An Impossible Confession by Sandra Heath Read Free Book Online Page A

descended to the courtyard, and Helen ran to him. ‘There is a man there, my lord, and he’s forcing himself upon the maid. I saw it all, truly I did!’
    He put out a hand to stop her. ‘Go back to the steps, Mrs Brown, this is no place for—’ He said no more, for at that moment the terrified maid managed to cry out.
    ‘Help me! Please! ’
    The coachman relaxed his grip and she tore herself free. Bruised and battered, her bodice torn, she ran weeping toward Helen, who drew her to the foot of the steps, well away from the coachman, who’d emerged at last, revealing by his staggering gait that he was dangerously in drink.
    He had no intention of surrendering without a fight, and with sudden agility darted to one side to snatch up a pitch-fork that rested against the wall. Helen stifled a cry as the sharp prongs were stabbed viciously toward Lord Drummond, coming within inches of their target.
    Lord Drummond’s agility was more than a match. He moved nimbly back, circling as his huge opponent kept jabbing the pitchfork at him without success.
    Helen held the sobbing maid, who was so distraught that she knew nothing of the drama behind her. Mary stood nearby, her eyes huge with fear as she watched the two men.
    Lord Drummond moved tantalizingly close, inviting another lunge, and the coachman obliged, stabbing the pitchfork wildly at him and missing. Again and again this happened, with Lord Drummond moving easily back out of reach. The coachman became enraged, thrusting forward far too violently at last and losing his balance. It was the moment Lord Drummond had been waiting for, and as the drunken man stumbled forward he moved in, felling him completely with a single blow to the jaw. The pitchfork clattered to the cobbles and the coachman lay senseless where he fell.
    For a moment Helen closed her eyes with unutterable relief, but then she turned as the kitchen door opened again and the fat cook came out to belatedly usher the weeping maid to safety. Helen caught the woman’s eye accusingly.
    Faces were now gazing down from the gallery, faces that were much the worse for wear and belonged to the dinner revelers. A trio of stagecoach passengers were together near the top of the steps, gazing down in consternation as they saw Lord Drummond crouch by their coachman for a moment before ordering some ostlers, who’d appeared from the stables, to drag the unconscious man away and lock him up somewhere in readiness for a visitation from the constables.
    The faces withdrew from the gallery as Lord Drummond approached Helen, his glance taking in her disheveled hair and the way her muslin wrap outlined her figure. ‘So, we meet again after all, Mrs Brown,’ he said softly.
    ‘Do – do you always make such dramatic appearances on the scene, sir?’ she inquired, managing to somehow inject a note of lightness into her voice.
    ‘I’m afraid I’m a very vain St George, always ready to demonstrate my peerless qualities as a rescuer of damsels in distress,’ he replied, smiling, but then became more serious. ‘It seems I must ask you yet again if you’re all right?’
    ‘Yes, thank you. Are you?’
    ‘I had little enough to do – it’s simple enough to keep out of the way of a man who’s completely in drink.’
    ‘You were the only one brave enough to go to the rescue.’
    ‘Not quite, for you showed remarkable courage yourself.’
    ‘Me? But I did nothing.’
    ‘Which is why you’re down here, and not safely up on the gallery or even still in your room?’ He smiled. ‘We can both take a bow, I think.’
    She suddenly remembered she was in her undress, and lowered her eyes in some embarrassment. ‘You probably think me very indiscreet.’
    ‘Indiscreet?’ There was a touch of humor in his voice. ‘Why on earth should I think that?’
    ‘Because I’m staying in this place, because I so readily accepted your invitation to dinner, and because I’ve now appeared in public in my undress.’ She couldn’t meet