Edith Layton (4 page)

The room was quiet.

Yes, Camille thought with sinking heart, there sat a bona fide heroine.

“We can find the aunt,” Rafe finally announced to the room, “but the bast—villain who attacked Eric is likely long gone.”

“Yes,” Miles said thoughtfully. “He probably wasn’t in the trade, only an opportunist. As for the madam, there are too many like her in London. If the girl never heard a name, we’ll never find that house.”

“So,” Rafe said abruptly, “what do we do with her until we locate this aunt?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble!” Nell cried.

“Can’t see how you won’t be,” he said in his usual abrupt way. “We’re certainly not going to turn you out on the street again. No insult meant, but you wouldn’t have a chance here in London by yourself. Make no mistake, if we let you out, you’ll only get into trouble again. Can’t put you in a hotel either, you’re too pretty for your own good, and you haven’t got the sense…”

“She can stay here with us,” his wife interrupted quickly.

“That she cannot!” Belle exclaimed. “With Eric so ill? And you with an infant to tend? You already have your hands full, thank you. We’ll take her.”

“With you? Not likely!” Brenna protested. “You
don’t feel at all the thing in the mornings as it is.”

Belle laughed. “The mornings are soon over, and besides, the girl won’t be my responsibility. The housekeeper can look after her.”

Camille felt terrible. They were arguing over the girl as if she were no more than a servant. But, she realized, that was after all almost the case. An impoverished country girl, however lovely, was lucky to have found herself even in the company of ladies and gentlemen of wealth and breeding, let alone those willing to take her under their wing. It didn’t matter that she’d been badly used; uncountable women of London were misused every day of their lives. So if any of these noble persons let an unknown commoner share a bed in the attic with the servants or a pallet on the floor in their kitchen, it would be both kind and generous of them.

But Nell was a heroine, and her bravery should be rewarded. And she might after all be of good family.

But men noticed her, and so if she stayed in his vicinity, Eric certainly would.

Camille always faced head on whatever frightened her. Eric had seen beautiful women before, and he was a gentleman, not a seducer.

But since he didn’t have either a title or a toplofty family, he could also marry anywhere he chose. And beauty was a powerful lure.

That frightened Camille. So she knew what she had to do. And if a pretty face meant so much to
him, it would be better for her to know it now.

“Yes. Let her stay with us,” Camille declared. “I’ll look after her.”

“You?” Miles asked, with a grin. “Aren’t you too occupied with conquering all London?”

“I’ve already done that,” she said, grinning back at him. “So why not? After all, everyone else has something important to do. Brenna has Eric to take care of as well as an infant to tend. Belle has to be careful of herself. You and Rafe and your friends from the War Office will doubtless find Nell’s aunt. Everyone else has responsibilities,” Camille said. “And so I’m the only possible one to look after Miss Baynes and show her the proper way to get on here in the polite world of London.”

As she hoped, they began to laugh.

She just wished she felt like joining in.

M
orning sunlight edged in silver the margins of the draperies covering the windows, but the bedroom remained dim. Still, it was light enough to wake the man in the tall-canopied bed. At first, the only evidence was the change in his breathing. Then he cracked one eye open, then another. He looked around. His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh of relief.

He was safe…and comfortable, he realized.

Eric lay quietly and took stock of his body. The tremors had stopped. His head didn’t ache. He felt cool. The fever was gone. It was over for now, at least. But this wasn’t his bedchamber. He slowly remembered how often he’d seen Brenna’s and Rafe’s worried faces through the wavering mists that
clouded his perceptions when he woke between the damnable bouts of shivering and burning. So. This must be their house.

Eric grimaced. It was painful to know he was a bother to his sister and his best friend again. Still, that sort of pain was easier to bear than what he’d just been through. He raised himself to his elbows and tried to look out a window. He couldn’t see much but their pale outlines. Past dawn, he’d guess, and past time to get out of bed and go home.

He sat up, grimacing at the effort, and swung his legs out from under the coverlets. Then he sat on the side of the high bed, his head whirling, waiting to be sure he could step down. He’d learned the hard way that getting up and around after one of his attacks wasn’t as simple as he wanted it to be. How long had he been here? He ran a hand over his chin and found it smooth-shaven. He grimaced again. He was blond, but his beard grew in quickly. And his sister wasn’t a fusspot. If Brenna had sent for a valet to have him shaved, it meant he’d been here long enough to grow a significant beard. His spirits sank.

His last attack a few months ago had been brief, and he’d recovered from it quickly. He’d begun to hope—and now those hopes were dashed. Being stricken for a long siege meant that coming home to the cooler climate of England hadn’t changed things. He was still firmly in the grip of his disease. The doctors on both sides of the ocean had agreed on one thing besides quinine for the fever and shakes.
They’d all said there was no way to know the course of malarial fever any more than they knew a cure for it. The disease might slowly lift, or it could grow slowly worse.

Eric hung his head. His feeling better now meant nothing. He still didn’t know what would happen next time, or when that next time would be. Even more worrisome, how long could he keep suffering these attacks before they did worse things to him?

“Lie down before you fall down,” a familiar voice said with irritation “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble.”

“Hello, Rafe,” Eric said without looking up. He lifted a hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall. I’m feeling better. The best thing for me is to start moving again before my muscles turn into something like those damnable milksops you were spooning into me. I remember it now. Gads, Bren! You wouldn’t dare if I were half in my right mind. Pretty bad this time, was it?”

“How did you know I was here?” his startled sister asked as she came through the door behind her husband.

Eric laughed. “Tick and tock, that’s you and Rafe. If I hear one, I know it won’t be long before I hear the other.”

“Yes, wonderful, isn’t it? But you weren’t sick that long this time, Eric,” she said eagerly. “Only a few days.”

His head shot up. “Truly? How many?”

“Don’t bark at her,” Rafe said. “She was out of
her mind with worry. But yes, only five days, old lad. Much better than the last time you stayed with me.”

Eric grinned. “That time I almost didn’t wake up, but that was over a year ago. Only five days? That’s no time at all.”

“Even better than last July,” Brenna said happily, “and since that only lasted a little over a week, we didn’t even tell Mother or Father.”

“Better than in September too,” Eric said, doing rapid calculations, “This attack is the best one yet. Though it didn’t feel like that when I had it, I promise you.”

“When in September?” his sister asked. “I thought you hadn’t had an episode since July. You had another and you didn’t send for me?”

Eric’s cheeks grew ruddy. “Well, no. I’m not even sure it was an attack of the fever, you see, it was over so fast.”

“Oh, Eric,” she sighed. “We had an agreement. You gave your word.”

He sat up straighter. “That we did not. My word is my bond. I just said that if I got sick again I’d send if I needed you, and I didn’t. I had Watkins, who’s more than a valet. He’s an old army man, very capable of taking care of me. Speaking of which, if it was only five days, why did you have me shaved?”

“Watkins,” she said. “He came at once. He’s been staying here. He never left you for a moment, but this morning he saw you were without fever at
last, so he went back to your house to pick out some clothes for you. Well, he didn’t leave so much as we sent him. He needed some fresh air himself. We promised we’d look in while he was gone. He’ll be delighted when he—
Oh!
That time last summer when you sent word you were going to visit an old friend—that was when you were sick again?”

Eric shrugged. “So I was visited by an old enemy instead. It hardly matters. I told Watkins that if it lasted above a week, you should be told about it. It didn’t, so we didn’t. No sense in scaring you for no good reason.”

She started to argue but stopped when she saw his expression. He was smiling almost shyly. His bout of fever had left his cheekbones more pronounced, and he was still very pale. But his face looked younger, joyous and full of hope. She realized she hadn’t seen him like that in a very long time, not since they’d come home from India. He’d almost died on that voyage. Rafe’s unexpected hospitality might have been the only thing that saved him then. It had certainly saved her, for staying with Rafe had been the beginning of their life together.

Eric had healed in body since and also had seemed to return to his former self. He’d gone about his normal life in the country with their parents as well as his social life in London with no apparent problems. But she hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. Brenna smiled back at him. It was impossible not to. She finally realized what
had been missing since he’d come home. His buoyant spirit had been gone. She loved her grave, responsible older brother but had never known how much she missed the blithe and merry boy she’d known until just now, when she got a glimpse of him again.

“Only five days,” he said with wonder. “It might be, it just may be that the damned thing is loosing its grip! No, don’t shoot off any cannons,” he said with a wave of a hand. “It’s not time to celebrate yet. The doctors said there’d be many a false start and stop.” He looked at her, his eyes glowing. “But Bren, it
is
lasting less time each time—so far.”

“It will be gone by spring,” Rafe said decisively. “Then you’ll have to find another reason to get the ladies dancing attendance on you. As to that, what should we do with the chit you saved?”

“The chit?” Eric echoed in puzzlement. Then his eyes opened wider. “The whore—the woman—that bloody—that blasted ponce tried to sell me?”

“Oh, don’t start tying yourself into knots on my account,” Brenna said with a laugh. “Not only am I the daughter
and
the sister of an army man, I married one. Remember?”

Rafe grinned. “No one talks warm around you, my girl, and we aren’t starting to now. Wouldn’t want the babe to hear,” he added, with a fond glance at her midsection. Since the fashion was for high-waisted gowns, only a gentle swelling beneath her breasts hinted at what Rafe was smiling at.

Eric ignored them, his brow furrowed. “The woman? She’s still here?”

“No,” Rafe said. “She’s bivouacked with Camille.”

Eric’s expression grew grave. “
Camille
? That will never do. What could you have been thinking of?”

“Wasn’t us,” Rafe protested. “Camille leapt in like a mama cat whose kit was threatened, volunteering to take her in. Volunteering? Insisting! Try to get that filly’s head turned when she’s got the bit in her mouth.”

Eric’s grin was warm and reminiscent though his words were not. “That girl’s altogether too headstrong.”

“You encourage her,” his sister said, and paused before she added, “You could do more for her, you know.”

“For her or to her?” Eric asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you matchmaking, Bren?”

“I just thought since Camille obviously—or rather,” she stammered, “seems to—care for you, that—”

“That an older man with a debilitating disease that can strike him down at any moment should encourage an impulsive girl who’s simply feeling the effects of first infatuation?” Eric’s smile was twisted. “I don’t think so, Bren. I like Cammie too well for that. And I like her too much to be easy about her landing herself with an unknown from the gutter.”

“You risked your neck for her yourself,” Rafe reminded him.

“You’d have done the same,” Eric said. “She was hopelessly outranked and appealed to me for help. Whether she was a nun or a tart, I had to step in.”

“Don’t judge without facts, Eric,” Brenna warned him with a significant look. “You know how wrong that can be.”

“Thing is,” Rafe told Eric, “there’s no saying the girl’s guilty of anything but being a country miss in the big city. Can’t say she’s an innocent, mind. But can’t say she’s a harlot either. She tells quite a tale anyway. I haven’t been able to investigate it yet, what with you landed on me,” he added with a smile. “But Drum’s on it, so we’ll know more soon enough.”

“We’ll know more even sooner if I can be up and at it,” Eric said, and stepped down from the bed. Rafe started toward him. “And I can!” Eric said triumphantly, as he stood tall.

“You can,” Rafe admitted. “But you won’t until the doctor tells you so.”

“Want to take it to the court of fives?” Eric asked, balling his fists and taking a boxer’s stance.

They crouched and faced each other, holding their fists high.

Brenna laughed. Rafe looked dangerous even against her mighty brother, especially since that mighty brother was wearing a nightshirt that stopped at his calves. She put her hands on her hips.

“If you take one step out the door without the doctor’s permission, I’ll mill you down myself, Eric. It was you who showed me how, when I first came to you, crying because a bully hit me. Remember? You said any woman can protect herself against any man, the same way that an axe that only weighs a few pounds can fell the tallest tree. And I’ve practiced since.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your own brother,” Eric said, pretending to be terrified.

“I would if I had to, but I doubt I will. I don’t think you’ll leave us now, unless of course you’re vainer than I remember and want to show your lovely legs to the world.”

Eric glanced down at his naked legs and grinned. “Not a thing to be ashamed of,” he said staunchly, wriggling his toes to prove his point.

“Maybe not. But can you say the same thing about your other nether parts?”

He looked puzzled.

“We
do
have all your clothes,” she reminded him.

He stopped grinning as Rafe began to laugh.

“We can visit him in three days!” Camille said, turning from her mirror as Nell entered her room. “That’s when he goes home.”

“Are you sure?” Nell asked. “Will it be safe for us to visit him? He does suffer from a fever.”

“Yes, but it’s the malaria. He caught it in India. You can’t get it from people, only from hot places
near swamps and the evil miasmas that flourish there. There’s none of that in London.”

“Then I’d like to go and thank him. It’s only…I’m grateful for the clothes you’ve lent me, but it would be nice to have my own bag back. My clothing is in it.”

“Well, not much hope of that,” Camille said, turning back to look at herself and frowning at the bonnet she had on her head. “Miles said it’s probably been sold three times over by now. We’ll get you other clothes, never fear. Speaking of which, what do you think of this bonnet? Do I look as though I’m wearing a chicken on my head? No, don’t say it. Blast! Why do bonnets have to be covered with poultry feathers? They’re fine in pillows, but why have them on hats? Maybe I’d look good to a rooster but not anyone else.”

She snatched off the bonnet, gave it to her maid, and took another from her. “And this one. Ugh. Paper roses. I’d look as if I was wearing a garden. In November? Oh, damnation!” she cried, flinging it on her bed. “Why do I have to wear a hat at all? It’s not like we’re meeting in a park. I’ll be inside when we visit.”

Nell quickly stepped to the bed and scooped up the bonnet. “It’s bad luck to put a hat on the bed,” she said.

The maid nodded agreement.

“It will be worse luck if I can’t find something to wear on my head,” Camille said. “I can’t go hatless but I want to look…” She paused, suddenly self-
conscious. Useless to say that she wanted to look especially good for Eric, at least to Nell. She wouldn’t understand. The girl would look fine whatever she clapped on her head. Anyway, she didn’t want Nell knowing how much Eric’s opinion meant to her. Bad enough it was possible that Miles and Belle had twigged to how she felt. Worse if this lovely little creature knew it. Camille could deal with anything, but pity was unendurable.

But Eric himself didn’t pity her. He really enjoyed her company, she knew that. Whether he’d ever see her as more than a jolly companion was the problem. Well, Camille thought philosophically, time would tell. And now she had that time!

“Lady Belle picked this one herself,” her maid said, offering Camille another bonnet. “Remember? A variation of the coalscuttle style, she said. You liked it when you bought it.”

Camille plopped the bonnet on her head and groaned. “Belle could make me buy anything. But it makes me look like a mushroom.”

“That’s because you have all your hair hidden under it,” her sister-in-law said as she walked into the room. “Tug some of your lovely curls out and let them frame your face.” She came to Camille and deftly teased some ringlets out from beneath her bonnet. “There. Charming. What’s the sense in having such abundant curls if you don’t show them? Ladies spend hours with curling irons, and you have curls naturally and hide them. Folly. Now look,” she said with satisfaction. “Not a mush
room anymore but a pretty young woman instead. The bonnet’s charming. The gown,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “is not.”