The Lily of Ludgate Hill by Mimi Matthews

The Lily of Ludgate Hill by Mimi Matthews

Author:Mimi Matthews [Matthews, Mimi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-01-16T00:00:00+00:00


Twenty-Three

Hart squinted up at the unfamiliar wood-beamed ceiling. His head was throbbing, and the sickening iron-tinged aroma of blood hung heavy in the air.

He had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be here. All he knew was that he was lying flat on his back atop what must surely be the most uncomfortable mattress in five counties. It didn’t help that his ribs were aching, one of his eyes was half-swollen shut, and his nose was likely broken, making it difficult to breathe.

Somewhere outside his field of vision, a person moved quietly about the room. Hart couldn’t for the life of him imagine who it was.

In truth, he couldn’t remember much of anything after he’d blacked out.

There had been a carriage. A closed four-wheeler, inside of which he’d been pummeled rather severely. At some point, he’d regained consciousness just long enough to register the door of that carriage opening and the wind whipping his face as he’d been unceremoniously pitched out onto the road at speed. After that . . .

Only darkness.

“Lie still,” a lady’s voice commanded.

A tremor of soul-quaking recognition went through him.

“Anne?” The name emerged in a hoarse croak.

The lady it belonged to appeared over him a moment later.

Her golden hair was falling from its pins, and her gown—a riding habit?—was stained and rumpled. She looked as though she’d galloped here at breakneck speed, forgetting her hat and her gloves.

Forgetting her common sense.

He struggled to rise. “What the devil—”

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. His bare shoulder. Hart felt her soft touch like a lightning strike through his vitals.

Good God. Where in blazes was his shirt?

“I told you not to move,” she said, gently restraining him. “Didn’t you hear me?”

He sank back on the pillow in grudging defeat. Anne’s touch was soft enough, but there was no mistaking the strength in it. He’d seen her hold back a stallion with no more than a crook of her fingers on the reins. Curbing the addled impulses of a wounded, half-naked man was surely child’s play to her.

It made it no easier to accept his circumstances.

“My shirt,” he rasped.

“Hush.” The mattress dipped as she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. She brought a wet cloth to his face, dabbing at the dried blood on his temple. “I had to cut it off. It was the only way I could ascertain the damage. I feared you’d broken your ribs—or worse.”

Hart’s gaze was riveted to her face as she tended him.

Her expression might almost have been businesslike but for the redness rimming her eyes.

Good Lord. She’d been weeping. And recently, too, by the look of it.

Weeping over him.

The realization brought a lump to Hart’s throat.

“You do realize you’re the most infuriatingly unreliable man in all of creation?” she asked in a conversational tone. “Only a few short weeks ago you promised me you wouldn’t die and yet . . . here we are.”

He caught her hand, stilling it on his face. His own hand was battered, knuckles raw and bloody.



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