his teeth just seemed to make her cower away more and whimper with terror.
Abruptly he pressed his lips together and took a couple of short steps across the room. He needed this young woman to be conscious and coherent if he was to have any chance of getting his solitude back as soon as possible. As he approached she backed away and Edward saw her sway slightly on her feet. For a terrible moment he thought she might faint, leaving him to deal with an even bigger problem, but at the last moment she seemed to rally.
‘What are you doing here?’ Edward repeated, more softly this time. He tried to remember how he’d interacted with people in the days when he’d run a successful and thriving estate and slowly opened his hands, palms outwards to show he wasn’t a threat, and made eye contact with the shivering young woman.
As he looked into her eyes he saw her relax just a little and Edward felt a spark of curiosity about the woman standing in front of him. Now he was closer he could see what a state she was in—not only was her chemise covered in blood, but her entire body was caked in mud and grime. Her legs had a myriad of scratches and bruises on them and he had to wonder what trouble she was running from.
‘I needed a place to rest for the night, somewhere to shelter from the storm,’ she said quietly.
Instinctively Edward knew there was so much more to it than that. A well-bred young lady did not wander the hills of Sussex all by herself covered in blood and soaked to the bone. He opened his mouth to press her further and then thought better of it. Whatever drama this young woman was mixed up in, whatever it was she was running from, he didn’t want to know. He wanted his house back to himself and he wanted her gone.
‘I thought the house was empty,’ she continued after a few seconds. As she spoke her teeth chattered together and gave her voice a juddering quality.
‘It just looks empty,’ he said a little gruffly. ‘You should go home.’
Quickly her frightened eyes darted to meet his and he saw a flash of desperation in them.
‘I can’t go home.’
‘Then a friend, a family member. There will be someone to take you in.’
His heart sank as she shook her head. Part of him was whispering she wasn’t his problem, to usher her out into the night and forget she’d ever even been here.
‘You could stay at the inn in the village.’
The look of panic that crossed her face momentarily piqued his interest, but he refused to be drawn in and quickly moved on.
‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Amelia.’
‘Well, Amelia, you can’t stay here.’ He tried to say the words softly, but they came out as a harsh bark, almost an order. He watched as she recoiled from him as though she’d been slapped and felt a flash of guilt at the despair that permeated every inch of her body.
Silence followed as Edward waited for her response. As the seconds ticked by he could see her entire body shaking. The blood had drained from her face and suddenly Edward realised her eyes had become unfocused. If he wasn’t much mistaken his intruder was close to collapsing.
With quick, purposeful strides Edward crossed the space between them, took hold of Amelia’s shoulders and lowered her into a chair. He told himself he didn’t want to have to deal with a head injury on top of everything else, but Edward knew his humanity was buried somewhere inside him and chose moments like this to rear up and make him act like a decent person. As he touched the bare skin of her arms he was surprised at just how cold they were. He was no medical man, but Edward could see if Amelia didn’t get warm and dry soon she would be in real danger of catching a chill, or worse. He remembered the time he and his late wife had got caught out in a storm on the edge of the estate—by the time they reached the house both were drenched to the bone, but whereas Edward had shaken the cold off Jane had been lain up with a fever for a week.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Edward repeated quietly, almost to himself. In reality he knew if he sent Amelia back out into the storm in this state then she probably would die.
With a growl of frustration Edward hurled a cushion from the sofa towards the fire. It smacked into the mantelpiece with a loud thud before falling to the floor. He didn’t want to be put in this position, held hostage by his own conscience. He wanted to return to bed in a house only he inhabited and not feel guilty about it.
Amelia looked at him with her large, dark eyes and Edward knew there was nothing else to be done.
‘One night,’ he said eventually. ‘You can stay for one night. But you leave first thing in the morning.’
The relief on Amelia’s face should have pleased him, years ago it would have. Edward could remember being the type of person that cared about others, that would go out of his way to help someone in distress, but that part of him seemed to have withered and died along with so many other characteristics. Once he had been kind and caring, but now all he could think about was how he didn’t want this young woman in his house.
‘What’s your name?’ Amelia asked, her voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.
‘Edward. Sir Edward Gray.’
‘Thank you, Edward.’
Next to him Amelia shuddered violently and Edward made a conscious effort to shift his full attention to her, pushing his own concerns to the back of his mind. A warm bed and a good night’s sleep would be all Amelia needed to recover. If he sacrificed a little of his treasured privacy now he could send her on her way tomorrow with a clear conscience.
‘We need to get you warm.’
Amelia looked at the paltry fire struggling to burn in the grate and shuffled a little nearer.
‘Properly warm,’ Edward said with meaning.
He hesitated for a few seconds. The last woman he’d touched was his wife, and she’d been dead for three long years. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shaken someone’s hand or laid a hand on someone’s shoulder.
Quickly, before he could overthink things any further, he stood and carefully scooped Amelia into his arms. She let out a murmur of protest, but her heart wasn’t in it. Already Edward could see the cold was affecting her brain, slowing her thought processes and making her sluggish.
He carried her through the house, up the stairs and into the West Wing where he kept his rooms. After the fire three years ago Edward had closed up most of the house, choosing to live his half-existence in the comfortable rooms of the West Wing rather than venture into the grander family rooms. The West Wing was warm and cosy, he’d had a fire burning in his bedroom grate earlier that evening and the embers would still be glowing.
‘I feel so cold,’ Amelia whispered, her body shuddering in his arms.
‘You’ll warm up in no time,’ Edward said and for the first time in years he felt a sense of purpose. He would not let this young woman die. Even though he didn’t know her or what she’d done he would offer her a warm bed and a safe place to rest.
Edward kicked open the door to his bedroom and set Amelia down in his armchair, pulling the heavy seat closer
