he decided he suffered not from illness but madness. How could he have mistaken this female for anything but what she was? Was this what years of training and hard work came to?
Hammond’s face hardened and he stood up. “Give me the coat you were wearing when I saw you last.”
Jocelyn was taken aback. This was not what she had hoped to hear when meeting Hammond again. She knew now that she had been waiting for the moment when he saw her as a woman. Her heart had hammered painfully as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, and it had not been from running down the corridor. Nor did its beat steady noticeably when she saw with what interest he first looked at her and knew her to be a woman. That interest soon faded, replaced by this expression of utter implacability.
She stuttered, “I—I fear you are not well yet, sir.”
“Dammit, girl. Your coat, and quickly.”
“I’ve not got it.” Fire blazed up suddenly in his dark eyes, and she bit her lip but stood still.
“What! Who’d you sell it to?” He caught her by her wrist. “Tell me, or I’ll break your neck!”
“Sold it? Truly, I ...”
Her combination of bewilderment and concern would have been impossible for all but the most accomplished actress to feign. He reserved opinion as to whether she was such an actress.
“Tell me, please,” he said, releasing his grip. “Tell me where the coat is. It’s important.”
“The blue coat ...”
“Yes.”
As though reciting a lesson, Jocelyn said, “It belongs to my cousin Tom. My aunt and uncle took it with them to return it to him.”
“Where?”
“Oxford.”
“Oxford! Are you certain?”
“Of course. Let me get you some water, Mr. Hammond. I truly think you are not well yet.”
“Never mind that.”
Nevertheless, Jocelyn went to the bucket beside the sink, dipped in a mug, and brought it to him. “Drink this.”
Hammond meant only to feign to drink from the water, but he drained the cup. “Thank you,” he said reluctantly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You are frightened, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I am.” She lifted her chin as she said it.
He wondered if he’d bruised her arm and felt a sudden shame. He said gruffly, “I’m sorry I frightened you. How long ago did your aunt and uncle leave for Oxford?”
“They left yesterday.”
“What was yesterday? Only Saturday? Then I may yet be in time.”
“In time?”
He waved his hand, as though his words were of no importance. Through the windows, the glow of the westering sun surrounded him, yet his smile seemed brighter to Jocelyn than the light in her eyes. “You know, I owe you a great debt. If you knew how important—”
“There is no debt, sir. You helped me first. If anything, we are even.” She did not feel warmed now, even though his smile was friendly and held all the charm she’d hoped it might.
“Your name is Burnwell?”
“Yes, sir. Jocelyn Burnwell.”
He studied her face with renewed interest. “Are you related to Feldon Burnwell?” There were many unusual stories connected with the Burnwell he’d known ten years ago in London. He seemed to recall hearing some gossip about the man’s family, but the details were not clear.
“He is my grandfather, sir, but I am not known to him.” Hammond still stared at her. She blushed and looked away.
Suddenly she thought of Mr. Fain and his wolf’s look. Her face grew hot, and she said bluntly, “I don’t know if you are aware of it, but I believe the authorities want to speak with you. They found a knife, bloodied, and they are looking for the owner.”
“Ah, yes.” Hammond put his hand to his side and grimaced. “We never actually met, but I remember him very well.”
“Does your wound still pain you?” His nod could have meant either yes or no. Firmly Jocelyn said, “I will make you a comfrey poultice. It will draw off any inflammation.”
Hammond was about to offer a refusal with thanks, pleading a need for haste, when he heard
Hammond’s face hardened and he stood up. “Give me the coat you were wearing when I saw you last.”
Jocelyn was taken aback. This was not what she had hoped to hear when meeting Hammond again. She knew now that she had been waiting for the moment when he saw her as a woman. Her heart had hammered painfully as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, and it had not been from running down the corridor. Nor did its beat steady noticeably when she saw with what interest he first looked at her and knew her to be a woman. That interest soon faded, replaced by this expression of utter implacability.
She stuttered, “I—I fear you are not well yet, sir.”
“Dammit, girl. Your coat, and quickly.”
“I’ve not got it.” Fire blazed up suddenly in his dark eyes, and she bit her lip but stood still.
“What! Who’d you sell it to?” He caught her by her wrist. “Tell me, or I’ll break your neck!”
“Sold it? Truly, I ...”
Her combination of bewilderment and concern would have been impossible for all but the most accomplished actress to feign. He reserved opinion as to whether she was such an actress.
“Tell me, please,” he said, releasing his grip. “Tell me where the coat is. It’s important.”
“The blue coat ...”
“Yes.”
As though reciting a lesson, Jocelyn said, “It belongs to my cousin Tom. My aunt and uncle took it with them to return it to him.”
“Where?”
“Oxford.”
“Oxford! Are you certain?”
“Of course. Let me get you some water, Mr. Hammond. I truly think you are not well yet.”
“Never mind that.”
Nevertheless, Jocelyn went to the bucket beside the sink, dipped in a mug, and brought it to him. “Drink this.”
Hammond meant only to feign to drink from the water, but he drained the cup. “Thank you,” he said reluctantly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You are frightened, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I am.” She lifted her chin as she said it.
He wondered if he’d bruised her arm and felt a sudden shame. He said gruffly, “I’m sorry I frightened you. How long ago did your aunt and uncle leave for Oxford?”
“They left yesterday.”
“What was yesterday? Only Saturday? Then I may yet be in time.”
“In time?”
He waved his hand, as though his words were of no importance. Through the windows, the glow of the westering sun surrounded him, yet his smile seemed brighter to Jocelyn than the light in her eyes. “You know, I owe you a great debt. If you knew how important—”
“There is no debt, sir. You helped me first. If anything, we are even.” She did not feel warmed now, even though his smile was friendly and held all the charm she’d hoped it might.
“Your name is Burnwell?”
“Yes, sir. Jocelyn Burnwell.”
He studied her face with renewed interest. “Are you related to Feldon Burnwell?” There were many unusual stories connected with the Burnwell he’d known ten years ago in London. He seemed to recall hearing some gossip about the man’s family, but the details were not clear.
“He is my grandfather, sir, but I am not known to him.” Hammond still stared at her. She blushed and looked away.
Suddenly she thought of Mr. Fain and his wolf’s look. Her face grew hot, and she said bluntly, “I don’t know if you are aware of it, but I believe the authorities want to speak with you. They found a knife, bloodied, and they are looking for the owner.”
“Ah, yes.” Hammond put his hand to his side and grimaced. “We never actually met, but I remember him very well.”
“Does your wound still pain you?” His nod could have meant either yes or no. Firmly Jocelyn said, “I will make you a comfrey poultice. It will draw off any inflammation.”
Hammond was about to offer a refusal with thanks, pleading a need for haste, when he heard
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