Dreams of Desire (15 page)

“She advises that Miss Lambert went to the hot springs with the twins.”

“When?”

“About two o’clock this afternoon.”

“How did she know?”

“Miss Lambert specifically mentioned it to her.”

“Dammit!” John muttered.

Dudley snorted with disgust. “You’re a gullible idiot, Penworth, and that’s the kindest thing I can say about you.”

Dudley hastened out, and John grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?” John asked.

“Where would you imagine? Where is this hot springs? You don’t suppose they drowned her, do you?”

John’s heart literally skipped a beat. Were they capable of such ferocity? How badly had they wanted Lily out of their lives?

“Angus,” he said, “we’ll need two lanterns. We’ll be out on the terrace. Hurry, please.”

Angus raced out as John dashed down the hall, Dudley dogging his heels.

“How far is it?” Dudley inquired.

“It’s quite a distance. Past the west tower, then down through the siege tunnels that lead by the old dungeons.”

“Are you still using them as a prison? Will we see men stretched out on the rack? Maybe some thumbnails being torn out?”

“Dudley?”

“Yes?”

“Be silent.”

John was wondering why he’d permitted Dudley to come along. He seemed a handy fellow to have around in a pinch, but his attitude made John’s temper boil.

In a matter of minutes, Angus arrived with the lanterns.

“Wait here for us,” he instructed Angus, then he and Dudley went down into the garden.

They followed the path to the west tower and were circling it when movement in the shadows caught his eye. He paused and lifted the lantern, and he nearly collapsed with relief.

Lily was stumbling toward them, toddling with some effort. Her dress was sodden, the skirt heavy and dragging on the ground.

“Lily,” he breathed.

“Sweet Jesu,” Dudley mumbled at the same time.

They sprinted to her. Her face was covered with dried blood, and it had dripped down onto her gown. At first, he thought she’d been shot or stabbed, but as he drew closer, he saw that she’d simply had a terrible knock on the forehead. There was a swollen bump and a cut that had bled profusely.

“Lily, Lily,” John repeated as they approached.

She stopped and stared, but she was very confused, as if she didn’t recognize them.

“Oh, my Lord,” he murmured, “what did they do to you?”

She didn’t reply, which alarmed him.

He set the lantern on the grass, and he seized her and gave her a light shake.

“Lily, it’s me. It’s John. Are you all right?”

“John?” she whispered, her voice weak.

“Yes, darling, it’s me.” He offered the endearment without hesitation, not concerned that Dudley had overheard. “What happened?”

“They . . . they . . . pushed me into the pool, then they left with the lanterns.”

He was aghast. “You were alone in the dark?”

“I was so afraid.” She began to cry, and she was shivering violently. The air down in the grotto had been balmy and humid, but outside, it was a cold autumn night.

“How long have you been walking?”

“Forever.” Her teeth were chattering. “I couldn’t find my way out.”

John swooped her into his arms, taking it as a sign of her reduced condition that she didn’t utter a word of protest. She was too disoriented.

Dudley reached out and clasped her hand. “Gad, Penworth, she’s frozen.”

“Mr. Dudley?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, you silly girl.” He flashed a warning glare at John. “She must be warmed—as fast as possible.”

“I know. Run back for me, will you?” John requested. “Inform Angus that I’ll need a hot bath, and tea and soup and whatever else he can drum up. Dry clothes. Woolen socks. A roaring fire. Go.”

“I’ll tell him.” Dudley took off at a jog, but called over his shoulder, “Then I’m hunting down your wards. I intend to skin them alive.”

“Don’t bother, Dudley. I can flay them without any help.”

John stormed to the castle, Lily cradled to his chest. He was angrier than he’d ever been, raging and out of control and sick with fury. His distress was great, but he kept himself focused by envisioning the punishment he would inflict on the twins the moment he was certain Lily was safe.

LILY Sat on a chair in her bedchamber. A blanket had been draped over her shoulders, but she was still wearing her wet clothes, and her hair was soaked, so she couldn’t get warm.

There was a bustle of activity around her, but she scarcely noticed. Her wits had been addled, her limbs lethargic, and she was content to dawdle without moving or speaking.

Behind her, Lord Penworth grumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Dudley asked me to come up,” his mother responded, “to check on Miss Lambert.”

“She’s fine,” Penworth snapped, “so you may leave.”

Barbara leaned nearer to the earl, her voice lowered.

“People are gossiping, John.”

“Let them.”

“You’re upset so you’re not thinking clearly,” she scolded.

“I’m cogent enough to know that she needs a hot bath immediately.”

“And you will give it to her?
Think
, John. You have a castle full of guests. If you assist her, her reputation will be shredded.”

“What would you have me do?”

“I’ll shoo everyone out—including you—then I’ll help her. Once I have her squared away, I’ll let you back in. She’ll be alone, and no one will see you.”

A tense standoff ensued, and Lily could picture him angrily looming. She yearned to tell both of them to go away, but she hadn’t the energy.

“Thirty minutes, Barbara,” he tersely agreed.

“That should be plenty of time.”

Barbara clapped her hands to get the servants’ attention.

“If Miss Lambert could have some privacy?” she requested.

One girl piped up, “Would you like me to stay, Lady Barbara?”

“I appreciate your offering, but I have matters under control.”

Footsteps clomped out, Penworth the last to depart. Before he exited, he paused.

“Thank you, Barbara,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

“Go,” Barbara replied, urging him on his way.

The door closed, and she came over to Lily. She bent down so they were nose to nose.

“Well, Miss Lambert, you’ve certainly caused a stir. Let’s get you in the tub so we can put an end to it.”

Lily just gaped, relief flooding her. Others could say whatever they liked about Barbara Middleton, that she was selfish and vain and flighty, but at that moment, if Lily could have lifted her arms, she’d have hugged Barbara till she couldn’t breathe.

“It will be all right, dear,” Barbara comforted. “John and I will take care of everything.”

She pulled Lily to her feet, and she chattered away as she stripped off Lily’s sodden garments. Her mundane remarks made it seem as if they were having a perfectly normal discussion and a perfectly normal bath. Her aplomb alleviated much of Lily’s distress.

Lily climbed into the tub of scalding water. Or perhaps she was inordinately cold. Her skin sizzling, she sank down, and she hissed with pain. It passed quickly, though, and she acclimated.

Barbara knelt beside her, gently swabbing the cut on Lily’s forehead, cleaning her cheek and chest where the blood had dripped.

She ladled soup into Lily’s mouth and forced her to swallow several cups of tea. Gradually, Lily’s chill began to wane.

Lily dipped down and wet her hair, then Barbara soaped and rinsed it, surprising Lily when she sat behind her and combed out the lengthy tresses.

“Feeling better?” Barbara eventually asked as she laid the brush on a stool.

“Yes.”

“Ah . . . she speaks!” Barbara chuckled and stood, holding out a towel. Lily stood, too, and Barbara wrapped her in it. Barbara grabbed a second towel and dried Lily’s extremities, then guided her arms into a robe. Treating Lily like a tiny child, she escorted her to a chair, pushed her into it, and swathed her feet in a pair of thick woolen socks.

She poured another cup of tea, this one laced with a generous dollop of whiskey. Lily was drinking it when there was a quiet rap on the door.

“Thirty minutes,” Barbara mentioned. “My son is always prompt.” She scowled. “Do you wish to see him? Or should I have him come by in the morning?”

Did Lily wish it? Could she bear it?

She didn’t want to be alone. Barbara was about to leave, and if Lily had her send Lord Penworth away, too, she’d be by herself with her frightening recollections.

“I’d like to see him,” she murmured.

“Then I’ll let him in.”

Barbara went to the door and opened it. The earl slipped inside.

“How is she?” Penworth inquired of Barbara as if Lily wasn’t present and listening to every word.

“Warmed and fed—and a tad rattled—but who wouldn’t be, hmm?”

“Would you . . . ah . . . talk to Mr. Dudley for me? Inform him that she’s all right.”

“I’ll locate him at once.”

“Advise him to ignore the twins. If there’s punishment to be meted out, I’ll be the one to administer it.”

“Good luck calming him. He was rather incensed.”

Penworth gestured toward Lily. “He is so worried about her. Have you any idea how they are acquainted?”

Barbara smirked as if she possessed knowledge to which Penworth wasn’t privy. “You’ll have to ask her, I guess. Maybe she’ll divulge some of her secrets.”

Penworth frowned. “What do you mean?”

Barbara winked at Lily, patted Penworth on the chest, then sauntered out.

An awkward silence descended. They stared and stared, neither able to start the conversation.

Lily remained in her chair, while he dawdled by the door, balanced against it, his hands in his pockets. He looked embarrassed, but she couldn’t imagine why. He’d done nothing wrong. It was his wards who were insane.

“I must know what happened,” he ultimately said.

“They demanded I go to the hot springs with them.”

“Why did you?”

“It’s my job to attend them.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I didn’t realize it was so far away or so isolated.”

“Down in the grotto, what were they saying to you?”

“Just the usual: how they didn’t want a companion, how they would persist with their attempts to be rid of me.”

“They left you there?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you chase after them? Had they restrained you in some fashion?”

The question made her furious. He seemed to intimate that the incident was her fault, that she’d
allowed
it to transpire.

“They shoved me down,” she angrily explained, “and I hit my head.”

“I’m not blaming you,” he hastily insisted. “I’m trying to understand.”

“I was very dazed. They rolled me into the water”—he inhaled sharply—“and I couldn’t get out. I thought I would drown.”

“They deliberately put you in the pool?” He was aghast at the notion.

“Yes, and they took the lanterns. I heard them giggling as they ran off.”

“You were there in the dark.”

“Yes.”

“How did you find your way out?”

“Once I regained my senses, I felt along the walls.”

It had been a terrifying nightmare. After dragging herself to the edge of the pool, she’d lain there for a lengthy period. Slowly, she’d crawled to the stairs and started up. Unable to see an inch in front of her face, her goal had been to keep climbing, to rise higher and higher until she’d escaped.

Through it all, she’d truly despaired, her courage flagging, her fear great that she would die and her body never be found.

They stared again, lost in miserable contemplation.

Finally, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

It was the last comment she’d expected. “Why would you be sorry?”

“You told me what they were like, and I knew they were playing pranks on you. I assumed their tricks were harmless. I’m stunned to learn that they’re capable of such malice.”

“I want to go back to London,” she said. “I don’t want to stay here with them.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He walked over to her, and he bent down, his hands on her chair, trapping her in her seat. “I need you with me.”

“I’m afraid of them,” she admitted, when she’d never previously been afraid of anything.

“I’ll protect you. They’ll never hurt you again. I swear it.”

He studied the knot on her head, and he reached out to trace a finger over it. She flinched away, aware that it would be painful if he touched it.

“Head cuts are notoriously vexing,” he stated. “They bleed and bleed. You might have to have it sewn.”

“I won’t.”