Free A Heart Deceived by Michelle Griep Page B

instead of a half-crazed bully who—
    “Madam?”
    She bit her lower lip. Lack of sleep and a morning of foul nursemaid duty had surely taken a serious toll on her wits. “Is Mr. Harper available?”
    “I am afraid he is on extended leave, entrusting me with his business in his stead.” He stood and bowed from the waist. “Jonathan Knight, at your service. And you are?”
    “Miss Brayden.” She wet her dry lips. “Miss Miriall Brayden.”
    His smile broadened. “Well then, Miss Brayden, how may I assist you”—he looked past her shoulder out the bay window—“on this fine and dreary day?”
    Pleasing to the eye and charming to the ears. She swallowed back a smile despite herself. Witherskim could take a few lessons. Her good mood vanished, and she shuddered. Why think of him now?
    “You are chilled, I think, miss. A bit pale as well.” He moved halfway down the counter and removed the lid from an amber jar. “I believe I have just the thing for you.”
    La, she must look worse than frightful. Tucking up her hair, she straightened her bonnet. “I am sorry to give you the wrong impression, Mr. Knight. I have not come for myself.”
    He glanced up. “Oh?”
    “Yes, I …” If only she could pull off her gloves and fan the heat from her face. She could not think when so fagged by the long morning—or with such an endless blue gaze holding hers. “Well, you see …”
    His tone lowered as he tilted his head. “Yes?”
    “It’s just that …” That what? How to tell this upstanding gentleman that she wished to treat a vagabond on death’s threshold?
    “Our hired man has taken with the rheum.” The words came out in a rush. Glancing heavenward, she shouldn’t be a bit surprised if a lightning bolt flattened her here and now, though it wasn’t exactly a lie. Old Joe was abed and in sore condition.
    Mr. Knight returned the contents he’d taken from the jar. “Has willow bark been tried?”
    “In truth, I do not know.” Excellent. Now she looked foolish as well as dreadful. She wrapped tighter her pelisse, covering the gap where her creased skirt peeked out in front. How she longed to disappear—and the feeling irked her. Why care what this man thought? Or any man, for that matter? No one would have her once her brother’s madness was discovered—a boon in Witherskim’s case, but a death knell to any other marriage hopes.
    As if thoughts of Witherskim parading through her mind weren’t bad enough, from the corner of her eye, she snagged a glimpse of the silly man outside the window. Directly across the road from the apothecary’s, Clive Witherskim huddled in conversation with the squire.
    Miri whirled about so fast, she wobbled. Hopefully he hadn’t seen her.
    But Mr. Knight did. “Miss! Are you faint?” He pulled a stool around the counter and took firm hold of her upper arm, directing her to sit.
    “I am—”
    “Yes, you are quite pale.” The back of his hand pressed against her forehead. “No fever, though.”
    “Really, Mr. Knight!” She pulled from his touch. “I am a bit fatigued, that is all.”
    He withdrew his hand but hesitated at her side, peering at her closely. “Clearly, you have overdone.”
    “Honestly, sir. I am fine.” She took care, however, to remain with her face diverted from the window.
    “Well … as you say.” He resumed his station behind the counter and collected a few items, but his gaze did not leave her. “Is there no one else to see to your hired man? Perhaps I should call on him.”
    She shot to her feet. “No!” The thought of his discovering Roland or the beggar pushed the word out of her mouth with force.
    His eyes widened. “I assure you, I am fully competent in my profession.”
    “I do not question your abilities, Mr. Knight. I should be happy to have you call except for …” Her mind raced to find an excuse, an exhausting maneuver having clocked only two hours of sleep.
    “Except for?”
    Think. Think! “You’re … er … too