Page 99 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Her aunt opened her eyes, and Phee found herself staring into faded green.
“Phee?” She smiled weakly. “You came. Wigmore said you wouldn’t.”
Did he think no one would compare tales? “I’m taking you to London.”
She yanked the bellpull. When the maid finally arrived, she told her, “Pack a small valise of Her Ladyship’s things. We’ll be leaving shortly.” She turned back to her aunt. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up so we can dress you?”
“You’ve always been such a dear.”
Phee glanced back over her shoulder at the sound of heavy footsteps. Relief coursed through her at the sight of Drake. He came to stand beside her and she nearly leaned into him for strength. “Auntie, this is Drake Darling. He’s going to help me take you home.”
“I am home, dear.”
“To my home.” She looked up at Drake, surprised by the intensity with which he was studying her aunt. “If you’ll leave us, I need to dress her.”
“Let’s not take the time. I’ve had enough of this place, and I suspect you have as well. I’ll carry her out wrapped in blankets. She can travel in her nightdress. We’ll be back to London before first light.”
She nodded, ready to leave as well. “Her things?”
“Leave them. We’ll purchase whatever she needs once we’re away.”
Phee watched the gentleness with which Drake wrapped her aunt in blankets and lifted her into his arms. A pang of remorse hit her as she remembered his carrying her to his bed. Now when there were things she wished to forget, she could recall them with startling clarity. His passion, his fire ... his tenderness. A complex man born into darkness who had risen above it. A man she had once discounted, thought beneath her. Someone to fetch her champagne when he should have been sipping it beside her.
She followed them down the stairs and out into the night. The footman opened the coach door. Drake settled her aunt on the bench, allowing her to lie across it.
“I’ll pillow her head,” Phee said, although she would have preferred sitting next to Drake.
His fingers wrapped around hers as he assisted her up. She was halfway inside when thunder echoed through the night. “What was that?” she asked.
“Wait here.”
As though she was going to do anything of the sort. “We’ll be back directly,” she told her aunt, before racing to catch up with Drake. Did he have to have such blasted long legs?
A stillness hovered in the residence, a sense of disbelief, an aura of foreboding. They were in the hallway, almost to Wigmore’s library, when the butler stepped out of the room, as white as a sheet.
“His Lordship’s dead. He shot himself with one of his dueling pistols.”
Phee stopped, pressed her back to the wall as darkness began to circle at the edge of her vision.
“Phee? Phee? Sweetheart?”
She was vaguely aware of Drake’s voice, his masculine scent, his warm fingers tapping her cheeks. Then she was gazing into dark, dark eyes. “Why did he do it?” she asked.
“Because he’s a coward.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I knew what he was, what he’d done, and that I intended to take everything he valued from him.”
He would have done it. She had no doubt. Reaching up, she skimmed her fingers over his familiar jaw. “You’re not responsible for his death.”
“Not directly, perhaps. But I’m glad of it.”
She waited where she was while he gave instructions to the servants regarding how the matter should be handled, where they would be able to reach the countess. She was grateful they wouldn’t be delaying their departure overly long.
When they returned to the coach and informed her aunt regarding what had happened, she replied, “I never much liked him.”
Then she promptly went to sleep before Phee could settle her aunt’s head upon her lap. Which left her to sit by Drake. She didn’t object when he placed his arm around her and nestled her close to his side. She had an incredible urge to weep. She didn’t know why. Perhaps because it was over.
