Thornbrook Park Read Online Free Page A

over him, chug-a-chug, chug-chug . But he wasn’t on a train, he knew before opening his eyes, or under a train, thank the gods, not that he had a precise memory of where he was or how he’d arrived. His last memory was of stopping at a tavern after escorting young Brandon back home, his head and his pride aching from his fall to Smithy Harris.
    When he became brave enough to crack open one eye, he saw that he was in his own room at Averford House, viewing the pale green walls, his childhood watercolors of various plants and flowers still hanging over his desk, and the forest-green spread draped over him on the bed. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes, some of them anyway. His memory returned in bits and pieces as he began to recollect his misadventures: Sutton helping him up the stairs, falling down in the hallway, and a pair of eyes, the startling blue of a gas-lamp flame, burning through his haze. Those eyes were extraordinary. If only he could recall more of the woman around them.
    There had been a woman, he knew more certainly, sitting up. She’d sat on the chair at the side of his bed. The chair remained, but no woman was in sight. It hadn’t been Lettie, Sylvie, Cook, or any of the other maids at Averford House, the ones with names he never recalled.
    A new set of clothes was neatly arranged on the valet stand. Paulson, the footman acting as his valet while Marcus made his home at Averford House, must have been in to check on him. He started to get up when Sutton entered the room bearing a tray.
    â€œAh, Captain Thorne. How are you this morning, sir?”
    â€œRecovering, I suppose.”
    â€œYes, sir, I imagine so.” He set the tray down on the table next to the desk.
    â€œThe darnedest thing, Sutton. Last night, I seem to remember a woman tending me. Blue eyes. Startling blue. What was her name?”
    â€œHer name, sir?” Sutton fidgeted as if uncomfortable. “A woman, you say?”
    â€œSoft creatures, like men, but with longer hair, notable differences in the, er, chest area…”
    â€œYes, sir, I am familiar with women.” If Sutton felt any inclination to smile, he held it back well. “But there was no woman here. Unless one of the maids checked on you when I was not aware?”
    â€œNot one of the maids. This one was unfamiliar to me, fair hair, bright blue eyes? Unless we’ve hired a new maid whom I’ve yet to meet.”
    â€œPerhaps you dreamed her. You were quite out of sorts, though I hate to point it out.” Sutton cleared his throat and went to fetch the tray. “Sit up now. I suggest you eat something.”
    He set the tray down in front of Marcus.
    â€œSutton, you remembered,” Marcus declared after a look at the tray’s contents. Black coffee, strong, not tea. Dry toast. Runny eggs. Marcus’s favorite hangover breakfast, which had also been his father’s. “I daresay I’ll be feeling better soon.”
    â€œI’m counting on it, sir.”
    â€œYou’re sure there wasn’t a woman?”
    â€œHow are your eggs, sir?” Sutton did not wait for an answer. “A good breakfast might help to clear your mind. I have duties to attend. Shall I send Paulson up?”
    â€œNot right away. I’ll call for him when I’m ready.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    Sutton turned on his heel and left before Marcus could ask about the woman again. Dreamed her? Possibly. He’d had a vivid nightmare that he was back in the field, bombs exploding everywhere, nothing he could do to stop them. There was no time. The panic nearly overwhelmed him, and then two blue eyes, like beacons, appeared to lead him through the smoke and ash. By Jove, perhaps Sutton told the truth. He’d dreamed up an angel, right when he needed one most.
    In that case, he wished his subconscious had brought her forth a little sooner, perhaps in time to warn him of Smithy Harris’s left hook. He rubbed the