The Earl in My Bed: A Forgotten Princesses Valentine Novella Read Free Page B

when he returned. He was not the same boy who had left her.
    Jamie opened his eyes again and gazed after Miss Ellsworth’s retreating figure. At least she had not changed. He took satisfaction in that. She had grown into just the kind of woman he had imagined. Passionate. Strong. Full of life.
    The kind of woman Owen deserved to come home to. The kind who could remind him of life and happiness and make him forget the dark days that demanded he kill or be killed.
    The kind of female Jamie intended to keep at arm’s length. No matter how much she fascinated him.
    No matter how much she always had.
    Dear Owen,
    I saw Jamie today. The sight of him hale and hearty fills me with confidence that you are well and will soon be returned to us. He says you receive my letters so I pray they bring you some comfort. I know you’ll be home soon and we may once again . . .
    Paget paused over the page, unsure what to write, what to say next. She did not wish to make any promises, nor could she be anything less than warm and affectionate. Not while he struggled for survival a continent away. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Or callous. She needed to give him hope and encouragement.
    Sighing, she rose from the desk, determining to finish the missive later. A walk would clear her thoughts. While the weather held at any rate. A low, gray sky had hung about all morning, threatening to trap her indoors the remainder of the day. She’d let gray skies bully her no longer.
    She passed the housekeeper, Mrs. Donnelly, in the narrow hall. “I’m going for a stroll.”
    “It’s going to rain,” Mrs. Donnelly cautioned.
    “I’ll be quick.”
    Mrs. Donnelly shook her steel-gray head. “You’ll get yourself soaked.”
    At the door, Paget flung her cloak around her shoulders and pulled up the hood. “It won’t be the first time. If I wait for a sunny day, I should never step outside.”
    Mrs. Donnelly awarded Paget with one of her less-than-fierce scowls. After all these years, the glares failed to instill fear in Paget. With so few memories of her own mother, Mrs. Donnelly had served in that capacity . . . and never having children of her own, she was a tad indulgent.
    “You’ll not look so cheeky when you’re brought low with the ague. Aye, you’ll likely be dead.”
    “True.” Paget nodded grimly. “I rather suppose I won’t look cheeky from within my grave.”
    “Ah, you impudent lass. Hurry on with you, then. Perhaps you will beat the coming deluge.” She stabbed the air in the direction of a window.
    “I won’t go far,” she promised with a smile as she stepped out into the murky morning. She took off at a fast clip, her mind drifting back to the half-written letter she’d left on her desk.
    Her thoughts didn’t linger there long, however, before sliding in another direction. James. Jamie . No—the Earl of Winningham. She must remember him as such. It wouldn’t do to slip and address him so informally again.
    She pulled her fur-lined hood over her head. Her body soon warmed as her legs trod over the familiar road. She came to the part of the road lined with apple trees. In the winter, their barren branches met and tangled together overhead to create a canopied effect. Even skeletal, she still loved the stretch of trees. It was one of her first memories upon arriving in Winninghamshire.
    She recalled driving down the lane with her parents on either side of her and looking up at the canopy of branches. It had been wondrous. More dream than real. She had felt as if she stumbled into one of the fairy tales her mother told her before bed. The apple trees had been in full bloom. A gentle breeze sent petals fluttering through the air. Several had caught in her lashes and she fancied she was entering the realm of some fairy kingdom. When she first spotted the Winningham manor, she was certain of it. She’d imagined a princess lived in the great stone mausoleum and had been quite disappointed to learn only princes resided within.