Four

Still in the fragrant kitchen

Lilly chuckled. “Let’s hope that will not be necessary.”

Mrs. B had been at Kelston Hall almost as long as Lilly had. What was more, she knew Wrottesley was a lecherous toad. No female under the age of eighty, save the most powerful and influential, were safe from the wretch’s unwanted attentions.

Lilly kept a pistol and a blade in her desk drawer—just in case he overstepped.

Men like Wrottesley should never hold powerful positions.

The sheriff turned a blind eye to the nefarious actions his cronies committed while accepting bribes, practicing extortion, and acting a tyrant toward anyone who dared cross him. But as the local magistrate’s brother-in-law, the likelihood of Sheriff Wrottesley getting his comeuppance was as probable as Lilly marrying nobility.

Marrying at all, for that matter.

It would not happen.

Poor, orphaned, with ugly scars upon her face, and long on the shelf, she had rarely entertained the notion of marriage anymore, which was another reason she had been so grateful to Miss Davenport for ensuring Lilly had a position at Kelston Hall Children’s Home.

Each month, Lilly tucked away a percentage of her wages for her dotage, for she knew well that the day would come when she must step aside so a younger, more energetic woman could take her place.

Still, that time was decades away, and meanwhile, she had a school to run and a stranger to identify.

His family must be worried sick.

Sparing a couple of seconds before the corridor’s simple convex mirror, she tucked a few stray hairs back into place, brushed a dab of flour from her chin, and pinched a bit of color into her cheeks.

As director of the school, she must always present herself as a professional.

Even to strangers suffering from amnesia.

As she climbed the stairs to the third floor, she considered the man.

As most of the children already slept two to a bed, and she could hardly shove Mrs. B from her narrow cot, Lilly, always pragmatic, had opted to sleep on the floor in her bedchamber with the door open.

Besides, someone needed to monitor the invalid. Particularly those first few days when it had been touch-and-go, and his life had hung in the balance.

Kind and generous as always, Dear Charles had offered Lilly his bedchamber. But often, calls kept him out all night, and he needed to sleep in his chamber when he returned. She had become quite proficient at dressing behind a screen in her office, but now that the stranger had awoken, she would need to find somewhere else to sleep.

The short, narrow settee in the office did not appeal.

Another sigh escaped her.

A makeshift bed on the office floor seemed her only option.

Giving a brief knock on the doorframe, she shoved the partially open door to her bedchamber wide and strode inside.

Hawkish eyebrows a stark contrast to his pallid face, her guest lay with his hands resting atop his belly, his eye closed. The black patch covering his other eye had known better days.

She had never seen that eye—because he had been unconscious when they hauled him into the house, and after washing his face and treating his wounds, she had replaced the eyepatch.

Somehow, she had sensed it would be important to him—to his dignity—to keep the damaged eye covered. Nevertheless, she could not quite subdue her curiosity about how he had come by the injury or what his eye looked like.

Even bruised and swollen, the contours of his rugged face fairly screamed refinement.

Who, precisely, was this mysterious man?

Surely, he was not a criminal or an escaped convict?

Was he?

Her stomach flopped over, and she pressed a hand to her tumultuous middle at the unwelcome thought.

Calm down , Lilibet Vivian Summer Granger , she ordered herself sternly. This is not the time for histrionics.

Why hadn’t she considered those possibilities earlier?

Because— you dolt —she had always had a soft spot for the less fortunate. Still, she had a duty to protect the children and staff.

Insensate and on the brink of death, the stranger had not been in any condition to pose a threat.

But now?

She must discover his identity with all due haste because in another week—maybe less—he might well be strong enough to leave her bed. Surely Wrottesley would know any criminals the authorities sought in the area, although handing the stranger over to the likes of Sheriff Wrottesley went against everything in her.

Even if this man was a thief.

Or worse.

Distinctly more wary than she had been upon entering her room, Lilly eyed her uninvited guest.

How did one know if a person was a rotter?

A handsome man who many women considered quite dashing, the sheriff’s outer appearance hid a vile soul and black character. So just because this man did not look evil, did not mean he was not.

She shifted her focus to his eyepatch.

Was that a clue?

Mayhap Mrs. B was wrong.

Perhaps, he had not been in the military or was not a man of the sea at all, but a highwayman or a footpad.

Lilly’s heart skipped a beat, and her mouth went dry as sawdust.

She cast a swift glance at the stout paneled door.

Perhaps, she should start locking the chamber.

Just in case.

Yes. Yes, that was what she would do.

He could not escape out a window from the third-story bedchamber without breaking his neck. As she had already removed most of her clothing and was not sleeping in her chamber until he left, that seemed the most sensible solution.

Having come to that logical decision, Lilly felt much reassured, and she breathed out a silent sigh of relief, though a tiny stab of remorse pricked her at her inhospitable musings.

As he appeared fast asleep, her questions would have to wait, which meant further delay in discovering just who this man was. She collected the key from its cozy mooring inside the lock. The metal made a faint scraping noise, and she made a mental note to have all the keyholes in the house oiled since she could not recall when they had last been attended to.

“I am awake.”

She almost yelped in surprise. Only years of having naughty children pull pranks on her kept her face serene and her composure sedate.

Lilly pivoted as he slowly opened his eye.

Unrelenting flinty gray bored into her before dropping to the skeleton key clutched between her thumb and forefinger. This was not a man one wanted as an enemy, and what she intended to do would make him hers.

A shiver scuttled across her shoulders.

“So, I am to be a prisoner now?”