She shielded the parts of her soul that could still be hurt and made herself a weapon. The only weapon she had.

As she slumped beside Caleb in his car, she forced herself to focus on her pounding head and let her body become perfectly limp, noticing that her neckline was riding low and that her hair was slipping out of her braid.

All of that was good. All of that was necessary.

She was starting to rehearse her next steps when she felt her belly start to churn in a frightening way.

She straightened her back a little and took long, deep breaths—praying that she wouldn’t throw up in the lush interior of Caleb’s Mercedes. It might drive home the reality of her weakness, but it wasn’t exactly sexy.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his eyes darting over to her.

She’d had her eyes closed for most of the drive, but now she looked over at his handsome face in the dim light. “Yeah,” she breathed, hoping she was speaking the truth.

“You need me to pull over?”

“No,” she replied weakly, relieved when the wave of nausea passed. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head, as if he were annoyed by something.

She didn’t know what it was, but it angered her that anything so minor she might have done would have annoyed him. Him. As if he had a right to be annoyed with anyone else in the world.

When Caleb pulled up in front of a big house on sprawling grounds, she let him help her out of the car. He’d taken her to his palatial estate outside the city instead of to his downtown apartment, but she didn’t know why he’d made the choice.

She didn’t struggle when he swung her up once more in his arms. She even let her head loll against his shoulder, although the pleasant, male scent of him was as troubling as any blow to the head.

She heard him talking to someone, but by this time she was having trouble focusing on anything at all. Caleb said something about a doctor and she didn’t object.

The doctor would only verify that she had indeed been injured.

Caleb carried her into a guest room, laid her down on a bed, and pulled off her shoes.

But Kelly groggily rolled away from him when she felt his hands on her dress. “No.”

Her reluctance was not part of the plan, but there was no way she could let him undress her like this, not when she was so completely helpless.

Caleb pulled his hand away. “That dress can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

She could barely keep her eyes open, but—through the slits between her mostly closed eyelids—she saw Caleb shake his head again in frustration and then leave her to the mercy of a woman who must be a housekeeper.

Soon the doctor came and left, pronouncing her with a mild concussion—nothing serious—and saying she should be woken up a few times during the night to make sure she was all right and that she should rest for the next couple of days. Next, the housekeeper came in with a T-shirt for Kelly to wear instead of her dress. And then finally, blessedly, she was allowed to sleep.

She needed her wits about her to face Caleb again, and that wasn’t going to be possible until she got some sleep.

—

She slept better than she would have expected, considering the circumstances, had woken only when the housekeeper came in to check on her every couple of hours. It was starting to get light outside the next morning when the door opened again, and the woman came in with a tray.

As Kelly shifted under the thick, soft covers and started to wake up, her first conscious thought was that she still had a raging headache.

Her second thought was that there must be coffee on that tray.

She mumbled something incoherent when the room got suddenly lighter. Blinking, she realized that the housekeeper had pulled open the curtains.

“I’m sorry, miss. Would you rather I keep them closed?”

“No.” Kelly was expecting Caleb at any minute, and she’d be far more prepared for the conversation if fully awake. “It’s fine.”

The woman smiled in her direction, poured Kelly a cup of the fragrant coffee, and brought it over to set it on the nightstand. “Mr. Marshall said he wanted to talk to you for a few minutes before he leaves for work.”

Of course he did. That was why Kelly was getting woken up like this.

Kelly propped herself into a sitting position against her thick pillows. “That’s fine. I know he needs to leave early. He has to work pretty hard, I guess,” she said, partly to make conversation and partly to see if the housekeeper had a tendency to gossip.

Shaking her head disapprovingly, the woman said, “He works every day, the stubborn boy. Even Sundays. I tell him to get more rest and take some time to restore himself, but he just smiles and ignores me. Works himself into a stupor. Poor dear.”

Kelly tried not to snort at anyone calling Caleb Marshall a poor dear. “Thank you,” she said, gesturing to the mug she was holding. “I’m not used to this kind of treatment.”

The housekeeper smiled. “Not many of us are.” She studied Kelly intently, in a way that Kelly found a little unsettling. “That bruise isn’t as bad as I thought.”

Kelly raised her fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone. She’d almost forgotten about it. A reminder of how many things could go wrong.

Smiling sympathetically, the housekeeper went on. “Poor thing. You have had a rough time, haven’t you?”

After blinking in surprise at what appeared to be genuine kindness from this woman who was a stranger to her, Kelly suppressed an ironic smile. The housekeeper was like a character from a schmaltzy novel. All she needed was some knitting and a cat.

“You should visit the dog.”

Kelly blinked again. “The dog?”

“The shepherd,” the woman explained. “Ralph. Mr. Marshall’s dog. He hangs out in the stables most of the time during the day. Dogs put things in perspective.”

Kelly managed to smile and thank the woman for this bizarre invitation. Even if it were true, Kelly couldn’t risk putting things into perspective, or her whole revenge plan might tumble down around her feet.

The woman took a step over and patted Kelly’s hand, which was lying on the thick coverlet. “Mr. Marshall will be here soon. I’m Breah. Just let me know if you need anything. A long rest will be good for you. You look too worn out. Take a walk. Take a nap. And don’t forget to visit the dog.”

When Breah left, Kelly managed to drink most of her cup of coffee. She was feeling pretty crappy, but at least the nausea and dizziness seemed to have passed.

It would be wise to make herself look somewhat appealing when Caleb stopped by.

No way could she be sexy or beautiful this morning, but a wan, rumpled sleepiness could have its own allure.

She sat up all the way and decided her head could stand a quick trip to the bathroom. So she stumbled over to the adjoining bathroom, used it as quickly as she could, then washed her hands and splashed some water on her face.

Bringing her hands up, she worked some on her hair. It was still in the braid she’d been wearing last night, so she patted down the lumps and stray frizzes, and then pulled a few more strands loose, softening her face. The slight bruise under her eye emphasized her pale skin and made her appear more wounded and helpless.

The oversized T-shirt she wore swallowed her body, but there was nothing to do about that now.

When she returned to the bed, she arranged the covers so they looked even more mussed. And then she poured herself another cup of coffee.

She’d just arranged herself as best she could, pulling the large T-shirt to one side to expose as much of her shoulder as she could and efficiently rubbing her nipples until they peaked—she did so under the covers in case there was a security camera somewhere in the room—when there was a light tap on the door.

“What?” she called out. She was getting nervous, so her voice hadn’t sounded very welcoming. In fact, it sounded rather grumpy.