A Phantom Affair (3 page)

“Help!” she called as she slipped her arm beneath him to keep his head out of the wet grass. “We need help! Lord Wulfric is hurt!”

Instantly she was surrounded. She was gently brought to her feet as a man knelt beside the marquess. An arm around her shoulders steadied her. She did not look to see who was helping her. Her gaze riveted on Lord Wulfric, who had not moved.

When the kneeling man tore aside the marquess's coat, she cried, “Be careful! He may be hurt badly!”

“He is a doctor, Ellen,” said Marian softly. “Hush, and let him see what he can do for Lord Wulfric.”

What he did was issue a series of quick orders that could not reach past the pounding in Ellen's head. She thought she heard him order both her and the marquess back to the house, but nothing made sense.

“How is he?” she whispered, reaching for the lanky doctor's arm. Her fingers closed inches from it.

He looked at her, his lips strained and puckered. “Young lady, Miss Dunbar, is it?”

“Yes.”

“You must lie down. You need quiet to recover from this horrible event.”

“But Lord Wulfric … How is he?”

For a moment, she feared he would not answer. He turned away to watch the marquess being placed on a litter which must have been brought from the house. A deep sigh raised and lowered his shoulders like bits of flotsam on the sea. “He took the brunt of the explosion.”

“But how is he? Is he hurt?”

He faced her again. All emotion left his voice as he said, “Miss Dunbar, I'm sorry, but after examining Lord Wulfric's wounds, I doubt he will last the night.”

Two

The sitting room was uncomfortably bright. Light glared off the polished marble fireplace and the mahogany furniture. In a corner, behind the gold settee and the chairs flanking it, a long case clock tolled the hour.

Only eleven o'clock.

Ellen shook her head as Marian asked her—yet again—if she would like to rest. To own the truth, she was not sure if she could stand to go into one of the bedchambers on this floor. She did not recall how she had gotten to this room, although she suspected it must have been with Marian and Mr. Wolfe's help in the wake of the last fireworks detonating on the ground.

Pain seared her arm at the thought. The debris had sprayed throughout the garden, but she and Lord Wulfric had been the only ones struck. Marian had called that fortunate. Ellen could not agree, for she could imagine little worse than sitting here and waiting for the doctor's latest word on the marquess's condition.

Mr. Wolfe, who was pacing in front of the door leading into his cousin's bedchamber, was nearly distraught with worry. A bare-bones man, he had a gaunt handsomeness that was enhanced by his hair. It was as dark as Lord Wulfric's. From the tip of his shining boots to the top of his mussed hair, he looked ready to ride to the hounds.

Until he turned to catch her eyes. Then she saw the horror in his face. It spoke, more than any words, of his anxiety for his cousin's well-being.

“Miss Dunbar, are you sure you don't wish to lie down?” he asked, his amiable voice adding to the ache in her skull.

“I would as lief wait to hear what the doctor has to say.”

“It will not be good, I fear.” He rubbed his hands together and forced a strained smile. “Marian, you, too, are kind to be with me at this grim hour.”

“I fear we are burdening you more,” Ellen said as Marian gulped back a sob.

“Nonsense.” He cleared his throat. “I would not wish to be alone now.”

She did not know what to say to the man whose long face was made even longer by his sorrow. His blue eyes, which were nearly so pale that they were colorless, were filled with tears. No words were necessary to show how fond he was of his cousin.

“Forgive me, Miss Dunbar,” he said, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “This is most distressing. We thought we had lost Corey once before during the war. He was returned to us, but now I fear death will catch up with him.”

“Forgive us,” she answered. She wished Marian would stop hovering over her. Each breath was harder than the one before it, for a weight seemed centered on her chest. A throb ran along her arm, increasing in strength with every heartbeat. “You do not need unexpected guests now.”

A hint of a smile returned to pull at his lips. “Corey would not want you to drive home near the nadir of the night.” He hesitated, then added, “And, Miss Dunbar, if I may own to the truth, I would appreciate your company as well as Marian's.”

“I understand,” she answered, although she wondered where the other guests might be. Putting her fingers to her aching head, she sighed. Of course, the other guests had taken their leave in the wake of the accident in the garden. Only Marian and she remained. Another wave of pain washed over her as she imagined riding along that bumpy road back to Marian's house. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the silk upholstery. The conversation flowed around her. The cushions shifted, and Marian's cool palm brushed her forehead. She nearly cried out in pain.

“I fear she is hurt worse than we had thought,” Marian murmured.

Ellen did not hear the answer. A bolt of pain struck her as viciously as the fireworks detonating in the garden. She moaned, the sound resonating through her tender skull. Confused, frightened shouts crashed over her, and she wondered if all those who had stood in the garden had come into the Abbey. The pain stole her breath from her. She had never suffered its like. Darkness smothered every thought. She did not fight it, but drifted through the fathomless quiet.

When she opened her eyes again, she had come into another room. A bedroom, for she sat beside a bed whose gold curtains were closed on two sides. Beyond the oak bed, a chair was draped with a man's coat. The material was stained with dirt and what she suspected—with a cramp in her stomach—was blood.

Slowly she turned her gaze to the bed. Beneath the covers, Lord Wulfric was lying. Only the rise and fall of the blankets told her he was still alive. His skin was an odd shade of gray beneath its rich summer tan, which bespoke that his customary life reached far beyond the walls of this dusky room. Across his brow, his hair was matted. She shuddered as she wondered what hideous wound might be hidden beneath it.

She sat alone beside the bed. Her forehead ruffled in surprise. Her head must have been hit far worse than she had guessed. Again she could not remember how she had gotten to where she was.

She saw the doctor's case open by the bed and a folded paper with her name scratched across it. As badly as her head throbbed, she might have lost consciousness if the doctor had examined her. Mayhap he had wanted to do that examination here where he could keep an eye on Lord Wulfric. She searched her mind. It was befuddled with half-formed thoughts and memories she could not trust. Yes, she seemed to recall Mr. Wolfe's gentle concern as he helped Marian bring her to the doctor, who refused to be budged from Lord Wulfric's side. Remembering that short journey from the other room, she swayed on the chair and clutched the bottom before she could fall. Each step had sent more anguish reeling through her until she had surrendered to the near-oblivion of letting others control her motions.

The doctor had examined her … hadn't he? She could not remember. Everything was a bumble-bath in her head.

Then where was the doctor? Where were the others? When she heard the doctor's muffled voice by the door, she sighed. No doubt, he was giving Mr. Wolfe a report on his cousin's condition. Deteriorating condition, if Ellen was not mistaken. Lord Wulfric's breathing had become more shallow even while she sat here.

The voices swarmed over her, and she looked around to find that the others were lined up around the bed. She blinked, wondering why they had rushed into the room so quickly. Mayhap it had not been quickly. Each blink of her eyes seemed to leap her forward in time as she fought to hold onto her senses. She wondered how much time had vanished, unnoted, into the eddy of pain swirling in her head.

She tried to focus on Marian's face. She could not. Shifting her eyes to the man beside her bosom-bow nearly undid her. She tightened her grip on the chair as she stared at Mr. Wolfe. His face was nearly as gray as Lord Wulfhc's. She wanted to ask him why.

Mr. Wolfe's words answered the question she did not ask. “I shall inform the rest of the family of his death. How ironic that he should risk death with the army across the Channel and die here in his own garden.”

“Dead?” gasped Ellen. “Lord Wulfric is dead?”

Marian put her hands on Ellen's shoulders and helped her to her feet. “You must lie down, my dear. I have never seen you so drawn.”

Tears fled down her face as she tried to shake her head. She subsided with a moan.

“The bedchamber next door has been prepared for Miss Dunbar,” Mr. Wolfe said quietly.

“Thank you.” Marian turned her toward the door. “Come along, Ellen. You must lie down before you injure yourself more.”

Ellen considered protesting, but had no strength. She let Marian steer her out the door and across the hall, stumbling on nearly every step.

The bedroom was smaller than the one they had just left, but decorated as grandly with art and a wall of books edging the fireplace. The one small part of her mind that was still working suggested these might have been the marchioness's private rooms. The soft grays and yellows were a shadow of the brilliance of the marquess's bedchamber, but more restful and feminine.

Marian's prattle bounced through Ellen's head as a maid held out a nightdress Ellen guessed had been retrieved from a storage trunk in the attics. The scent of herbs, which would ward off insects, billowed from it. Compliantly, as if she were no more than a babe, she let Marian help her get ready for bed.

The thick mattress surged upward to envelop her. As she rested against the pillows, she stared at the material shirred between the tester posts of the mahogany bed which was flushed with russet fire in the light from the hearth. Flowers rippled across it in a glorious copy of the garden.

“Here,” Marian whispered, holding out a handkerchief. “You must stop crying. This household has suffered a horrible loss tonight. We must not encumber Lorenzo with our own grief.”

Ellen wiped the back of her hand gracelessly against her wet cheeks. “You don't understand, Marian. Lord Wulfric was so wondrously amusing. I was ready to fall in love with him tonight.”

“As you have with so many others.”

“But I never had a chance to fall
out
of love with him.”

“Hush.” She pulled a chair from the dressing table closer to the bed.

The sound added to the cacophony in Ellen's head, but she said nothing as Marian spoke softly. When her friend vowed to stay by her side until she could sleep, Ellen closed her eyes and burrowed into the pillows. She winced as she tried to make her arm comfortable.

“Shall I read to you?” Marian asked.

“If you would get me a book, I shall read to myself.”

“I would be glad to read to you.”

Ellen wondered how anyone who was trying to be so nice could be so irritating. She struggled to smile, but was only able to grimace as she said, “No thank you. Find me something dull, so that I shall have no choice but to sleep.”

Marian set herself onto her feet and bustled to the hearth. Pulling out a book, she brought it back to the bed. “This should bore you. It appears to be some sort of parish report.”

Taking the book, Ellen nestled into the pillows again. She opened it and stared at the words. They threatened to blur together as she swallowed her tears. When she heard the door close behind Marian, she sighed. She did not like being false with her bosom-bow, but all she wanted was to be alone.

She set the book beside her and leaned back. Staring at the flowered material in the canopy, she let the tears slide across her face and onto the linen beneath her. She wondered if Lord Wulfric would have seemed as unappealing in the daylight as her other admirers. Now she never would know.

A low whistle lilted through Ellen's dreams. She sat, then groaned as she bumped her bandaged arm. When had it been bandaged? Her head was clearer now, and the gaps in her memory taunted her. Searching the darkness, she saw a wisp of a cool glow near the window beside the dressing table. Could it be dawn already? No, for the other drapes still swathed the other windows in starlight and shadows.

The whistle came again.

“Who is there?” she called. “Marian, is that you?”

Her eyes widened as she watched, unable to move or speak, as the glow by the window thickened and coalesced into a shape. It was taller than the lyre-backed chair, taller than her stepfather, but not as tall as the spindly Mr. Wolfe.

A man!

What was a man doing in her room at this hour? Any of the servants would have knocked or, more likely, delayed their errand until she awoke. An intruder?

The glow edged closer. As it separated from the river of starlight flooding the carpet, it stepped between her and the mirror on the dressing table. Nothing reflected in it but the starlight.

“Forgive me for disturbing your slumbers, Miss Dunbar.”

That voice … she knew that voice! She gasped in a strangled whisper, “Lord Wulfric! But you're dead!”

Corey could not keep from smiling as he saw the shock on Miss Dunbar's face. It was a face he would have enjoyed looking at under any circumstances, but with her ruddy hair loose around her shoulders and her sapphire eyes heavy with sleep, she was even prettier than he had guessed when he took note of her in the gardens. Her downy skin had been burnished pink by the linen cover on the pillow, and the splatter of freckles across her pert nose accented the curve of her cheeks.

And her other curves—

He chuckled as she grasped the blankets and pulled them to her chin, interrupting his pleasant perusal. “No need for such a maidenly reaction,” he said, coming around the end of the bed, “when you have nothing to fear from me.”