Emily Hendrickson (9 page)

That accomplished, she went about the room to check what else might be done, wishing she could give the place a thorough airing, for the stale atmosphere felt stifling to her, and it must to the invalid as well.

At last there was nothing left to do.

“Rose, I must also tend to Lord Leighton.” The maid glanced with incurious eyes and nodded, accustomed by now to Elizabeth’s ways.

She studied the potion Purvis had ordered her to give Lord Leighton with great misgivings. How could she dare to command his lordship to do anything? Then, recalling that she was responsible for his condition, she squared her shoulders and marched down the hall, bottle and spoon in hand, the ointment for his wound in her apron pocket.

At the last door on the left of the hall, she paused, then gently rapped.

“Enter.”

Taking a deep breath—for she had never in her life gone into a gentleman’s bedroom, except for her brother’s and he didn’t count—Elizabeth gingerly opened the door and peered in. He was alone.

She swallowed carefully, then stepped across the threshold. She was inside. Holding the bottle and spoon before her as though to ward off any demons that might linger in a bachelor’s bedroom, she moved forward.

“What the devil are you doing in my room? Elizabeth, you know you ought not be in here. Out!” he ordered, and not in a kindly manner.

His odious attitude, when she had come to administer medicine to him, and that not her own idea, firmed her resolve. “I have something for you.”

“I have no doubt as to that, sweetheart. But I fear it will have to wait until this arm is better. You see, I’m a bit hampered in my movements.” He gave her a caustic grin.

She knew she must be blushing. And it angered her even more. The dratted man could do it every time— disconcert her into a feminine flutter.

Annoyed, she did what she might not have had the nerve to do ordinarily. She marched to the side of his bed, poured out a spoonful of the “vile stuff,” as he called it, then aimed the spoon at his mouth.

“If you think for a mo—” He was halted mid-speech when the spoon was deftly thrust into his mouth. She poured another and waited.

He glared at her. “You’ll do it again, won’t you? I pity our children.”

Refusing to allow him to overset her again, she nodded. “Right you are. Open wide . . . sir.”

He meekly obeyed, to her surprise. Finished with that task, she pulled the jar of ointment from her apron pocket. “Now to your wound.”

“Hadlow will not like this,” Lord Leighton prophesied.

“Oh, bother Hadlow,” she said crisply, beginning to enjoy her authority in the sickroom. It did have merits after all. She could quite see how Purvis had become such a dictator. She rolled up the cambric sleeve of his nightshirt to a point above the wound, trying to be impersonal in her attentions.

The bandages unwrapped, she sucked in her breath when she saw the wound. While not actually nasty, it was scarcely a pretty thing either. She ignored his probing look and set about gently cleaning off the concoction Hadlow had smeared over the injury, then replacing it with the mixture Purvis stirred up. In minutes she efficiently had his arm neatly wrapped. All that tending to the tenants at Montmorcy Hall had proven beneficial after all. She’d had training of a sort from a master, Purvis.

“Now then, you shall feel more the thing before you know it,” she said as soothingly as she could. Then she recalled where she was and with whom. She took a step back.

He groaned.

Elizabeth immediately dropped the jar of ointment into her apron pocket and rushed to feel his brow. Staring down at his face, the closed lashes, she wondered what had happened. Purvis had not warned her that the “vile stuff” might affect him like this.

Wondering what she ought to do, she stretched out a hand to check his forehead for a fever.

His eyes flashed open. Before she realized what he was about, she found herself pulled down on the bed, falling against his body in a most scandalous way. Worse yet, his good arm snaked about her waist. In a trice she found herself being thoroughly and most adequately kissed. Warm little pulses went dancing up her spine, flittering along her nerves, until she was quite certain she would end up in a spineless heap on the elegant carpet.

Even though he had the full use of but one hand, he appeared to make good use of it, caressing her in delectable ways in improper places. Never had she dreamed anything could feel like this. And this was called love-making, she had no doubt. That seemed a rather prosaic word for such delightful passions.

This was
not
like the kiss at the Fenwicks’ ball. There was no question in her mind he was an expert at this business. And she completely enjoyed being the recipient of his mastery. He smelled delicious, of sandalwood and something spicy. And he felt delicious, firm and muscular and somehow oddly comforting. She didn’t care if she ever left this room.

He withdrew first, to her chagrin. She ought to have fought him, pounded at him, protested in some way, instead of meekly submitting. No, that wasn’t true. She had not submitted. She had enthusiastically cooperated!

His satisfied smile was almost too much to endure.

“You, sirrah, are a cad and a bounder.”

“You forgot scoundrel and rascal, not to mention rake.”

“Those too.”

She hardened her heart at the sight of the lopsided smile, the curl that flopped so endearingly over his forehead. “I had best leave.
Now. “
She slipped from his light clasp, rising to unsteady feet. She positioned the bottle that Purvis had sent on his bedside table, then turned away, hoping to calm her flip-flopping heart to normal.

“No. I want to give you something. Over there on the dresser. See the box? Fetch it ... please?”

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Elizabeth did as bidden, telling herself that if she didn’t, he might suffer a relapse. Returning warily to his side, she held it out to him.

He took the box, opened it, to extract a ring. An incredibly lovely diamond winked up at her from his fingers. A delicate gold setting surrounded it, and it was quite the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.

“You wish me to wear that?” she inquired with a mixture of horror and delight. “I daresay it’s extremely valuable. I do not think I should,” she said with an air of propriety.

“I found out your birthday is in April, and you are most assuredly an innocent. I believe this to be appropriate.” He smiled a trifle grimly, then added, “Your presence here will be more readily accepted if you are seen wearing the family betrothal ring.”

Her heart sank to her toes, although she knew that neither of them wished for the marriage. What a silly fool she was, to think for a moment that something else existed. This man was an experienced rake, a polished man about Town, certainly not interested in unsophisticated girls.

She accepted the ring, surprised to find that it fit her well. “How amazing. It fits.”

His chuckle further unnerved her, and she backed away from his bed, glaring at him, lest she succumb to temptation. The trouble with resisting temptation is that it might not ever come again.

“I shall see you tomorrow?”

And then it might. Elizabeth nodded, totally unable to speak after her outrageous thought. She turned and fled the room, fuming at the feint chuckle that drifted after her.

Back in the earl’s room, she found Rose standing at the foot of his lordship’s bed, studying the man who lay so quietly.

“He be awful still, miss. Not natural-like.”

“I know. I doubt if the tonic Purvis used is supposed to have that effect.” Elizabeth walked closer to the bed, staring down at the earl with a frown pleating her brow.

“Reminds me of the time my brother got too much laudanum, miss. He lay just like that, in a stupor he was.

Elizabeth froze. Could it be possible that someone had drugged his lordship? But why? And who? She shook her head. Most unlikely. And yet, as she watched the spare frame, the barely rising chest, and flaccid countenance, she could not help but wonder.

A glance at the mantel clock revealed it to be time for dinner. She checked the earl’s pulse and forehead, then slowly went from the room, leaving Rose in charge for the time being.

Once outside she encountered Filpot. His hair was neatly parted in the center and dangled about his ears, and his long legs were encased in modest black hose, with everything else he wore also in funereal black. The lanky valet glared at her.

“I shall return later to check on his lordship and give him his tonic. Nothing from the kitchen is to enter this room without my approval.” Elizabeth folded her hands before her, hoping she could manage that quelling look her aunt did so well. “You may close the draperies this evening, but I want them open come morning. I shall be coming in to tend him then.” Giving him a hard stare, Elizabeth calmly walked down the hall, then down the stairs to the ground floor.

Sidthorp stepped forward to offer his assistance.

“Going so soon. Miss Elizabeth?” Egbert emerged from the shadows of the corridor to her left.

“Mr. Percy. No, I remain for the time being.”

“I see.” He made her feel most uneasy, reminding her this was a predominantly male household.

“Come, have a glass of sherry with us. My father wishes to speak with you.”

Recalling David’s suspicions, she agreed, hoping to discover something useful about both of the Percys. Could there actually be someone in this house who wished the earl ill? Dead?

As preposterous as it seemed, she knew the expression “waiting for dead men’s shoes” had valid grounds, and as well, arsenic was not called “inheritance powder” for no reason.

Darting surreptitious glances at Egbert while they walked down the corridor to the drawing room, she wondered about him and his ambitions. Did he desire a title? Wealth? Being a dandy could be vastly expensive. He certainly looked the fop this afternoon with his lilac pantaloons, primrose vest, and pale gray coat.

“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a mocking manner as he ushered her through the drawing room door.

“Sirrah?” She raised what she hoped was an imperious brow at him, reminding him that he took a familiarity not granted.

He shrugged, not seeming the least affected by her words or expression. Apparently quelling took practice.

“Ah, so there you are.” Lord Augustus Percy rose from his chair with a faint creaking of his corset. “Knew you’d come. How’s my brother doing? Better, I hope. Rummy thing, getting poorly like that. Do the ticket, having you to look after him. Yes, sir, do the ticket.”

“Stands to reason. Papa. A pretty girl by one’s bed is sufficient to make one want to get well.” Egbert cocked his head to one side, leering at Elizabeth in such a knowing way that she wondered if he had been in the hall while she attended to Lord Leighton. And kissed him.

“Right, my boy. Did you say m’brother is still among us?” Lord Augustus dropped back into the large high-backed chair near the fireplace, and peered at Elizabeth curiously.

“Yes, sir,” Elizabeth said respectfully.

“Pretty behaved lass.”

It was then Egbert spotted the engagement ring. He sauntered over to pick up her hand, ogling it most odiously, then displayed her hand to his father. “Well, well, dear cuz has not wasted a minute. Trotted out the family ring, no less. I trust you are honored, my dear.”

“I am, indeed, sir.”

“We are practically family. I insist we not stand on formality, and I claim the right to kiss the future bride.” Egbert did more than leer at her, he stepped closer to her side, lifting a hand toward her face.

Elizabeth backed away from him, alarmed by his look of intent. A glance at his father told her to expect no help from that quarter, as the older man wore an amused and quite benevolent smile.

“I thought I told you to keep clear, Egbert,” came a deep voice from the doorway. “Put one hand on Elizabeth, and you will suddenly find yourself in need of a new place to lay your head this evening.”

Elizabeth relaxed. Although the words were spoken in a casual way, there was no mistaking the seriousness of the person who uttered them.

“Are you all right, my sweet?” David walked over to stand close to her. He effectively forced Egbert to retreat, to Elizabeth’s relief.

“Quite. I believe Mr. Percy was merely teasing. It is a trait that must run in the family.” She turned then, and saw at what cost he had come to her rescue. He looked pale, and she could detect the strain in his face.

“I shall join you.” He drew her aside while Egbert replied to comments from Lord Augustus.

“You ought not be out of bed,” she scolded.

“Hadlow informed me that he had seen Egbert, my most detestable cousin, hauling you off to the drawing room. I came to save you from a fate worse than death.” ‘Egbert?” she said, horrified at her escape. ‘Any time spent in his company is regrettable.” ‘I can see there is no love lost between the two of you.”

‘Did you see my father?”

‘Indeed, before I tended to you. If you hadn’t put me so out of countenance, I’d have told you all about it,” she couldn’t resist saying. Then she grew serious. “I gave him the tonic, tossed all the other potions out of the window.” At his amused expression she added, “I first checked to see if someone chanced to be outside.”

“Any observations?”

“Rose made a peculiar comment. She said he reminded her of her brother when he had taken too much laudanum.” Elizabeth studied the viscount, then gently nudged him onto one of the comfortable chairs on the far side of the room.

“Drugged?” He sounded as appalled as he looked. “But who? Or ought I say, which one?” he finished grimly, glancing at his relatives.

“It may simply be his illness. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, you will think of something. Or someone.”

Before she could urge him to take better care of himself, and make a fool of herself by revealing her concern over him, Jeremy Vane entered the room.

“Miss Elizabeth. How charming to see you on this dreary day. I vow, it is like having the sun come out.”

Elizabeth smiled at the modestly attired man, such an agreeable contrast to Egbert.