Free In Love With a Wicked Man by Liz Carlyle Page A

nothing else to wear.
    But this fact being unknown to Mrs. Cockram and Mrs. Burnham, the good Christian ladies were glancing from Edward to Kate in a way that made it clear they doubted her veracity.
    “Good afternoon,” he said a little tentatively.
    “Edward, you are not to be up!” Nancy had jerked into action, and yanked out a chair. “Do sit down, sir, before you fall down.”
    But Edward didn’t look at the chair. Instead, he looked faintly mortified. “I do beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I had no idea you were entertaining, my lady, and thought merely to take a little exercise.”
    He was, at least, bearing a bit of his weight onto a brass-knobbed walking stick she recognized as Stephen’s, to save Kate from looking a complete liar. And his wet, golden hair was slicked back off his forehead, starkly revealing the mottled, stitched-up wound.
    “A little exercise?” she echoed. “Without Dr. Fitch‘s permission?”
    “He didn’t tell me I mightn’t move,” Edward countered. “He said I must rest, avoid bright light, and not think.”
    “Indeed, sir, you do look much better this afternoon,” said Nancy with a little curtsy. “It is something like a miracle, to be sure! But if you will excuse me, I was just escorting Mrs. Burnham and Mrs. Cockram to the door.”
    Here, the good ladies seemed suddenly to regret their notion of leaving. But nothing by way of encouragement being offered by their hostess, the good ladies lingered only a little. After simpering over introductions, they duly presented their hands to the handsome invalid, fluttering and blushing as if he were the prince himself, then wished him a speedy recovery.
    But Kate could not miss the speculative looks they cast at her as they parted.
    Edward watched them go, then turned to her. “I have the most appalling fear I should apologize,” he said. “Did I behave wrongly?”
    Her temper yielding in the face of his earnestness, Kate threw up her hands on a laugh. “I was just being gently chided for harboring a man of unknown character beneath my roof,” she said. “I reassured them you were so deathly ill as to be perfectly harmless, and—oh! Now you begin to look unsteady!”
    And he was. Abruptly, Kate slipped a hand under his elbow, and urged him into a chair near the table.
    “I beg your pardon,” he said again when he’d settled himself, and set the walking stick away. “This blasted leg, you see, is half my trouble.”
    Kate resisted the urge to kneel down and examine it. “Is it worse?”
    “I think I didn’t grasp how thoroughly I’d wrenched the ankle.”
    “Nor did I.” Kate had begun to pace the room. “Did Fitch examine it properly, do you recall?” she added fretfully. “Could it be broken?”
    “Yes, he did, and no, it could not,” said Edward. “Kindly sit, Lady d’Allenay. You will give me mal de mer with all that striding about. I’m in a weakened state, you know.”
    Regarding him warily, she did sit, carefully sweeping her full skirts aside. “There,” she said, “now kindly tell me which of my servants conspired against me and toted up your bathwater?”
    “It was Jasper,” Edward confessed, “but I had to chase him down and flog him unmercifully first.”
    Kate lifted one eyebrow. “On that leg?”
    “Yes. Remarkably slow, poor lad.”
    “Hmm. Well, I will say no more. As I may have mentioned, I know your type.”
    At that, he grinned hugely. “You did say, didn’t you?” he agreed. “Let that be a lesson to you.”
    “A lesson?”
    “Yes, the next time you mean to run down some poor, unsuspecting fellow, pick a more biddable sort of chap.” He paused long enough to peer at the tray. “Is that tea, by any chance?”
    Kate gave up all hope of sending the man scurrying back to bed. “Yes, Nancy didn’t take any,” she said, taking up the pot again. “You may have her cup. Do you take milk? Sugar?”
    Edward paused for a moment. “I do not know,” he said. “I think I