She shouldn’t be heading outside in weather like this for any reason. He should have gone, and would have if it wasn’t for the cursed injuries he now carried. Where had they come from? What was he doing here? Amelia hadn’t told him where she had found him, and when, and he hadn’t thought to ask. How long had he been asleep? He could feel exhaustion claiming him and, having seen to his most pressing need, carefully eased himself back down onto the bed with a deep sigh. “Amelia,” he murmured softly, considering the intriguing bundle of femininity who had been his saviour. She had undoubtedly saved his life, but who was she? As sleep drew him down, his mind latched onto the one nagging question that wouldn’t go away. Whoever Amelia was, she was living in bleak deprivation with no protector, and no guardian. Although her clothing was rough and work-worn, she glided like a lady, spoke in cultured tones rather than local dialect, and lived in desolate exile rather than a country house somewhere.
