His head pounded. Rafe lifted his hand, feeling the gauze bandage wrapped around his forehead, low over his brow. His eyes felt puffy to his fingertips and the sting caused him to immediately drop his hand. He heard the wind howling around the corner of the room and the rain hitting the windows.

Ms. Bellamy had left the room after telling him she was taking the empty tea cups back to the kitchen. Ms. Bellamy…Eleanor…the owner? My employer? Miss Ethel had described her as a shut-in, so he assumed she was elderly as well.

Her voice was soft…melodious, in fact, and he wished he could see her face. Was she the person who had been singing? They could just be related, and Ms. Bellamy, Eleanor, has a young voice. Of all the stupid, dumb luck…I finally meet her and I can’t see her. Hearing a noise, he turned toward the sound, wincing as pain sliced through his head. Soft footsteps, a little unsteady came to him. Did he detect a limp?

“Please, be careful,” Eleanor warned, dropping to his side.

“How bad is the storm?” he asked, his mind clearer now.

“Before the electricity went out, the weatherman said that the nor’easter was bringing heavy rains and wind gusts up to sixty miles an hour. Plus, there’s the possibility of tornados spinning off…”

“Jesus, we just had a storm,” he groused.

“I know. The weatherman also talked about unusual weather patterns…or something like that, causing all kinds of unpredictable storms.”

Heaving a great sigh, he said, “Ms. Bellamy, I am so sorry. Fuckin’ hell—uh…I’m mean—”

“It’s fine. You can curse. To be honest, with all that’s happened this morning, I think that cursing is probably the most appropriate response.”

He grinned, appreciating her acceptance. “Well, Ms. Bellamy, I do apologize for everything that’s happened. I can’t believe that what started as a simple trimming has turned into such a disaster.”

“Under the circumstances, I think you should call me Eleanor.”

Lifting his hand toward her voice, he said, “Nice to meet you, Eleanor. I’m Rafe.”

She placed her hand in his, startling as warmth radiated from his fingers to hers. “I’m sorry that this happened to you…I know you were just trying to make the terrace safe for me. I feel terrible that—”

“No, no. It’s my job…not your fault at all.”

Silence fell between them and, with his eyes out of commission, he found his other senses alert. The wind whistling through the chimney, the crackling of the fire, the warmth of the blanket cocoon he was wrapped in, the feel of her soft hand in his, the sound of her voice as it curled around him, offering comfort. He began to feel woozy. The pain medicine was working, but also making him sleepy.

“Rafe,” she said, her voice close to his face. “You need to rest. I’ll be right here in case you need something, but go ahead and fall asleep.”

He felt her gentle breath wash across his face and wanted to stay awake, if only to hear her voice more. But the warm nest he was cradled in made it hard to resist the call of slumber. “I’ll just rest a minute,” he mumbled, just before he drifted away.

* * *

Kneeling by his side, Eleanor reached out her hand, her fingers shaking as she lightly brushed his dark hair back. His forehead felt cool to the touch and he had been able to move all his limbs, so she felt relatively sure there was no spinal damage. The room was dark, the storm clouds hiding the sun. She studied his face, illuminated by only the flames of the fire. Square jaw, dark stubble of beard. Firm brow, now hidden by the gauze bandage. He was handsome…rugged…all male. A man who oozed testosterone.

He was the vision of a man who would look devastating in a tuxedo or at the head of a table in a boardroom. And yet, as she thought of him working on the grounds for the past weeks, dressed in a t-shirt or flannel and jeans, he was also the kind of man who did not mind getting his hands dirty.

Her father had been such a man. Born to wealth, his parents had still taught him the value of hard work. He had spent time with the estate’s groundskeeper growing up, had learned to cook from the housekeeper. He had served in the Navy, after college, before taking over in the family business. As a little girl, she remembered seeing him escorting her mother to an event, looking ruggedly handsome and thinking he outshone every man in the room. A prince of a man…

She blinked away her fanciful musings as she looked down at Rafe. Her eyes drifted to his blanket-wrapped body. It had been impossible to ignore the muscles in his chest and abs when she took off his shirt. Or the muscles in his arms. Or his thighs. Lifting her heated gaze, she shifted on the floor. I’m such a fool. He’s just a man…an injured man and, God knows, I’ve seen plenty of those.

As he slept, she stood and walked back into the kitchen, her limp more pronounced from her earlier physical activity, opening the refrigerator to see what Sally might have left for her to fix. Finding homemade beef stew in a container in the freezer, she pulled it out. After thawing it in the microwave, she put it in a pot on the stove, figuring Rafe would be hungry when he awoke. Once bubbling, she turned the stove off, letting the fragrant meal simmer until they were ready to eat.

Moving to the bathroom, she looked into the mirror, stunned at her appearance. Her normally sleek hair was waving wildly over her shoulders, having dried from the storm-induced shower. Her pale complexion was now accompanied by pink-tinged cheeks from the exertion of the morning’s activities. Turning her head slightly, she grimaced at the sight.

Running a brush through her hair, she tamed it slightly before halting, her ears perked as she heard a noise. She dropped the brush, hustling into the study, but Rafe must have been moaning in his sleep.

With nothing else to do, she settled back on the floor, near the fire, and opened the book she had been reading. Placing one hand on his, she began to read, her voice gentle against the raging storm.

* * *

The wind howled and the rain hit his body, each drop stinging. The black night closed in around him, the moon not able to pierce the darkness. The forest closed in around him, branches reaching out to snag his clothing as the roots rose to trip him.

He was running but, directionless, could not tell where he was going. The fierceness of the storm was upon him and, looking over his shoulder, growling wolves were giving chase, their sharp fangs snapping at his heels. Whipping his head back to the front, he swiped the rain from his eyes. A castle, dark and looming, came into sight, light glowing in a single window. He was not afraid of what lie in wait for him inside, only knowing he needed to reach the safety of the castle.

Dodging back and forth between the trees, he prayed his legs would carry him to the castle wall before the wolves reached him. A tall tree stood near the closed gate and with a heroic effort he leaped into the air, his hands closing around the lowest branch. Swinging his body upward, he clung to the tree feeling the wolves snarling just below. Scaling up several more branches until he came to the top of the wall, he hurled himself onto the stone, the wolves now at bay. Dropping down the other side, he leaned against the wall, his breaths coming in great gulps.

The castle loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. Walking closer, he moved stealthily, wondering if friend or foe resided inside.

As he neared, he stopped suddenly, the sound of a piano halting his feet. The beautiful music continued, guiding him forward out of the darkness. Suddenly, the sound of snarling resumed and looking over his shoulder he spied a lone wolf had made it to the top of the wall.

Running toward the front door of the castle, he threw himself against the wood, landing inside on the stone floor, kicking the mighty oak door closed behind him and shutting out the frustrated roar of the thwarted animal. Lying still, heart pounding, the sound of music, louder now, met his ears.

Standing, he moved toward the sound but as he entered the room, the music stopped. The stone walls were covered in tapestries and thick rugs kept the cold floors warm. Moving further into the room, he walked past the furniture, heading toward the stone fireplace, the blazing logs sending out warmth. A pile of blankets lay nearby and he fell onto them, pulling the top one over his shivering body.

The music began again and he fell into a deep sleep, the soft sounds of a woman’s voice lingering in his ears as the soft touch of her hand rested on his.

* * *

Sleep eased away as the words became more focused. A woman…Eleanor…was reading. Lying still, he assumed she did not know he was awake as her voice continued steadily. Her reading voice was as beautiful as her singing, because he was pretty sure that was her singing, and the sound pulled him in as the words swirled around him.

He tried to understand how such a young woman was a shut-in. She seemed able. He remembered seeing the back of her on the terrace the other day. Her body was straight, with no obvious impairment. She had managed to drag his large body out of the storm and into the warmth by the fireplace. Where did she get that strength? She had assessed his wounds as well, dressing them. How did she gain that knowledge? She was, even now, taking charge, sitting with her hand on his.

Bellamy House. He realized he could have investigated the history of the mansion with an Internet search but, he had felt no need to. He was just there for the landscaping.

She continued to read, her dulcet voice reaching deep inside of him.

“I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.” 

He recognized the book—Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Live alone…is that what’s she’s doing? He thought of how he had been living alone in the cottage for the past weeks, little contact with the outside world, and how restful it had been. So much more than the flash of the cameras, the plastic bodies in the plastic world. As he lay, warm and safe with the storm raging and the wind howling outside, he felt at peace, a feeling he had not felt in many years…if ever. Certainly not in the Army or in the modeling world. Had I sold my sold my soul to buy bliss? he wondered.