Undressed by the Earl (32 page)

His little girl was dying.

Though David tried to put on a brave face and behave as if she was going to get better, he sensed the truth—that Christine would follow in her mother’s footsteps. But God help him, he didn’t know how he could face this again.

She was just a girl, hardly more than eleven. Her entire life should have been ahead of her, a pathway leading toward a happy future. Instead, he looked upon her face and saw the dark shadow of death.

“Why did you send Amelia away?” Christine asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought you weren’t getting along with her,” he said. He switched to her other leg, gently bending the knee.

“I like her better now,” Christine said. “She gave me a desk and some paper and pens for my writing.”

“Your writing?” He’d had no idea that she enjoyed writing stories.

Christine nodded. “I never told her, but she guessed.”

His daughter had never told him, either, David realized. “Amelia does seem to know many things.”

“I have my own space in the attic now, and the window looks out over the grounds. There’s even a widow’s walk on the roof.” There was a yearning in her voice, as if she’d guessed that she might never go up there again.

“It sounds nice.” He switched to her hand, bending the wrist back and forth. “Can you bend your elbow?”

Christine tried, but she only managed to lift her arm a little. “Not really.”

He continued to work with her other wrist and fingers, and she fell silent. He wanted to converse with her, to say something that would lift her spirits and make her feel better. Inside, all he could feel was rage that something like this could happen to a child. He wanted to lash out at the illness that was stealing her away from him.
Please let there be a medicine that will cure her.

But he was afraid to let himself hope.

When Dr. Fraser returned, his wife and daughter were with him. David’s first reaction was to send them away, but he saw that Christine was interested in the three-year-old girl who beamed at her. The child was dressed in pink, with matching ribbons in her plaits, and she held a tiny reticule.

“I brought Grace for a moment,” Lady Falsham explained. “She wanted to cheer up your daughter.”

David wasn’t certain it would work, but he supposed there was no harm in it. “For a little while.”

“Do you want to play?” the girl asked, climbing up on the bed beside Christine. “I could play with you.”

“I can’t play very well,” Christine apologized. “I’m sick, and my legs won’t move.”

“You don’t have to move.” The little girl held up her reticule. “I’m going to brush your hair.”

The wry smile on his daughter’s face suggested that she didn’t think Grace could do very much, but she allowed it.

In that moment, while the child was happily chattering nonsense to Christine, David froze. Seeing the two of them together was like the memory of when Christine had climbed to her mother’s bedside on the day Katherine had died.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. “Forgive me,” David said, pushing his way out of the sickroom. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He needed air, to escape the stifling atmosphere of hopelessness. Outside, the weather had turned cloudy, and he hardly cared. Ignoring the servants, he pushed his way out the front door, heedless of the impending storm.

“David!” He heard Amelia calling out to him, but he didn’t turn to face her. Sympathy wasn’t what he needed right now. He needed to escape all of it, to be alone where he could regain the rigid control over his emotions.

He kept his pace swift, striding down the gravel driveway and toward the open moors. The wind slashed at his face, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the physical punishment, reveling in the prelude to a rainstorm.

Amelia would follow him, he suspected. But when he glanced behind him, he saw that she’d stopped at the front door. Good. The reckless anger coursed inside him, and he would offend anyone who tried to talk with him now.

The rain began to spatter against him, and he kept walking, letting it soak through his clothing. He didn’t care about it at all. Right now, he wished he’d never left Castledon. If another doctor had seen Christine sooner, she might not be suffering this badly.

It was irrational to blame Amelia, for she’d sent for two doctors. But he couldn’t stop his wayward mind from wondering if she’d done everything possible to help Christine.

Ahead, he spied an abandoned cottage that had once belonged to his gamekeeper. It would offer solitude and a brief shelter from the storm. He went inside, shivering from the cold. A sensible man would start a fire in the hearth, but instead he sat down on a wooden stool and stared at the chimney stones.

He didn’t want to go through this again. It had taken years to get over the pain of losing Katherine, and Amelia ought to have a better husband than him. He never should have married her.

Upon a low wooden shelf, he spied a chipped plate. Without thinking, he picked it up, his thumb grazing the edge. Then he threw it against the hearth, watching it shatter like the pieces of his life.

And with that, his thread of sanity broke.

David picked up the stool he’d been sitting on and slammed it against the chimney, watching as it splintered and fell against the stones. The need to destroy, to release all the violent rage, was visceral. He broke every piece of pottery he could find, letting the mindless destruction offer its own peace.

When he turned and saw Amelia standing in the doorway, he didn’t care what she thought of him. The tiny one-room cottage was destroyed, full of broken glass and fragments of furniture.

“This is who you married,” he told her. “And if I lose my daughter to death, you need to leave me.”

She said nothing but took a step forward and closed the door behind her. From beneath her cloak, she withdrew a woolen blanket that she’d taken from the house. He guessed she’d brought it to help warm him from the storm.

But the ice inside of him could not be warmed.

“Stay back,” he warned her. “I’m not safe to be around right now.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “And I know why you’re angry. You’ve a right to be.” She continued walking toward him, and he stood his ground amid the broken pieces.

“I don’t need pity right now.”

“I didn’t come here for that.” She reached out and put the blanket around his shoulders. “I came because you need someone right now.” Then she rested her face against his heart and put her arms around his waist.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The soft scent of her hair and the touch of her body against his were an offering he didn’t want to deny.

“I care about her, too,” she said. “And I refuse to believe that she’ll die.”

He took her hands away from his waist, holding her wrists. “I’ve seen it happen before, Amelia. And this is exactly what death looks like.”

Her green eyes filled with hurt, but she stared back at him. “We can’t lose hope.”

“I lost hope six years ago.”

“Don’t push me away, David,” she said quietly. “I may not be the woman you wanted. But I love you, and I won’t walk away when you need me.”

He relaxed his grip, tensing even more at her words. “You don’t love me, Amelia.”

“I know that your pain is mine. I see what you’re enduring, and I need to help you.”

“Unless you can stop her from dying, there’s nothing you can do.”

She startled him when she rose up on tiptoe and drew his mouth down to hers. It wasn’t the kiss of a young woman trying to flirt or gain his attention. Instead, it was the desperate touch of a wife hurting from his rejection. He tasted the rain from her mouth, and when she began to remove his sodden jacket, he stopped her. “You didn’t come here for this.”

But her face held seriousness. “I came to comfort you. In whatever way you need me.”

It was a way of forgetting about the horror of his daughter’s illness; he understood that. And yet, he couldn’t touch her. Not now, not like this.

“Go back home,” he told her, lifting the blanket around her shoulders. “I’ll follow shortly.”

When she returned to the door, he caught a glimpse of the heartache on her face, which made him feel even lower. Before she could venture out into the rain, he caught her hand and drew her in for a soft kiss. “You don’t deserve a husband like me, Amelia.”

“No,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around him, “but know that I am here.”

Impatience plagued Brandon Carlisle when his coach arrived at the Falsham estate near Edinburgh. His opportunity was here, after so many years.

He reached inside his coat, feeling the heavy pistol that he’d brought with him. This weapon was already loaded, and he had another in the opposite side. Or, if the occasion required it, he also had a small blade with which he could cut Paul Fraser’s throat.

He smiled, imagining the man’s sightless eyes.

“You will go now,” he told Sarah. “Tell them you’ve come to pay a call upon Lady Falsham.” Juliette would be distracted by his sister, and when Brandon came for Sarah, the servants would not dare turn him away.

His sister was trembling, especially when Richardson came up behind her. Fear, in a woman, was something to be encouraged. Sarah had been given too much freedom over the years, and he didn’t want her making decisions.

“Brandon, this will never work. Lady Falsham hardly knows me, but she does know that I am your sister.”

“Tell her you’ve come to warn her,” he added. Even better. He liked the idea of instilling fear in Juliette. Because of her and her husband, Brandon had spent the past four years chained in an asylum. His mind had been lost, sedated, and caught in its own silent prison. Now he wanted vengeance for what had been done to him.

He didn’t want Juliette anymore. No, he wanted her to watch while he killed the people she loved. First her husband. Then her sisters and parents.

And last, her daughter.

Brandon smiled as he remained within the carriage. He’d waited four years for this, and he relished the idea of making Juliette endure everything he’d suffered.

But his sister returned entirely too soon. There was a blend of relief and anxiety on her face. Even Richardson appeared grim when he allowed her to enter the carriage first.

“They aren’t there,” she said in a rush. “They left a day ago.”

“Where?” he demanded.

“I don’t know—” she started, but was cut off by Richardson.

“Castledon.” The man met Brandon’s gaze. “She went with Lord Falsham to visit her sister Amelia, who lives at Castledon, a few days south of here, near Yorkshire.”

“Did she?” It was better than he’d hoped for, for he could then kill her youngest sister.

Sarah paled. “You
are
mad,” she whispered. “And you feel no remorse for what you’re about to do.”

“None whatsoever,” he agreed. “They took everything from me. It’s time they paid the price for it.”

Brandon ordered the driver to travel south, toward Castledon. It didn’t matter to him that it would take days to arrive. He wanted vengeance, to kill those who had taken his life from him.

As far as he was concerned, the consequences didn’t matter. So long as the Andrews family was dead, he would be satisfied.

Amelia’s gown was soaked from the rain, but the chill she felt had nothing to do with the cool weather. She tried to untie her bonnet, but the ribbons were knotted, and her hands were shaking.

She found her sister waiting for her in the parlor. Juliette stood, her face filled with worry. “Are you—is the earl—all right?”

Amelia nodded but couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Where is he now?” her sister prompted.

“At the gamekeeper’s cottage. He n-needed a moment alone.”

“And so do you.” Juliette took her by the hand. “Show me where your bedchamber is.”

Amelia started to walk up the stairs, her tears falling down her cheeks. This day had been the worst of all. Though she’d known David would be devastated, as she was, she wouldn’t let herself believe that Christine could die. But he seemed so certain of it.

When they were alone, Juliette pulled her into a hug. “Don’t cry, Amelia. Paul will find out what’s wrong with Christine, and he’ll do everything he can to make her better.”