The Duke and the Dressmaker (The St. James Series) (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Reaching Sara in seconds, Stinky
grabbed her left hand. She screamed and tried to punch him while managing to kick him in the shin, but he was too strong for her. He quickly snapped her pinky finger. Chuckling, he turned to leave.

“
Ahhh, there’s something about the sound of bones breaking. I love it. Just a little something to help you remember me. Two weeks,” he shouted before he exited.

Sara
managed to stand and find her chair. Pain rippled though her body, followed by sheer panic. Breathing in gulps, she gasped for air between sobs. She stared at her fingers and fought back the increasing nausea. With her right hand, she brushed at her skirts, trying to eliminate the smell of him. He had licked her, had touched her. He was disgusting. She had to get him off her. Standing, she hobbled into the back room and pulled out her tub, filling it with water. The temperature was cold, but she didn’t care. Running to the door, she locked it and pushed a chest in front of it. She had to prevent him from coming back.

Her thoughts jumped from one thing to the next. What should she do first? She needed to
escape, but where? She sniffed the air, recalling she had vomited. She couldn’t go anywhere with vomit on her, nor could she live with his smell on her.

She stripped off her dress then returned to the other room to wipe up the vomit on her floor. Tossing the soiled clothes in a sack, she retrieved clean clothes and threw them over the screen she dragged to the back room. She grabbed linen towels as well.

Climbing into the tub, she shivered as the cold reached her skin.
But it didn’t matter. She had to scrub off his smell. He had also touched her. Where had he touched her? She would have to scrub double hard there as well. Hadn’t he licked her again? But where? She couldn’t remember where. Think, think! She had to wash every bit of him off her. He had grabbed her hair, right? And touched her dress? But she had already thrown that out. She could never wear it again. Oh, her finger, he broke her finger. Obviously, her hands needed to be scrubbed, too. But how could she scrub when it would cause so much pain? Oh, the counter, she would have to clean the counter after she scrubbed herself. He had touched the coins on the counter.

He had
thrust his filthy paws into her hair. Maybe she should cut it. Or maybe washing it three times would do. Or perhaps five? She snatched the soap and began the ritual, fiercely scrubbing her body, groaning whenever she grazed the spots where he had kicked her. She had to remember every place he had touched her so she could wash extra. Thinking hard, she started with her chin, and the side of her face where he had licked her. Wait, she should probably cleanse that spot on her face again. His spit was on her. She rinsed the cloth. Well, perhaps one more time on her cheek just to be sure. She worked at it until her skin turned raw. That should do it.

She
scrubbed and scrubbed at the rest of her body, moaning in agony, disgusted by the memory of his touch. Dousing her head under water, she covered her hair with soap and lathered as hard as her one hand allowed. When she stopped, she grabbed the soap with her left hand and screamed in pain. In her frantic ritual, she’d almost forgotten her bruised and broken pinky. She looked at it now. The finger had swelled. She held them all under the water. The cold actually helped the pain, so she kept them there until her fingers turned numb. She tried to move the one but couldn’t.

After rinsing her hair, she reviewed everything in her mind. She couldn’t get out yet. After all, hadn’t he rubbed against her bottom? She scrubbed that twice. After going over every
last detail again, she finally reached for a linen towel and climbed out of the tub.

She dressed
as quickly as she could. Some feeling returned to her fingers. Brushing her hair gave her time to think. She couldn’t stay here. What if he came back to break something else? He broke her finger. What would he break next? How could she possibly work? She heard a noise behind the shop and jumped in fright.

I have to get out!

Where could she go? She had nowhere to go. She paced large circles around the platform in her middle room. The invitation given by the Dowager Duchess of Brentwood popped into her head. That was it. She would go there. The duchess was an intelligent woman. She would know what to do.

After tidying up a bit, Sara pulled on her cloak, locked the front door and started
toward Hearthstone Manor. The swelling in her left hand was getting worse. It was a bit of a walk to the St. James home, but she could make it. Her hair was still damp, but the sun was warm. Her steps methodical, she followed the route she thought she needed to, but confusion settled in after a few turns.

She
rounded another corner and tried to remember where she was headed. Yes, Hearthstone Manor. What had happened? Something bad. She knew something terrible had happened. Plus her hand hurt dreadfully. Why? What had she done to it again? Why couldn’t she remember?

The duchess. That’s where she was going. She was going to have dinner with the duchess. She reached with her right hand and rubbed her temple. Her hair was still damp. When had she gotten her hair wet? Confusion washed over her as she plodded along. Why were people staring at her strangely?

By the time she reached
Hearthstone Manor, her mind had slowed. Her thoughts were jumbled, her movements clumsy. When she reached the front steps, she stopped and stared up to the top step. How could she possibly make it all the way up there? Turning her head, she noticed a man coming from the stables. Now he was running. In fact, he ran toward her. She stared at him. He was very handsome. She tried to put one foot on the first step, but her feet were not working right. What was wrong with her?
And why would a handsome man run toward me?

Sara
collapsed into the arms of Philip St. James. He tore up the steps, bellowing for his butler. The door swung open and he barked orders at the help as he continued down the hallway.

Philip ra
ced through the door and into the sitting room. He placed Lady Downey on the divan and turned to Stevens.

“Summon the physician,
Stevens, and tell him to hurry.”

Stevens
left and Philip turned to Sara. He froze at her beauty. Her long lashes touched her translucent skin. She smelled like flowers, her scent was intoxicating. His eyes followed the creaminess in her skin down to her rosy lips. He tried to ignore her breasts as he was already hard and didn’t want to make it worse. He reined in his thoughts and reminded himself of her present condition. What was wrong with her?

“Sara?” He jostled her shoulder, but no response
. Why had she passed out? His eyes ran down the length of her right hand to her delicate fingers and then switched to her left hand.

“What the devil?” Philip’s eyes grew as he saw the damage and the bruising to her left hand. He roared again for
Stevens. His mother rushed in.

“Philip, what is the problem? Why are you yellin
g?” Mary St. James stopped in her tracks, taking in the sight in front of her. Philip’s three brothers ran in behind her.

“Dash it, Philip, what have you there?” Adam said with a grin. “What a beauty
. Can I have her?”

“Touch her and you are a dead man!” Philip snarled at his randy brother.

“No need to get nasty. All you have to say is that she is yours,” Graham offered.

“She is not mine, but she is off limits to all of you
,” Philip shouted.

Mary immediately took charge.
“Philip, stop shouting and pick the girl up. Carry her up to one of the guest rooms. Has Stevens sent for the doctor?”

“Yes, I
already spoke to him.” Philip carefully gathered Sara in his arms and headed up the stairs.

“Do you want help?” Ben asked.

“I will take care of her,” Philip said. His mother’s eyebrows raised a notch.

As he settled her on
a chaise in the first guest room, he tucked a blanket carefully around her while his mother fixed the bed.

“What happened, Philip?” She reached for Sara’s left arm to remove her cloak
.“Careful, Mother, be wary of her hand. I don’t know what happened. I was just returning from the lake when I noticed her walking toward the front door. However, her steps were not normal, but cumbersome. I suspect she fainted when I finally reached her.”

Sara’s eyes fluttered open. She
glanced around her and started. “Where am I? What happened? Why am I here?”

She
peered at Philip and his mother as he carried her to the bed.

“I am sorry to bother you. I will go home now. I don’t know what happened.”
Sara’s brow furrowed, and she stared at Philip in confusion.

He
sat on the side of the bed and rubbed her arm as he spoke. “Lady Downey, you are not well enough to go anywhere. You fainted on your way to our front door. Clearly, you are not well. I need to ask you what happened to your hand.” Philip spoke tenderly to Sara. He did not want to frighten her. Obviously, the poor woman had already had a rough day.

Sara glanced down at her hand
with a perplexed look. “My hand, why I don’t…” She closed her eyes and put her head back down into the pillow as she groaned. “No!”

Philip held her right hand in his and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. “Lady Downey, you can trust me. I will help you. Please tell me what happened.”

Sara shook her head as she gazed into his blue eyes.

The duchess
waved her hand in front of her face. “Philip, please go wash. You reek of fish. You must be making the poor girl sick.”

Sara gave Philip a small smile and closed her eyes again.

“It is all right. The smell of fish does not bother me. It reminds me of my father.”

Stevens
appeared at the door. “The physician, Your Grace.”

Philip stood immediately.
“Of course, Dr. Newberry. Come right in. Let me introduce you to Lady Downey. She must have taken a fall or something.” Philip hovered as the doctor approached the bed.

“Lady Downey, it is my pleasure to meet you. That is quite a bruise on your hand, young lady.”

He turned to Philip. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I would like to examine the lady in private. Of course, Duchess, you may stay if you like and if Lady Downey is agreeable.” Dr. Newberry bowed to the dowager.

“Of course, she may stay.”
Sara offered a weak smile.

Mary ushered Philip out the door and whispered, “Go wash up, please.
Fiddle-de-dee, you are rank.”

Philip waited downstairs for Dr. Newberry.
He paced, thinking about all the reasons he should be in the room with Sara and the doctor.

A short time later, Dr. Newberry descended the stairs.

Philip rushed to his side. “Dr. Newberry, what happened? Is she all right?”

“Oh, I expect she will be fine. The lady doesn’t want to talk about what happened. But she has
a broken finger. I suspect it was done intentionally by someone. It has an odd angle to it.”

“What did she tell you?” Philip asked.

“Something about falling down a stairway, catching her fingers on a railing. I don’t believe it myself.” He shook his head, crossing his arms.

“Why did she collapse?” Philip motioned
Dr. Newberry to a chair and asked for tea. His mother followed.

“Probably shock,” Dr. Newberry answered. “Breaking
a finger causes considerable pain, and she did walk all the way from her shop. Frankly, I don’t know how she made it this far. She also bears several bruises on her body. Someone knocked her about pretty well.”

Philip’s blood boiled at the thought of someone beating Sara. He stared at the physician.
“Any idea who?”

“No, and she is not saying. Where is her husband? She is married. Is he not in the picture anymore?”
His gaze went from Philip to Mary St. James.

“Rumor says her husband
is dead. He ran away with their money. I believe he was with my ex-wife.” Philip stopped and stared out the window for a moment.

“Then who would you suspect? Who else has she angered?” Dr. Newberry asked
as he sipped his tea.

“I am afraid I don’t know much about Lady Downey’s life. I only recently met her. She has been making gowns for my sister.”

“Well, try to find out. Someone could cause serious injury to this young lady, and she refuses to get the authorities involved.” Dr. Newberry pointed his finger at him. “She needs some protection in my opinion.”

“Thank you,
Doctor, I will keep that in mind.” Philip said, shifting his hands into his pockets.

Mary
shook her head. “Poor girl.”

“Duchess, I gave her some laudanum. She should sleep for a
while. I would advise bed rest for a couple of days.” He pushed away from the table. “Thanks for the tea, Your Grace.”

“Thank you
for your prompt attention to this matter, Dr. Newberry,” Mary said. Stevens escorted the doctor to the door.