Page 9 of How the Earl Entices

He repeated in an amused drawl, “A man like me?” He shrugged a shoulder, but he was so exhausted and weak that even that small movement set him swaying and unleashed fresh pounding in his head. “I’m no one important.”

“Important enough that whoever is after you might just kill me because of something you’ve done.”

“I won’t let that happen.” The cottage began to roll and pitch around him, and he grabbed once more for the mantelpiece to keep his balance. “You can trust that.”

She rose slowly to her feet. Her soft voice joined the spinning in his head. “What did you do?”

He smiled grimly. “Defended my country.”

She carefully stepped toward him, taking slow but deliberate steps. “Are you a criminal?”

“That depends on who you ask.” He shook his head but couldn’t clear away the light-headedness. But at least the wound in his arm and leg were turning numb. Thank God for that.

She drew closer, but her voice reached him as if through a tunnel. “Did you break the law?”

In two countries. In both, hanging offenses. “Yes,” he murmured. That single word took such concentration to utter that he couldn’t be bothered with finding his full voice. The room grew dark around him, the shadows closing in upon him. Even the howling of the raging storm grew muted. Distant. He felt himself swaying widely now.

“What did you do?” Through his fogged mind he saw her approach, like a ghost through the shadows. Or an angel bringing light to the darkness. “Did you hurt someone?”

Her beautiful face danced before his darkening vision. “Yes…”Murder.

Both hands gripped at the mantelpiece now. Swaying, spinning…shadows closing in, his body turning numb…He fought to remain conscious.

“Who’s after you?”

“Everyone.” Then the darkness claimed him.

Chapter 3

No!Grace lunged to catch him as he sank toward the floor.

But he was tall and broad, solid muscle, and heavy. Oh soveryheavy! She gasped as his full weight fell against her and struggled to keep him from collapsing. If he fell, she’d never have enough strength to lift him.

Staggering as she slipped his arm around her shoulders, she half-dragged him across the cottage to her bedroom and brought him to the side of her bed. With a loud groan of exertion, she shoved him forward. He collapsed over the mattress, his face buried in the counterpane and his body lying lifeless, half off the small bed.

She pressed her fingers against his neck, offering a silent prayer of mercy. It was bad enough that a peer had forced his way into her cottage tonight. But God help her if he died here.

His pulse beat strong against her fingertips.

Thank God. She heaved out a sigh of relief and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

Her eyes trailed over him. Dear lord, what was she supposed to do? He couldn’t be a gentleman and leave when she’d asked. Or even when she’d demanded it.Oh no. Now the troublesome man was lying all akimbo in bed. Inherbed. And not a very big one at that, which now looked impossibly smaller beneath his large body.

She wrung her hands. He was hiding from someone who wanted him dead. But he was the son of apeer, for God’s sake! Peers didn’t have people wanting them dead, apart from their own family sometimes. Peers had people envying them for their lands and fortunes, hating them because they’d won or lost too much money at White’s, loathing them because they had the better horse or hound. Because they were pompous, arrogant, lazy, paunchy, self-entitled—

But they didn’t hunt them through hurricanes in order to kill them.

Yet from the looks of him, someone had already tried. And very nearly succeeded.

Carefully, she straightened his body on the mattress, rolling him over onto his back and stretching out his arms and legs to make him more comfortable. She stepped back and bit her lip. What was she going to do with him now? Tie him up, that was a certainty. But then what? The last thing she could do was go to the authorities. He was the son of an earl, and claiming that he’d attacked her would draw far too much attention. Her description would run in all the papers, and she might have to testify before a magistrate. Vincent would surely hear of it and recognize her, would realize what she’d done all those years ago—

“Damn you, Ross Carlisle.” Her eyes burned with hot tears of anger and exasperation. “Damn you to hell for coming here.”

She couldn’t even run away. Even if she hid until he left, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be found by the authorities, give up her name, and implicate her in his mess, if only as an innocent victim. Theverylast thing she needed was to have any attention at all brought down upon her.

He had no idea that he possessed the power to end her. And her son.

She wouldneverlet that happen.