Authors: Margaret Bennett
“No, you can’t,” was his curt rejoinder. “If you insist on helping me, be a good girl and put your arms around my neck. You’re not heavy, b
ut it would make it easier than carrying dead weight.”
She did as he bid, slowly bringing her arms up to w
ind around his neck. He felt so good, so warm. She nuzzled his neck, drawing in his scent.
“That’s better,” he whispered, shifting her body to draw her closer to him.
She was awake, but she wasn’t. Once, her arms slipped, and she quickly grabbed for his neck again as though it were a life line.
“I’ve got you, Chloe.” With her ear pressed against the lapel of his coat, she was reassured by his low pitched voice rumbling through his chest. To keep the black fog from reclaiming her, she concentrated on the strong regular beating of his heart.
“We’re almost there,” he announced when she stirred, trying to keep the velvety tentacles of darkness from overtaking her mind again.
She didn’t know how he did it, but without any noise, he managed to open and close doors,
and carry her up two long flights of stairs. Once in the corridor, he brought his head close to hers and barely whispered, “Chloe, you must help me. Which is your room?”
But she was losing to the hazy mist overtaking her consciousness and was slow to respond. Rudely, he jostled her and in a hard sotto voce, demanded, “Miss Woodforde, tell me which chamber is yours.”
Forcing her eyes open, she turned her head to see a maze of doors. He started forward, slowly, then stopped. It registered in Chloe’s befuddled mind that he had halted a third of the way down the hall. Her eyes focused on the blurry outline of a commode next to them with a large Chinese vase sitting on top. In a thready voice, she whispered, “Two more doors to the right.”
His steps were surer now, and next Chloe felt the mattress giving under her weight and was sadly minus the comfort of his embrace. L
ying on top of the coverlet, numb to her very toes, she watched him light a branch of candles on the bed stand, then go over to the dresser. He poured water from a pitcher into a small basin and brought it back to the bedside table.
“Roll on your side towards me,” he instructed. But she was powerless
, her mind befuddled, and could only stare back at him.
The bed sagged under his weight as he sat down. Gently he rolled her over, using his body to prop hers up on her side. Next, he removed the pins from her hair, combing his fingers through the long silky
tresses in a soothing fashion.
“I am fine,” she insisted in a weak voice
, for it registered somewhere in the foggy recesses of her mind that it was highly improper for him to be there with her.
He ignored her feeble protest and continued his ministrations, his strong but surprisingly gentle fingers once more probing what felt like a goose egg on the back of her head. He bent over her and used both hands to part her hair. She f
elt his warm breath fanning her ear and neck.
“There’s no blood,” he said before savagely jerking the pristine linen f
rom his neck and dipping it in the basin. Squeezing the excess moisture out of the cloth with one hand, he applied it tenderly to first her face, which helped to revive her, then to the back of her head.
As she became more aware of her surroundings and the virile man bending across her, she grew restless.
“Cease squirming,” he commanded.
“I cannot,” she sn
apped back, even more conscious of the impropriety of the situation.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said, smiling down at her.
“How can it be better? Someone nearly killed me,” she retorted, grasping for anything other than the real cause of her agitation. She would be in total disgrace if he was discovered in her bedchamber. When she struggled to sit up, he slid his arms under her and lifted her up and reached for pillows to place behind her before resting her against the headboard.
“Stay here,” he said and got up.
For all her apprehension over being caught with Camden in her room, she couldn’t let him go--not yet. She feared being alone and reached out a trembling hand to grab the sleeve of his jacket.
“I’ll be right back,” he reassured her, covering her hand with his own.
Reluctantly, she loosened the fingers gripping him, allowing him to pull away and disappear out the door. Chloe began to nervously fidget as the scene in the forest replayed itself in her mind, culminating in that awful split second after she’d sensed danger and someone had ruthlessly clobbered her.
Camden
wasn’t gone but a few minutes. He was concerned over how pale she was and returned carrying two glasses and a decanter of wine which he set on the table. He saw the consternation in her hazel eyes, wide with fright, yet was amazed by her calm acceptance of the situation. He also worried that shock might be setting in. After splashing some brandy in a goblet, he handed it to Chloe, then filled the other for himself. Without leave, he sat on the bed, positioning himself with one long leg drawn up so he was facing her.
“Drink
with small sips, and tell me what happened.” He kept his face void of expression.
He didn’t
interrupt as she told him what she remembered. Afterwards, he questioned her about the jeweled broach and had her describe it in detail.
“You saw no one?” he asked for the third time.
“No one,” she replied irritably. Her eyes were growing heavy. Still, the frown that marred her forehead indicated her head still pained her.
He looked
closely at her, glad at last to see her fear was gone, and took the empty glass out of her hand. “You should be able to rest now.”
“What happened tonight?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“How can you say that? Here I am, entertaining a strange man in my bedroom . . .”
“Am I a stranger to you, Chloe Woodforde?” he asked playfully.
Despite her mood, she smiled. “Hardly any longer, my lord, and I do owe you my life.”
“No, I think not,” he replied, taking her hand and gently easing her down under the covers and onto her side, facing him. “You erred by stumbling across the diamond pin. Most likely, a thief with his night’s loot heard you coming and got careless, dropping the broach while making a hasty escape. It was not your life he wanted.”
“But what would a thief be doing in these woods?
” she asked with her frown deepening. “And whom did he rob?”
“Never mind. Just stay out of the woods
,” he practically growled. He placed his hand on the top of her head and used his thumb to massage her furrowed brow, smoothing the creases. Within seconds, her eyelids began to droop, and he pulled the coverlet up to her chin.
“Go to sleep, Chloe, and stay in bed tomorrow. Let Lady Milbanke’s maid look after
your aunt.”
“There are things I do not understand,” she replied drowsily, trying to fight the combined effects of shock and
brandy.
“There is nothing for you to worry about,” he said with more vehemence than he intended. He shifted his weight, settling himself closer to her on the bed and began to gently stroke her temples. “Now sleep,” he whispered.
He watched her heavy eyelids lose the battle against closing, finally shutting him off from her hazel eyes. He dropped a light kiss on her soft, inviting lips, studied her pale countenance, and pondered his protective feelings for her. He stayed beside her until he was sure she’d drifted into a deep, natural sleep.
*** Chapter 6 ***
Chloe awoke the next morning to a darkened room, lying on her side. Rolling over, she winced painfully when the back of her head
made contact with the pillow and gingerly felt around the tender knot. She lay there for several minutes, contemplating the events of the night and was amazed at how well she felt.
But such optimism was premature. Rising to a sitting position, she instantly regretted the hasty action as a wave of nauseating dizziness overcame her. Cautiously
, she lowered herself down onto the pillow. Her eyes were drawn to where the bed covers had fallen away, exposing her chemise. Something warred with her memory. She had been completely clothed when Lord Camden had pulled the spread over her. Nor did she remember awakening during the night to undress, although vaguely she recalled someone tugging on her clothes while she tried to sleep. Good heavens! Had that been the Viscount?
Before she could sort out such an embarrassing as well as highly comprising possibility, the door opened slightly and
Hannah peered in. Seeing Chloe awake, the abigail came into the room, pulled back the drapes, letting in a gray watery light, and inquired how she fared.
“Well enough,” replied Chloe, though she made no effort to move. “What time is it? Where is Aunt Sophia? Oh, I should have been up way before now.”
“Now don’t fret yourself, Miss Chloe. Lady Milbanke’s playing cards with the rest of them downstairs. Been raining ever since the rooster’s been up, it has, so no one’s going anywhere. And Sir Albert came for your aunt, saying he’d look after her because you was to rest.”
“But why all this bother?” asked Chloe, confused by these revelations.
“It was Viscount Camden’s doing, Missy. He stopped me this morning when I was bringing up her ladyship’s breakfast and said you fell and hit your head last night. He insisted you was to be left alone and that you were to keep to your bed today.”
Laughing nervously, Chloe corroborated the Viscount’s tale by admitting she’d been clumsy and tripped while chasing after the little dog. This jolted her memory
, and a horrible thought struck her, and she bolted upright, clutching the bed covers to her.
“Oh, good heavens, Lady Caro! I forgot all about the poor dear. Where is she?” Chloe asked, bringing a shaky hand up to her aching head. Sliding back down onto the pillow, she wondered how long it would be before the dreadful vertigo desisted.
“Don’t be working yourself up,” cried Hannah, anxiously eying her as she tucked the coverlet tightly about Chloe. “That good for nothing animal slept right by you like a queen last night. Come to that, the little beast was mighty put out when I booted her off your bed this morning. Now, Missy, you stay where you are, and I’ll see to getting you some toast and a nice hot cup of tea.”
Once
Hannah left, Chloe lost no time getting out of bed. Though her movements were slow and deliberate to counteract the spinning of the room, she managed to retrieve her night rail from the wardrobe and shed her chemise. With her head spinning as she climbed back into the high four-poster, she was thankful for the Viscount’s discreet and efficient handling of her mishap. His tale had served to answer for her condition or, at least, sufficiently so that Hannah hadn’t asked any embarrassing questions.
When Hannah returned, she went about tidying up the room, all the while chattering about the aborted trip to Tenterden. Never did she inquire about the accident,
or how Chloe managed to get back to her room, though Chloe had caught the maid watching her suspiciously. And true to her word, Hannah fussed about Chloe throughout the day, checking on her several times to make sure she remained abed. Chloe proved to be a good patient, however, gratefully complying with Hannah’s strictures. A devil of a headache plagued her, making her queasy every time she attempted to lift her head off the pillow.
Aunt Sophia came to help entertain the invalid for part of the afternoon. “You look the very devil, child,” the dowager told her with exaggerated sympathy before lunging into a description of the card game from which she’d just come. “Couldn’t win much since every time Morley or I upped the ante, that weasel
ly French foreigner bowed out. And Pearson’s such a coxcomb he didn’t do anything but ogle the widow every time that hussy bent over to put her card in the middle of the table. A bloody exhibitionist, that’s what she is.”
“Aunt Sophia!” Chloe gasped indignantly, even as she fought a
giggle.
“
Pashaw, girl. Caught him twice with his eyes nearly popping out of his head. ‘Course, we all know she wasn’t displaying her charms for him. Little good it did the hussy, though. Camden had better sense and kept his mind on the play,” she chuckled almost evilly.
But while Chloe appreciated her aunt’s company, she was not up to listening to the old lady’s prattling. Thankfully, Hannah curbed the length of the visit, reminding the dowager that if she planned to play cards after dinner, she’d do better with a nap.
As the day wore on, disappointment overcame Chloe’s initial feeling of relief when the Viscount failed to make any inquiry about her condition. She knew it was foolish of her to think he’d do anymore than he had already. Still, she began to wonder if she’d dreamed all the tenderness he’d shown.
But here too, Hannah supplied the answer. The
abigail brought Chloe’s dinner tray adorned with a single white rose laying to one side and announced it had come from the Viscount.
“He waylaid me in the hall and asked me how you was doing. Wanted to know what you’d been eating and if you was needing
anything.”