The Misfit Marquess Read Online Free

was told, quickly returning with lantern in hand, its golden glow making no difference in the coloration of the woman's hair, which was as inky a black in the light as it had been in shadow. "She's filthy," Talbot noted, meaning the mud from the ditch, but now also seeing that blood spotted her face, her cloak, her arm, the bodice of her gown. "Is she still bleeding?"
    "No. I think the cuts look worse than they are. Look here, these wounds were not had from the fire," Lord Greyleigh pronounced. "See this bruise by her eye? And these cuts were made with some manner of blade, unless I miss my guess."
    Greyleigh stood, removing his coat. His look was tight, even harsh, and Talbot thought, as he had more than once before, that this was not a man in whom one would seek to provoke ire. What was my lord thinking? He appeared angry—but, then, he often appeared angry, especially of late. "Hold my coat," he ordered now, giving no hint of what thoughts formed behind his strange, light eyes.
    Talbot took the proffered coat, and then watched in some surprise as Lord Greyleigh stooped to take the woman up in his arms. "Put my coat over her, for warmth," Greyleigh instructed, his steady gaze brooking no questions or comments.
    "Are you taking her to your home, my lord?" Talbot dared to ask anyway, because it was his duty as senior alderman to see to the well-being of those who resided within the confines of Severn's Well, including the inmates from the asylum as well.
    "Of course," Lord Greyleigh replied, his jaw tight.
    Talbot started to remind Lord Greyleigh that the council did not wish his lordship to take in any more strays, as people were wont to call the strangers and itinerants who seemed to gravitate to Greyleigh Manor. But the look on Greyleigh's stony visage forced Talbot to choke back the comment,
    "Very good, sir. I'll have Mr. Clifton come to the manor immediately, to see to the woman," he said instead, naming the local surgeon.
    Greyleigh replied merely with one firm nod, then turned in the direction of his home, calling loudly for a servant to run at once and fetch a horse.
    Talbot stood and stared after Lord Greyleigh for a long moment. He watched as Greyleigh seemed to effortlessly carry the woman toward where several servants hurried to assist him. Talbot watched as another servant broke away, no doubt sent after a horse, up the long, graveled lane that inclined to where Greyleigh Manor resided upon a rise overlooking the village.
    Greyleigh Manor was a rambling pile of an edifice that might more appropriately be named a castle by those who took a fanciful view of the world. It was built of bricks that had once been red, but now with age had taken on the color of an old bloodstain. Talbot looked to the large manor that Lord Greyleigh called home, and shivered, and wondered if to live in such a place was to be affected by its somber appearance. Certainly it was whispered by more than a few of the locals that Lord Greyleigh was not in his right head.
    And there was no denying that Greyleigh's mama had been mad. Besides her time in the asylum, there were plenty of other village tales about the now deceased Lady Greyleigh's bizarre behavior. It would be easy to believe that Greyleigh Manor and its inhabitants were all cursed—even by a modern, moderately educated man like Talbot Wallace.
    "God bless you," Talbot whispered toward the woman Lord Greyleigh carried away in his arms, and meant the words literally. Then he hurried to fetch the surgeon, the better to treat the injured woman ... and by the surgeon's attendance keep her as safe as possible within the walls of Greyleigh Manor.
    Pain rippled through Elizabeth, and she tried to stir, only to find she could not move as she wished. Her right arm was pinned against something solid, and her legs were held as though in a vise. She felt a sense of motion, and she was only belatedly able to put all her impressions together and realize she was being carried in a pair of arms,