Page 30 of Too Wylde To Tame
Whatever, indeed, he thought, as he kissed the top of her head.
TWENTY-ONE
Charity went to her room where Cordelia waited, perched on the edge of the bed, all but vibrating with the wealth of questions she had yet to ask. She’d spent the remainder of the morning and all of the evening in Frederick’s sick room, watching over him. There had been no fever thus far, which was a good sign. The housekeeper had placed foul smelling but effective poultices on the wound and she’d forced him to drink a medicinal tea that had been utterly revolting. It was the doctor’s prescription which had made things difficult.
He’d left her with instructions to give him laudanum for the pain. While it had helped him to sleep, it had brought on restless and disturbing dreams, as evidenced by the way he’d tossed and turned. It had taken considerable effort to prevent him from tearing his stitches. When he’d quieted, at long last, her aunt had stepped in. Marguerite had insisted that Charity should go to bed and rest and she would watch over him during the night.
Exhausted, Charity had climbed the stairs to her room. She was far too disturbed by the day’s events to have any hope of sleeping. Now, based on the fact that her cousin was all but vibrating with curiosity, Cordelia wanted all the details. Charity gave a weary sigh before telling her cousin, “Go ahead and ask. I know you’re dying to.”
“Did Lord Dartwell’s brother really try to kill him? And is it true that he might try to harm you to prevent a marriage between the pair of you? How grave are Lord Dartwell’s injuries? How long will this delay your marriage?”
“Yes. Yes. So long as there is no festering of the wound, he should make a full recovery. Phinneas will obtain a common license for us, and we will marry as soon as he is able, but he is adamant we shall wed by week’s end,” she replied, addressing each question in turn.
Cordelia’s tone gentled as she reached out and took Charity’s hands in her own, leading her to her narrow bed and all but forcing her to sit. She was so exhausted, Charity realized, that she’d simply didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other.
“And how are you, Charity?” Delia asked gently.
Charity immediately burst into tears. She hadn’t meant to do so. In truth, she hadn’t even been aware that such an emotional outburst was lurking so close to the surface. But she was unable to stop it, so she simply dropped her head into her hands and wept. The whole time, Delia gently rubbed her shoulders and back, offering comforting words.
Finally, when she could pull herself together, she gave a watery laugh. “I’m sorry. I certainly did not mean to fall apart in such a manner.”
“You are tired. Worried. The events of the past several days have been a wild swing from joyous to terrifying. Is it any wonder you are so overset?” Her cousin offered the observation with a gentle tone.
“I love him desperately, Delia. I know that sounds silly because we have known one another such a short time, but I think I loved him instantly! It’s as though I’ve always been waiting just for him,” Charity admitted forlornly.
Delia laughed. “Well, of course, you love him. You would never have agreed to marry him if you did not. But why is this upsetting for you? To be in love with one’s husband is surely a desirable state.”
“What if—what if this isn’t real? What if what we think is love is only infatuation and it will wear off after we’re married. Then we are forced to live with decisions made in haste.”
Cordelia shook her head. “You cannot have it both ways. You cannot be instantly in love with him and then not be certain you are in love with him… or is it his feelings of which you are uncertain?”
“He says that he loves me, that he loved me from the first. I know he means to honor our agreement and we will be married. I keep waiting for the moment when I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and ruin it all. And he will still feel bound by honor to go through with it. Oh, Delia, I cannot imagine a worse fate than to love a man who does not love me in return! I cannot imagine anything so desperate or unhappy.”
Delia shook her head even as she rose and began pulling pins from Charity’s hair. When the mass of blonde curls tumbled down over her shoulders, Delia went to retrieve her brush and a length of ribbon. When she returned, she began running the bristles through Charity’s hair in a soothing manner. “I think,” she said as she brushed the locks in slow, deliberate strokes, “that you need not worry about how he feels for you. I cannot imagine that the man would have gone to such lengths if he weren’t truly in love with you. Look at today’s events! Your love has already been put to the test, and it has passed. It is constant even in the face of danger. This isn’t about the permanency of your love, Charity, or even his feelings toward you. It’s about the confidence you do not have in yourself. That will grow, but you must give it time. Give yourselves time to settle into your life together. All will be well. I am certain of it.”
“How can you be so certain?” Charity asked. As she uttered the question, she could hear the languidness of her voice. Delia was lulling her to sleep brushing her hair much like one soothed an infant by patting its back.
Delia shrugged as she placed the brush on the table beside the bed and then began sectioning Charity’s hair to braid it for the night. “Who could not love you?”
With the task complete and her hair contained in a simple braid, Charity had no response to that statement from Delia. But she was too tired to focus on it all now. She needed to rest before she simply fell over.
“Some of the other guests have departed early, likely to run their gossip back to town,” Delia said quite heatedly. “But, to give you a decent night’s rest, I’ll be sleeping in one of their relinquished rooms tonight.”
Charity removed her dress and stays. Once she was clad only in her chemise, Delia tucked her into bed and then left the room. Within seconds, her eyes drifted closed and she fell into fitful and unpleasant dreams.
* * *
Jameson had lainin wait within Randford House since earlier in the day. When the household had been in an uproar with his brother’s arrival, bloodied and unconscious, it had been the perfect opportunity to slip in unseen. It had been a stroke of pure genius not to try and find a place to hide, but simply to return to the room he had occupied as a guest. Just as he had expected, no one had thought to look for him there. Now, he was simply waiting for the remainder of the guests to find their way to their beds or someone else’s for the night. Then he would get rid of Miss Charity Wylde. But he had no intention of killing her. There were other ways to get rid of a woman. After all, her death wasn’t necessary. He only had to ensure she was so ruined that his brother could never marry her.
There was a certain brothel in London—a place that catered to men with certain desires. A gently reared lady, both young and virginal—or close enough to it— would fetch a high price if auctioned there. He saw no reason why destroying his brother shouldn’t also be a profitable enterprise. Regardless of what happened with Frederick, who would no doubt move heaven and earth to have him disowned and removed from the entail entirely, he would at least know that he’d ruined his brother’s every chance at happiness. His failure to end his brother’s life might have destroyed his own, but he was petty and vengeful enough to not sink to the bottom alone. He’d make the lot of them suffer along with him.
As the house settled around him, the corridor growing quieter as more people sought the privacy of their bed chambers, Jameson rose from the chair where he’d been resting.Waiting.Crossing to the door, he opened it a mere crack and peered out. The corridor was entirely clear with no one about, the sconces had all been doused save for one burning at each end. Easing out into the darkness, he crept slowly along. He would have to subdue both Miss Cordelia Wylde and Charity before he could make off with her.
When he reached the shared room of the young women, he gripped the door handle tightly and slowly turned it. The door swung silently inward and he eased inside. The room was completely dark. The night sky beyond the open window was so cloudy that it blocked even a hint of moonlight from penetrating the window.
Easing his way through the room, he found himself staring down at a still made and very empty bed. Panic hovered around the edges of his mind? What if Charity Wylde had stayed below to nurse his maddening brother? But then he glanced to the other bed in the room and smiled. Though he couldn’t make out the color beyond knowing that it was light, the long braid spread out over the pillow identified the occupant as the object of his scheme.
Padding silently toward the opposite bed, he stood there for a moment looking down at her. Then without warning, he struck out, one hand clamping over her nose and mouth, the other gripping that long braid to turn her head toward him. Her wide eyed stare and the muffled scream against his hand revealed her terror.
