Chapter 23
T
he pain rendered the world a red hazy mist when he rolled over.
Bloody hell
.
If it hadn’t been for the need for the chamber pot, Christopher might have stayed in bed longer, but it was midmorning by the slant of the sun, he definitely did need to relieve himself, and the fuzzy reality of what had happened was beginning to right itself in his mind.
Angelina. Beautiful and gracious at dinner, lighter than he’d ever known her
. . .
in the garden . . . Her breasts had been soft and warm in his hands, her head tipped backward, his cock deep inside her heat and tightness as they moved together
. . .
It had been like an erotic dream, until everything had suddenly gone wrong.
Angelina.
His shoulder throbbing, he hauled himself to his feet with a low groan, bracing one arm on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
The horrified question at least resolved his worst concern. He glanced at the doorway, saw the infamous Lady DeBrooke holding a tray like a serving wench, and managed a laugh. “Not to put too fine a point on it, I need to piss.”
If there was an argument for that, she didn’t seem to be able to think of one so he navigated to the screen in the corner, took care of his discomfort, and splashed his hands in the washbasin, dousing his face for good measure, though his movements were awkward with the spiking pain in his injured shoulder.
There was no denying it; it hurt like the very devil, just as Heathton had predicted.
The tray, he discovered when he emerged from behind the screen, held coffee, scones, some cheese, and a dish of stewed apples. Angelina gazed at him in open concern. “The physician came by, but you were sleeping and he seemed to think that was a good sign, so he will call again later to change your dressing. In the meantime, I am supposed to make sure you eat well and are comfortable.”
“I rather like the sound of that.” He might have attempted a theatrical leer, but he had to admit he was in too much pain. Easing back into bed, he took in a deep breath.
“I’m a hopeless nurse.” Clad in a day gown of a light violet color, Angelina, her face strained with worry, sank down beside him and touched his forehead. “You do seem cool enough, though. It seems fever is what we should worry over.”
“I feel confident your dazzling presence will keep any infection at bay.” He captured her hand and kissed her palm. “Besides, the physician, young though he might be, seemed to know what he was about last night. I’m not overly worried. Where’s Heathton?”
“Looking for the missing guard.”
“No sign still?”
She poured him coffee, the beverage steaming and fragrant. “As far as I know, I’m afraid not.”
He lifted the cup with his good hand, his gaze watchful. “How do you feel this morning?”
There was evident unhappiness in her silver eyes. “I . . . I don’t know. Vindicated to a certain extent, which might sound barbaric, but it is true. I worried all along something might happen to you because of me. I wish it hadn’t, but at least I wasn’t being pessimistic for no reason. I despise you came to harm, but I wasn’t imagining the danger. And for now at least, you’ve escaped with your life.”
“You’ve lived entirely too long with no one believing you,” he murmured, the evidence she had been correct throbbing in his shoulder.
“But you did.” Her hand lifted and she lightly touched his bare chest, her beautiful face holding a poignant expression. “I have to say that when I look at it from a pragmatic point of view, either way you were risking your life. Was I the Dark Angel I have been called, mercilessly killing my husbands, or else was the rumor false, the danger lying elsewhere? You are a brave man.”
Or one hopelessly in love.
“You are hardly a dark angel.” A
dark-haired angel
maybe with her long, glossy tresses and feminine features, but there was nothing of the underworld about her. Instead, she was earth and sky and warm breezes . . .
He valued her above anything else. She was his life, not his death.
“Angelina,” he said earnestly, “from the moment I met you, I knew you were like no one else. Don’t you see, what happened last night was actually a blessing, though I do admit it doesn’t feel much like one right now.” His smile was rueful.
“How can you even say that?”
“We have flushed him from his hedgerow or he would never have used such a blatant method of attack. I like the idea he is nervous enough to be so obvious.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“But he didn’t succeed and Heathton seems quite determined and competent to me. Who steered you in his direction?”
She hesitated, and then apparently made a decision. “I am not supposed to tell anyone, but it is a friend of my father. He was not very happy with how my family has treated me and wondered if the earl might be able to help. Had I not met you, I would not have bothered and just stayed secluded in the countryside.”
“How fortuitous that he interfered.”
“Indeed.” Her gaze softened.
He loved it when she looked at him that way, as if she were the unguarded ingénue that took London by storm, as of yet not vilified and disillusioned. What he wanted most in life was to give that back to her. She’d been robbed of too much.
Outside the windows, the sky was blue and cloudless; a perfect fall day.
He’d slept only fitfully even if he hadn’t been awake when the doctor called, and he’d had time for contemplation. “Do you think your former brother-in-law could be the culprit? After all, he failed in his attempt to have you hanged.”
“I don’t know . . . I don’t think so. He’s vindictive but not clever.”
“Do you know anyone who might be clever enough?”
Suddenly Angelina stared at him. Perching on the edge of the bed, she stiffened her spine. “You know something I do not. It is in your expression. What is it?”
She’d been tired and shocked the evening before, so he wasn’t surprised she didn’t remember. Still, a delicate approach was needed and he wasn’t exactly at his best. In the extremity of the situation he found it hard to concentrate, but this was important to them both.
Maybe it could have been better done, but he stated bluntly, “I wonder about Eve. What does she know about all of this?”
“Eve?” There was a clear edge of shock in Angelina’s voice. “Nothing. You honestly think she has information on who has done all this and she wouldn’t tell me?”
This was hardly the easiest conversation he’d ever had, and he was hardly sure of anything himself. “She might not say a word,” he said carefully, “if she was responsible.”
* * *
Angelina had no idea just what Christopher was implying, but he certainly had just sounded sincere. Against the pillows, his pallor pronounced, he stared back, his azure eyes steady and his mouth set in an implacable line she recognized. He was bandaged across his chest, the linen dark with dried blood, his hand unsteady as he tried to drink his coffee; yet he somehow managed to seem calm and was definitely lucid even if what he’d just said was insane.
Of course. He dealt with lines and brick and mortar. Those were predictable, solid, known entities.
But what he was saying . . . what he was inferring . . .
No
.
As reasonably as possible, she said, “Responsible how?”
“Could she be behind it all?”
“Behind the deaths of both William and Thomas?” She thought her voice was remarkably controlled, considering what he was asking. “Why would you even pose such a question, and as you ponder the answer to that, please explain to me what it would gain her.”
He hesitated but then inclined his head. “Perhaps, in her quest to keep you as a friend, Eve took drastic measures rather than share you.”
“Share me?” She was admittedly taken aback. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” His voice was gentle but also held an inflexible tenor. “She is a common denominator between your households; she often came to dinner, to tea, to the same gatherings . . . so she would actually have the opportunity more than anyone besides you to slip poison into the drink or food of a specific person, wouldn’t she? It isn’t any secret that you desperately needed her friendship during the times when you were being accused, and even when acquitted but still outcast. I hadn’t thought of her until Heathton brought up her name, but it makes sense.”
How wrong he was. It made
no
sense at all.
Eve?
She protested, “She doesn’t even know your name.”
“Why did you keep it from her?”
Why had she? Not because of a lack of trust, she instantly assured herself, but more because she’d sworn not to compromise his identity to anyone. Just in case. She hadn’t even told Lord Heathton, but he’d found out easily enough . . .
Oh God,
had
she distrusted Eve?
Maybe she had. In consternation she looked at Christopher, trying to sort it out in her mind.
“At the beginning of my first season she did not like me.” Angelina spoke slowly, remembering that time. “I could tell. It is possible she even despised me. I could never understand it, because I truly had done nothing to her. We’d barely exchanged a word.”
“That is interesting. How did you become friends?”
“I do not even quite recall.”
“There must have been a turning point. Think about it.”
She caught his sense of urgency, and the bandages on his shoulder certainly added to the incentive to comply. “It was not until William died. I was surprised when she called and offered her condolences. From there on we corresponded now and again. None of this can have anything to do with her.”
“You’re sure?”
She sat back, suddenly cold all over. “I don’t know. However, I do know when it came to you—to us—I confided in no one. Obviously with good cause.”
“But you did tell her you were leaving town.”
She had.
“Yes,” she whispered, her hand touching her throat. “That’s damning, I admit, but hardly proof.”
“So she could have informed her accomplice in plenty of time to have someone posted at a vantage point where we could be followed here.”
“Christopher.” How she wished she could have put more protest in that single utterance, but Angelina had to admit her mind was now following his train of thought, even if she didn’t like it.
His hand clasped hers, still strong, which was reassuring. “I am not trying to upset you.”
But he was. Undeniably. “I still do not understand why it would be to her advantage to harm you.”
“But you aren’t sure I’m wrong.” He correctly interpreted her expression.
Were there signs if she looked for them? Maybe. “It never occurred to me,” she said slowly. “Not that I entirely believe you, but I suppose, as I sit here on this sunny morning, realizing that someone deliberately tried to kill you, the parameters of my disbelief have been stretched and altered. She surely cannot hate me and yet have done so much to support me.”
“What has she actually done? Not shun you? I am not sure that deserves the accolades you give it.”
He hadn’t been there through every single painful moment when it seemed like the entire world thought she was a murderess. “My family,” she said in a choked voice, “did not believe in my innocence. Eve openly associated with me when very few people would do so.”
His fingers tightened and then let go, his hand dropping to the blanket. “I am not surprised you feel gratitude toward her, my love. But what if she is using it as a way to control your life?”
Said so starkly, the words had a solid impact. “Lord Heathton told you this about her?”
“Not in so many words. You’ve met the man. He rarely states anything so plainly, but I was able to grasp the direction of his inquiries fairly easily. I doubt he asks questions for no reason and he was inquiring about Eve.”
“It’s impossible.” A little sick, Angelina stood and walked to the window. The sun was warm against her skin, but inside she was chilled through.
“You said yourself that you sensed her initial dislike.”
“She isn’t capable of murder.”
“Maybe she didn’t have to be.”
“Christopher, what does that mean?” She turned around and looked at him.
“How could she come forward to save you without confessing to her participation, but what if someone else actually killed William and Thomas?” Christopher’s voice was even and measured. “I don’t really think she intended to put you on the receiving end of an investigation into a murder scheme, but from what I understand, she might well have set something into motion that was beyond her control.”
The garden below was still verdant, though some of the plants were starting to wither, the faded blossoms symbolic. “I’ve been forsaken by almost everyone I know. Eve has been such a comfort, even when her parents wished for her to sever our friendship because of the scandal . . .”
Her voice trailed off and there was an odd tightness in her stomach. Casting back, she now wondered. All too often Eve mentioned how she was a staunch friend despite her family’s objection, how she would always believe her, how she discounted society’s opinion . . .
Christopher apparently read her thoughts. “Angelina, look at me.”
She didn’t want to do it. She wanted to stare out that window into the sunny garden forever, but she’d found in her life that forever was not an option, that hard truths needed to be faced, and most of all, that the ones who truly loved you were few and far between.
“I love you.”
He did, and
she
loved him and . . . he had almost died for her. A few inches of difference for that bullet and they wouldn’t be looking at each other across the expanse of the room.
She whispered, “That doesn’t protect you.”
“It enriches my life. Do not discount it.”
“Christopher, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know how to answer that, but this is what we are
not
going to do. We aren’t going to run away.” His voice was low and even. “I think you are a remarkable, worthy woman and I am enamored beyond all good sense.” A tantalizing smile curved his lips. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t good sense to love you; it means that I couldn’t see the situation clearly from the beginning because I was blinded by my infatuation. Heathton is right; whoever did this to you has used all of us, and we have allowed it, because we didn’t realize it was happening. I think the same applies to Eve. You should talk to her and find out the truth. If anyone is the key, she might just be it. Certainly you can try.”