Page 1 of A Tempting Maid for the Beastly Duke
Chapter 1
The door to Rose Browning’s home suddenly burst open, and a boy who was a friend of her brother’s appeared with a bloody gash on the back of his neck, his hand pressing on it. It happened so swiftly that Rose thought she had dreamt it all a long time ago and was now only remembering that dream.
“Please,” he said with apprehension, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. That was enough to pull her back into the present moment and remind her of what she needed to do. “I need some help.”
“Goodness me!” She got up from her seat, dropping the clothes she was just holding in her hands that had been brought for mending. She had broken out of the frozen state she found himself at the moment he burst in through the door. “What on earth happened?”
“Sit down, lad,” Cora Roberts, Rose’s aunt, addressed the boy, pointing at a nearby chair. She took control of the situation, as always. “I’ll fetch the basin of water and some clean cloths. Take a look at the wound, Rose.”
Rose did as she was told, expecting something far more severe, so she was relieved to see that it was just a surface scratch. Working together, Rose and her aunt proceeded to clean the wound, murmuring reassuring words to keep the boy calm.
“Take deep breaths,” Rose said soothingly, as her aunt was preparing a poultice with herbs known for their healing properties. That was always the most unpleasant part, putting the poultice on, although that was also the most helpful part. “It’s going to be all right. It is just a minor scratch.”
“I barely feel it at all,” the boy said, although Rose could see him flinching and blinking during the process. Of course, a boy his age would never admit that he was in pain, even if his life depended on it. That was at least how Rose’s own brother was. Protective and loyal, he would rather cut off one of his own fingers than have Rose miss a single hair off her head. Being the older one, she considered herself the protector, but as he grew older, he was slowly starting to take on that role without even asking her what she thought of it.
Rose smiled. “I know you are a brave young man. My brother has always told me so when he spoke of you.” She made sure not to use the word boy. Her brother didn’t like it, so she was certain that his friends didn’t like it either.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Indeed,” Rose assured him. “He’d always say that Timothy is one of my bravest friends.”
The boy seemed to ponder those words for a few moments, then he smiled. “I am the fastest one. I’m not sure about being the bravest, though.”
At that moment, Rose’s aunt approached with the poultice, which they placed gently on the wound, bandaging it securely.
“There we go,” Rose smiled. “All done.”
“Too bad our work has only begun,” Cora frowned, returning the remainder of the poultice to the shelf in the corner of the room. Without any further words, she returned to the clothes that had been brought for mending and started to separate them into piles.
Rose decided to stay with Timothy for the time being and see what happened that resulted in such a nasty gash in such an unfortunate place.
“So, do you want to tell me what happened?” Rose wondered, as she went to the stove and poured some hot milk for the boy, without even asking him if he wanted any.
Her younger brother, Henry, loved warm milk. When he was upset over something, she would make it for him and watch his nervousness dissipate. She could only hope that it would have the same effect on Timothy. With her back turned to him whileshe poured the warm liquid, she didn’t hear him say anything. A part of her knew it would be so. Usually, getting hurt meant that the boys were doing something they weren’t supposed to have been doing. In other words, causing mischief. And she didn’t want her brother causing mischief. They already had enough troubles as it was.
She turned to him with a reassuring smile, offering him the cup. His eyes glanced at the cup, then at her. A moment later, he grabbed it, bringing it to his lips and taking several small, satisfying sips. Rose listened to him click his lips with pleasure, then she asked again.
“Where were you when you got hurt?” she wondered softly. She didn’t want to frighten him or to make I’m think that he was in any sort of trouble. That would only make him clam up on her, and she would never find out what happened and whether Henry was involved.
“In the village,” Timothy replied, hiding most of his face from her gaze behind the cup, but his eyes stared at her with that same apprehension. He knew that the truth would get him in trouble.
“Where in the village?” she inquired.
“Around,” he replied evasively.
She sighed, looking at him. “You know, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.” She paused for a moment, then shecontinued. “When your mother asks me what happened, and you know she will, I will have to tell her that I don’t know, that you refused to tell me the truth and that will only make things even worse. But if you tell me the truth, then I can reassure her. I am on your side here, Timothy, just like I’m on Henry’s. Because he was with you when this happened, wasn’t he?”
Timothy swallowed heavily, placing the cup on the table before him.
“Yes,” he acquiesced.
“And you weren’t in the village, were you?” she asked again.
“No,” he admitted.
“Where were you then?”
He hesitated, but then realized that she was right. Withholding the truth would only make things worse, as she had been trying to teach Henry, but without much success. She reminded herself that he was just a boy still, only fourteen years of age, even though he liked to think himself a man already.
