The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) Read Online Free PDF

irrelevant. But if it wasn’t—she shook her head, hoping to put off—what? She didn’t know. She wanted to go home, but logic told her that finding her ancestors would not make that happen. She had heard the doctor talking about Bedlam before that bitter drink he’d forced down her throat had put her back to sleep. She knew of Bedlam, everyone knew of Bedlam. She rather preferred to stay where she was for now, the devil you know and all.
    She felt exhausted in every respect, physically, mentally, emotionally wrecked. She returned to the bed and slept most of that day, still hoping to wake up where she thought she belonged.
    Roxleigh worked quietly in his study, waiting. He didn’t know for what, exactly. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his mysterious charge since the fracas in her suite two days ago. He couldn’t concentrate, his mind addled with thoughts of the woman in his guest room.
    Before her arrival he’d projected a quiet and powerful façade: always attentive, always watching, always in charge. He was born with the sole purpose of becoming the tenth Duke of Roxleigh, Earl of Kelso and Sussex, Viscount Devon and Pembroke. To that end he’d been trained from birth how to behave properly, to control people and situations, to intimidate for the Crown’s gain and to manipulate outcomes to his satisfaction. He was not ruled by emotions, but by propriety, principle, and grace.
    That was not how he felt now.
    A knock on the door echoed through his study and he flinched, not entirely sure he was prepared for what was to come. He took a deep breath. “Enter.”
    Mrs. Weston entered the room, drawing her small frame as tall as she could before him, then visibly melting as her gaze met his. He realized he must be a sight, practically guarding his desk from an intruder, his arms stretched wide across his desk, his knuckles white with tension. He pulled his hands to his lap and massaged the tension away as she approached.
    “Your Grace,” she said in a tone of voice a bit too concerned for his spirit.
    “Out with it, Mrs. Weston. I would prefer to be left to my work.”
    “Yes, Your Grace. I came about Miss Francine—”
    “Who?” He sat forward to hear her better. For the love of all that was holy, he needed to calm his nerves so she would speak up.
    “The lady, Your Grace. Her name is Francine.”
    “She told you that? I thought she was not able to speak.” He played with her name in his mind, then concentrated on Mrs. Weston, who eyed him cautiously.
    “Well, she shouldn‘t, Your Grace, and she only told me her Christian name. Nothing more.”
    “I see.”
    “I did ask, Your Grace, but she seemed confused so I assume perhaps she cannot currently remember much.”
    He nodded. “And Miss…Francine, she is well? I mean, she was well enough to let you know her name, so it would seem that she does have her wits then?”
    “Your Grace, I am no doctor. I can’t say more than I know. She seems reasonable, but I have thought that of others.” The moment the words were out, she paled and Roxleigh stood, abruptly knocking his chair over as he dropped his guard, taken aback at her callous reference to a past better left alone, particularly now.
    “Your Grace, I— I did not mean to… I beg your pardon, Your Grace. What I meant to say was—and I don’t mean to be forward, and I don’t mean any disrespect and you know that. I only meant to tell you in a way that I am sure will leave no doubt. I’m obliged to you. I’ll follow your wishes—without heed for your reasoning—and you know this of me. But I cannot, and will not, tell you what I’m unable to, Your Grace. I do not know the state of the lady’s mental faculties. Now, I’ve said my piece.”
    “I understand,” he said as he righted the chair and took a seat. “Why have you come?”
    “Your Grace, the lady needs clothes beyond a nightdress and a robe. The gown she had was ruined. She needs day gowns, as well as the—er, other