Forever Mine Read Free Page B

the simplicity of the stark room. Despite the brilliant stream of sunlight flooding through the window it was cold. She shivered. Someone had set the AC way too low.
    If it weren’t for the fire in the hearth the room would be even colder. It didn’t make any sense why someone would have a fire with the AC going. Her gaze swept across the room’s meager furnishings. Planks of rough-hewn wood served as the floor, while a white plaster covered the walls. It looked like something out of a Jane Austen movie. Oh God, had she decided to do one of those reality vacations? No, she couldn’t afford something like that, even if she’d wanted too. What was the last thing she’d been doing? She breathed in a quiet breath as she tried to ignore the hot needles that assaulted the back of her head. Where was she, and exactly how had she gotten to wherever here was? She groaned as the headache spread to her temples.
    Victoria tossed her blanket off to one side and swung her legs out of bed. Fire streaked across her skin once more, while her chest hurt like someone had kicked her repeatedly. Had she been mugged? Even though she was in pain, self-preservation had her on her feet the minute a woman scurried into the room.
    “Good heavens, my lady. You shouldn’t be out of bed just yet.”
    “Who are you?”
    Her words sounded hoarse, stiff, and stilted. Laryngitis. Could you get that from a hangover? If you were shouting over loud music all night long? Maybe she’d been mugged and choked in the process. It would explain her voice, the pounding in her head, and the way her body ached. It would also account for not knowing where the hell she was.
    “I’m Bessie, my lady. Thomas Goodman’s wife. He found you near the pond this morning. You were like death warmed over when my Thomas brought you in.”
    “Pond?” The hoarseness in her voice had disappeared, but it still sounded funny to her.
    “Yes, my lady. Soaked through and through. If my Thomas hadn’t found you I fear the worst might have happened.”
    Victoria shook her head in denial and winced as she pressed her hand against her forehead. She hadn’t been anywhere near a pond. She’d been in an art gallery. The sudden sliver of a memory tantalized her before it evaporated and pain took its place.
    “Where am I?”
    “Why Brentwood Park, my lady.” Bessie patted Victoria’s arm in a comforting manner.
    “Brentwood Park,” she murmured. Where had she heard that name before? Another stab of pain erupted in her head, and she groaned softly. God, jackhammers were going off inside her head. She looked down at the white cotton gown she wore. She never wore nightgowns. Normally, she chose to sleep in the nude, although she would occasionally sleep in a pair of pajamas. Nightgowns? Never. They were little more than straight-jackets, and she never got a good night’s sleep with one on. Beside the bed, her hostess poured water from a beige earthen pitcher into a matching bowl. Wringing out a cloth in the basin, the woman turned her head to Victoria and smiled.
    “Now then, my lady, let me see if I can clean that cut of yours.”
    “Cut?” Victoria blinked with confusion.
    “I don’t believe it will need stitching.” Bessie’s weathered features wrinkled up into a reassuring look as she dabbed gently at Victoria’s forehead. “Lucky is what you were. Another inch lower and you could have lost an eye.”
    Baffled, Victoria gasped as cold water stung a tender spot just above her right eye. She lightly touched the wound and drew in a breath of surprise as Bessie gently pulled her hand away. When had she cut her head? Questions. Every time she answered one, half a dozen more sprang to life. She pulled away from the woman who was clucking over her like a worrisome mother hen.
    “You said I’m at Brentwood Park. Is this a hospital of some kind?”
    “Heavens, no, my lady. This is Goodman Cottage. Thomas and I are tenants of his lordship.”
    “His lordship?”
    “Lord