforts notwithstanding—but he’d known such ladies on the peninsular, during the war. Even by their gallant standards, Miss Faith Merrit seemed extraordinary.
    Something or someone had brought her to unforgivably desperate straits. And it wasn’t just three drunken fishermen.
    Nicholas Blacklock was determined to find out what had happened to her. And fix it before he moved on.
    He waited until she’d finished her cup of tea and then gave a silent gesture to his men that he wished to be alone with her.
    “Now, Miss Merrit, I think it’s time we talked.”
    It was as if he’d stung her. “Sorry, it is late and past time I took my leave.” She scrambled to her feet as she spoke, stumbling in her haste. “I can never thank you enough for rescuing me from those men. And could you please convey my thanks to Mr. Stevens for that delicious dinner?”
    “I shall escort you.” Nick rose.
    There was a short silence, then she stammered hastily. “No, no, thank you very much. My—er—my l-lodgings are but a step from here, and I feel quite safe now. Those men are long gone; I feel sure of it.”
    “You are too full of pride for your own good, I think,” he said softly.
    There was a long silence, then she whispered, “You know, don’t you?”
    He didn’t