Freedom Read Free

windows at the far wall of the bedchamber, explaining in a raspy voice—to no one in particular—that she didn’t appreciate the assumptions being made. She had naught on but a thin, sleeveless chemise and ankle-length drawers, and her long brown hair was tangled with leaves and fodder.
     
    Dr. Walcott stood to Roxleigh’s right, in front of the hearth, his white comb-over floating in disarray. Two housemaids, Meggie and Carole, cowered behind the doctor like mice tracked by a tomcat. Meggie had hold of her apron, which she twisted relentlessly in her hands. Dr. Walcott saw Roxleigh and shook his head, his hair flying in tufts around his ears.
     
    The girl turned on him. “You!” she said, her voice catching on the force of the word as she marched determinedly for Roxleigh. “Are you in charge?”
     
    “Am I— Pardon?” His eyes narrowed. “This is my estate, my land, my manor, the seat of the Roxleigh dukedom. Everything you see from these windows is within my purview, if that is what you ask.” He slid his gaze over her.  
     
    She stunned him. She was not a small girl, but rather tall, though not as tall as he. His eyes traveled her womanly curves, remembering the soft feel of her weight in his arms. He could see the gash on her forehead, but she otherwise appeared healthy—angry, but healthy. He shook off his improper gaze and looked at Dr. Walcott questioningly before walking toward the settee.
     
    “Perhaps you should put this on,” he said as he reached for a robe.
     
    The girl walked directly to him, fisting her hands on her hips as she inspected him. He felt her gaze measuring, as if to determine his very soul, and he flinched. From the corner of his vision he saw the doctor drop his hands, which had been suspended in midair as if to ward off some sort of attack.
     
    The strange woman caught up to him, her temper evident. “The fact that I have no clothes on is an issue for both of us, but I’m not doing anything until you tell me what the hell is going on! Where am I?” The words came out on a croak, and she poked him in the chest before continuing. “I don’t know what kind of damn joke this is, but I’ve had enough!”
     
    The doctor and two housemaids gasped at the boldness of her speech, and Roxleigh felt the tension of their reactions weigh heavily. He released the robe and slowly straightened again as the woman went on, apparently heedless of his growing ire.
     
    “I don’t understand the problem. I want to know where I am.” She started ticking off fingers as she spoke. “I want to know how I got here, and these people,” she ground out between her teeth, “won’t explain anything to me. They just insist I cover myself, calm down, and get back in bed. Screw your bed!” she yelled toward Dr. Walcott, who winced in return before her gaze swung back to Roxleigh. “I had a presentation today. I’ve been working on this for months— No! Gah! My whole life!” Her voice broke on the last word and she rubbed her throat gently as she looked down. “I sound like I smoked a pack of reds.” She straightened her spine and looked him square in the eyes. “This crap isn’t funny. Explain how I ended up here in this drafty room, in someone else’s underwear, and how you are going to get me home!” Her voice cut out again and she held her throat as she swayed, drifting closer to him, her other hand flattening against his chest to steady herself.
     
    Roxleigh looked from the woman to the doctor, then back. He watched as she steadied herself, then clasped his large hands together behind his back as he considered her with narrowed eyes. She spoke French, but English as well, although he couldn’t place the dialect. He took a deep breath to gather his frayed nerves. He didn’t much care for surprises, and was having a difficult time reconciling the soft, injured figure he’d carried from the track with the angry young lady who stood before him now. He fancied himself quite a