The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(15)

She shivered again. To think what a dreadful waste the war had been. It was almost too awful to bear. What would have happened to them all if they really had been killed? Sarah felt her stomach churn. Vanessa Stone would have been gambled away to a highwayman and murderer, and would surely have been killed herself.



Jane Eltham would have suffered a living hell, as would her child Sophie, at the hands of the evil traitor Herbert Paxton. At least the little girl was living safely with a good family in a village not too far from Eltham Castle now. Thomas's wife Charlotte would probably have fallen victim to Paxton as well, who had used Jane so shamelessly.



And what would have happened to Jonathan? He would have been destroyed by the loss of his friends, and never have recovered. He would probably have been killed himself. Her father would have died a bitter old man, regretful of the way he had alienated his son, insisting he never wanted to see him again when Jonathan had decided to enlist. She and her mother and sisters would have been buffeted by the winds of change, four women alone and bereft without the men in their lives to guide them.



And Jonathan's wife Pamela Ashton, well, she probably would have fallen prey to the debauched man Ferncliffe who had been in league with the foul Paxton.



She shook her head. God did work in mysterious ways, and they could only wonder at His intentions. Sarah had to believe, as her brother did, that they were all part of some great if incomprehensible design. They had all saved each other, and been saved in return.



It therefore followed that the blind stranger sleeping in the spare room was part of the Lord's mysterious plan. Why exactly had the gentleman upstairs come to visit them?



She understood that the man's arrival had provoked all these gloomy thoughts. She tried to push them to one side as she poured herself some coffee. She drank the scalding brew and felt it soothe her troubled spirit. There was no sense in being morbid. All of her friends and family were well, and happy. Vanessa and Clifford had a beautiful son, with a second child on the way soon. Thomas and Charlotte were to have a baby by the end of the year as well. Jonathan and Pamela had just married. The war was now over at last, Europe at peace for the first time in decades.



It would all be just fine, she insisted to herself. Yet she rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill.



She poured a second cup, wrapping her hands around it to heat her trembling fingers. She downed the hot beverage in a couple of gulps, then poured some into a second clean cup, to which she added milk and sugar. Taking it and the vinegar and brown paper, and the basin Caleb had brought, she went upstairs to check on her guest. She knew she was never going to rest if she didn't speak to him at least once more that night and reassure herself that all was well.



His door had been left ajar. She peered in and heard him let out a soft groan.



"Are you awake, sir?"



He was lying prone on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. "I am. My head is pounding again."



"I've brought some coffee, and something to help soothe your pain."



He raised his wrist from his forehead and sniffed appreciatively. "Coffee? My goodness. What luxury."



She waited until he had eased himself up against the headboard, and handed him the cup. She set down her burdens on the small bedside table, and poured some vinegar into the basin. She soaked the paper and squeezed it out, then placed it on his brow. She ignored the impressive expanse of bare chest as she pressed another piece on the back of his neck. She could see the small tattoo on his chest, shadowy in the dim light filtering in from the hall.



She looked at his arm as he lifted it to drink the coffee, but could see nothing clearly. Whatever his name was, it had not been tattooed in such large letters as her brother's and the other men's had been.



"Mmm, this is wonderful," he sighed.



"I guessed at the milk and sugar."



"It's perfect. Really," he said, patting the hand which rested on his brow.



She shivered with desire, and forced herself to remain still. When it did not look too obvious, she withdrew her hand from his grasp, barely managing not to yank it away. She felt herself go hot and cold all over as he touched her, and her whole body loosened from the waist down. It was remarkable what one simple touch of his hand could do...



She stood by the bedside in silence, soaking more paper and wringing it out, before removing the old papers, and applying the new compresses. At length she asked, "Any better?"



"I think it's easing somewhat."



"Good."



"Really, I'm sure you have better things to do than stand here helping me. Send Caleb up to assist me."