“I do not recall more…” She stopped, afraid to trust this man—because he was a man. “I cannot say this was not a bad dream, because my head feels like I am floating, but my husband…” Should she continue? She did not know this doctor, but she could trust Max. He was the only one she could trust with her parents gone. Yet she held no illusions he would feel anything other than disgust toward her. Still, she had to try. “Is Lord Worsley here?”
“His lordship is outside, waiting to hear of your condition.”
“Might I speak to him?” Hope toyed with her heart. While it hurt her just to talk, she wanted to talk to Max. If for nothing else, then to tell him she was sorry. She trusted him, even though he probably hated her. Would he ever trust her again?
“I will ask Lord Worsley to step inside for a moment, but I need to know more about what happened to you. Will you tell me?”
Could she tell him the truth? She took a chance and nodded slowly, and the doctor left to retrieve Max. Every movement hurt. Her head felt like it was about to erupt from her neck.
Max reentered the room. Her eyes were closed, but the scent of sandalwood and maleness brought his face to her mind and soothed her somehow. Max had moved on. She was certain of that—Fergus had told her he had. Her betrayal had left him no option, even though that choice had not been hers. But the thought of another woman in his arms tightened her chest. She had lived for three years in isolation, her only companion Shep. And there was the constant dread of her husband’s return home from his trips to London. She prayed he would never come back.
She felt her stomach. Instinct. It had been less than a month since she had suffered the loss of her baby girl, likely the result of the countless beatings she had endured. A tear ran down her face at the thought of her daughter, and she closed her eyes tightly, willing the image of her stillborn child from her mind. Lilly. Fergus Anders had been drunk as usual—too drunk to even care that they had lost the child. When she made him aware, his only comment was, “It was not a boy. We will try again.” She could not forget his hateful sneer when he added, “You owe me an heir.” At that moment, Maggie had hated him more than she thought possible and was determined to leave him at her first opportunity.
Her chance came a little more than a fortnight later. But as she had no safe place to go and felt sure she was being watched whenever she left home, she turned to the only place she could think of—her family’s boarded-up house.
Had it not been for the dark intruder, she and Shep might still be there. She had thought she recognized him—the way he stood and walked. The light had been too dim to make out any facial features. Maggie felt sure that Shep had also recognized the man, so much so that he took off after him in full-scale attack, prompting her to run after them to save her brave pup.
“My dog…” She glanced at the door.
“Aye, ye have a brave little rascal there.” Dr. Perth smiled at her and scratched behind Shep’s ears.
“He…he rarely allows anyone this close to me. Shep trusts you, Doctor. I know this is unusual, but could you check him and see if he is injured? He tried to help me…and I think they hurt him.”
The doctor peered at the dog and then smiled. “Aye. ‘Tis not my normal exam, but if the chap will let me, I will do my best. He does seem to be laboring a bit with his breathing.” He held out his hand to the animal, allowing Shep to come closer. Gingerly, he moved his hand to Shep’s abdomen and touched it. “What are you not telling me, lass?”
Chapter 3
Max was not unaffected by Meg’s nearness. She had no place to go and needed to stay here. But he did not have to stay. Mother would ensure she had the best of care. He needed to stop thinking about her, and especially thinking of her as Meg. She was Lady Tipton. He should leave for a day or two, long enough to distance himself from her. He would not go far. He just needed space to think. Perhaps two days at Harlow’s house. John Andrews, the Earl of Harlow, had been his best friend since Eton. They had served together against Napoleon’s forces in the Battle of Ligny, and now both worked for the Crown. Harlow would be good for him. There was no one better to lift his spirits, although truth be told, they lifted spirits together. The thought of relaxing with a brandy brought a smile to his lips.
He could not leave before he was sure Meg was healing. His need to know what had happened to her had consumed his thoughts, and he had been at her side every moment possible. Max considered the scene in front of him and closed his eyes a moment, willing to stay the bile that threatened. The woman he had loved with his whole being was lying on his sister’s bed, bearing deep gashes and scratches, dark bruises upon her chin and neck, and burns on her wrists. Rope burns. She had suffered, but she stayed quiet, reluctant to disclose the cause. He was afraid to draw conclusions on his own, afraid of the feelings they would stir deep within. It had taken all three years they were apart to think of something or someone other than her, and here she was in his home.
“It was Fergus.” Her voice barely audible, she turned from Dr. Perth and Max.
Her voice shook Max from
