by Amy Jarecki
Upon entering the library, he strode to the window, surprised to see Eleanor wearing a snugly fitting, pale blue riding habit and spencer with matching gloves and a muslin cravat. Tilted atop her red curls perched a tall shako hat with a narrow brim and a plume of ostrich feathers. She appeared to be heading for the stables with Joe at her side. The mutinous hound had instantly taken a liking to Her Grace.
And I thought dogs were good judges of character.
A trickle of water streamed down the pane from the morning’s mist. He looked to the sky. There was a full covering of clouds, though it didn’t appear as if there’d be a storm. Sher sighed. A little rain never hurt a soul, though he ought to go with her.
“Breakfast, Your Grace,” said a footman, entering with his tray. “Shall I place it on your writing table?”
“Please.”
Sher turned and headed for his tray. The grooms would see to Eleanor’s needs. Besides, he needed another day to himself—in his library. In truth, it was his favorite chamber in the castle. When Eleanor had mentioned it, he’d received her comments with a mixture of pride and the territorial desire to harbor his dearest possession and keep it from her. When at Rawcliffe Castle, Sher spent most days in this library—it was quiet and provided him with much needed respite.
As he was buttering a slice of toast, Mr. Hops entered with an assortment of ledgers under his arm. “I have the books of accounts for your review, Your Grace.”
“Excellent.” Sher inclined his head toward his writing table. “Leave them. Is all well? Is there anything that requires my immediate attention?”
“The harvest is looking good so far. Rents are up to date.”
“And the distillery?”
“Still awaiting the first taste of whisky.”
Sher opened a drawer and pulled out a book of dates. “What has it been, nearly twelve years in the oak casks?”
“Yes, sir. If you ask me, we ought to bottle half of it.”
“Perhaps we’ll have a taste on the twelfth anniversary.”
“Wonderful suggestion, my lord. Shall I inform the master distiller?”
“Why not wait until I have an opportunity to see him myself?”
“Very well.”
As Sher poured himself a cup of tea, Hops shifted from foot to foot. “Is there something else?”
“Ah, no, Your Grace. But…”
“Yes?”
“We were all very surprised to see you arrive with Her Grace.”
Sher could only imagine. There had been no announcement, no engagement, no invitations. “I assure you I did not take part in impropriety.” He raised his cup and sipped.
“Of course not. None of us would even think such a thing.”
Sher almost snorted his tea through his nose. Very few people in Great Britain would refer to him as a saint. However, he had never engaged in any sort of interlude with a proper lady…until he’d met Eleanor. “Then what is it everyone is dying to know, including you, Hops? And do not hold back. It is obvious the mystery is troubling you.”
The little man grew red in the face. “Forgive me for being forward, but it is rather untoward, I suppose. The staff would just like to know why no one was informed before you arrived.”
And they all would have expected some sort of wedding or big to-do at Rawcliffe. “First of all, let me make it perfectly clear what happened in London is no one’s business. But, since this is a rather unexpected state of affairs and because I do not want untrue gossip spreading, I will admit that the Prince of Wales felt it was in Her Grace’s best interest to marry.”
“Good heavens, the prince got her with child?”
Tea sloshed in Sher’s cup. Hang it all, if Hops assumed the worst, the rest of the servants would condemn Eleanor for inappropriate conduct and they’d never respect her. “No. Absolutely not.” He shouldn’t have mentioned the prince. “What I’m about to say is for your ears only. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’m going to say this because you are the only man in this household I can trust never to speak out of turn.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Miss Kent…er…Her Grace was on the board of her father’s importing business when it was discovered that said business had some rather questionable transactions. And due to the fact that the lady is a respected member of the ton, the prince did not want her good name to be dragged through the mire.”
“And thus, you married her?”
“If you do not recall, I am leading the prime minister’s anti-smuggling task force.”
Understanding crossed the steward’s face as his jaw dropped. “Oh dear.”
“Oh dear, nothing.” Sher raked his fingers through his hair. “When you leave this room, you are only at liberty to tell the staff I fell madly in love with Her Grace and desired to marry her on the spot because of the depth and intensity of my affection.”
The steward’s thick eyebrows arched. “I say, the smuggling part is so much more interesting.”
“I’m swearing you to secrecy, Hops.”
“My lips are sealed, Your Grace. Overwhelming, blinding love at first sight will ensnare a man every time.”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
Sher spent the remainder of the day pouring over the books of accounts and attending to his correspondence. He had no idea of the hour when he moved to his favorite chair and lost himself in a novel.
But when a flash of lightning beamed across the bookshelves, followed by an earth-shaking boom of thunder, he set his book aside and moved to the window. Outside, the trees were bent, shaking from the force of the storm while a torrent of rain pelted the pane.
He yanked on the bell pull and Mrs. Temperance appeared almost immediately. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Has Her Grace returned from the stables?”
“I have no idea.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No, sir, but I’ve been below stairs most of the day.”
Sher bounded past the housekeeper and, on his way outside, grabbed an old, oiled cloak he kept by the rear door. At a run, he dashed for the stables. “Farley!” he hollered for the head groomsman. “Where is Her Grace?”
The man gripped the reins of a saddled horse in his hand. “Not yet returned, Your Grace.”
“Who is with her?”
“She said she wanted to ride alone, sir.”
“And you let her?” Sher grabbed the reins from the groom and mounted the gelding. “Where the devil did she go?”
“She didn’t say. But Joe went with her.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.” Sher shoved his right foot into the stirrup. “I want every man we have on horseback searching. Spread out. God only knows how far she’s gone.”
As he rode out into the pouring rain, a riderless horse trotted into the yard. A lead brick sank to the pit of Sher’s stomach as he recognized Eleanor’s saddle. “Now, damn it all! Find her!”
Chapter Nineteen
Chills wracked Eleanor’s body. With the chattering of her teeth, the back of her head pounded as if she’d been hit with a mallet. Drops of water splattered on her face but her mind was in a fog.
What happened?
Her right arm nestled against something warm. Groaning, she writhed while a stone grated into her shoulder. “No!” she garbled as the warmth eased away.
A whine came, followed by a sloppy tongue slurping her face.
Slinging an arm across her forehead, Eleanor opened her eyes, only to have them stung by raindrops. She blinked in succession. “Joe?”
Another slurp and a whine.
Good glory, her head ached. She reached back and hissed. As she pushed herself up, she held out her palm while a sickly wave churned in her stomach.
Blood.
“Where are we?” she asked, taking in the surroundings—trees, a path filled with puddles and thick with mud.
Joe yowled and walked away a few paces before he returned.
S
haking with the cold, her memory returned. The lightning strike, the tree limb breaking above, the horse rearing. The last thing she remembered was being thrown backward through the air.
“We’d best head back, hadn’t we, boy?”
Eleanor pushed to her feet, the effort making the ground spin. Gripping her hands against her stomach, she wretched over and over again while the pounding in her head grew more torturous.
The dog whined and rubbed against her.
“Gah!” She swiped the spittle away from her mouth, then stooped, placing her hands on her thighs. “Just allow me a moment and I’ll be fine.”
After taking a few deep breaths, the dizziness ebbed enough for her to pick up a sturdy walking stick and straighten. Gradually, she turned in a circle. “Where is my horse?”
Aside from taking a few steps along the path as he’d done before, Joe had no answer. Though Eleanor wasn’t exactly certain how far she’d ridden from the castle, she had no doubt she’d traveled for miles. At first she’d set out at a walk, but invigorated by the freedom of escaping her plight, she’d cued the horse faster and faster while the skies grew ever darker. For all Eleanor knew, she might no longer be on Danby lands.
Rain continued to pour, chilling her to the bone. The sky was ominous, not night, but it soon would be. She took a few steps. Not only was her riding habit soaked through, the thick woolen weave was heavy and cumbersome.
“Come, Joe,” she said through chattering teeth as she bucked up her determination. “We cannot remain here. And it seems this forest is fresh out of gallant knights.”
The dog fell in step beside her, looking upward now and again as if he were truly worried about her. Yes, Joe could race for home and find a warm hearth before which to dry his coat, but he didn’t. Eleanor brushed her hand along his back, the movement bringing another wave of head-pounding nausea. “Thank you for staying with me. You’re a good boy.”
She managed to drag herself onward about a half mile when she stopped and leaned on her stick. “I’m not going to make it all the way to the castle.” She placed her fingers under the dog’s chin and looked him in the eye. “Go fetch the stable master and bring him back to me.”
The dog grunted and turned in a circle.
“Go on!”
He didn’t budge.
She picked up a stick, waved it under his nose, and threw it. “Go!”
Joe sat, his tail beating the hem of her sodden dress.
Through the trees, she spotted a hunting hide. “Well, if you’re not going to fetch help, we have no choice but to shelter at least until the rain stops.”
Inside, the hide provided little comfort, but it was dry. In one corner stood an old barrel. “Hopefully, there’s something of use in there,” she said, removing the lid and peering inside the dim cavern.
Never in her life had Eleanor been so happy to find a pile of musty old quilts. She pulled one out and wrapped it around her shoulders, then piled the remainder on the ground.
“Come, Joe, sit beside me,” she said as she sank downward. Good heavens, why must her head ache so? “Not to worry. I’ll feel better after I close my eyes for a bit.”
She leaned against the wall, clutching the quilt tighter. The pain did ease a bit when she rested. If only the hunters had seen fit to leave a tinderbox or something with which to light a fire.
But she was too tired to care.
Oh, so very tired.
Gradually, everything faded into nothingness.
“Arf! Arf! Arf!”
Eleanor jolted awake. “Joe!”
Outside the shelter, the dog barked again.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to stand, but only managing to crawl to the doorway. “Is someone out there?”
“Arf!”
“Help!” she shouted, the effort bringing on a bout of horrible pounding. The pain didn’t matter. She was icy cold and it was still raining. If no one came, she’d be there all night and quite possibly catch her death. “Help!”
“Eleanor?” came a distant holler.
“Here!” she cried, pressing her palms to her temples. “Help!”
“Arf! Arf!”
The sound of an approaching horse renewed her strength. She bore down on her walking stick and forced herself to stand.
“Eleanor?” It was Danby’s voice and much clearer now.
She took a wobbly step out of the hide. “I’m here!”
His horse bounded into the clearing, the beast’s croup dipping low while its hooves skidded to a stop. “My God, you gave me a scare!” he said, dismounting and dashing to her side.
Eleanor leaned on her stick and tried to steady the dizziness. “I’m so sorry. Lightning struck and a branch came crashing down atop us, making my horse rear.” She reached back. “I hit my head.”
Danby grasped her hand and examined it, then looked behind her. “You’re bleeding.”
“I tried to send Joe home, but he wouldn’t leave my side. A-and it hurts. And I’m so very tired.”
As he slid his arm around her waist, Eleanor sank against him. “We must hasten back to the castle.”
After helping her onto the horse, Danby mounted behind her. “Come, Joe,” he said, taking up the reins.
Though relieved to have been found, Eleanor hated to be seen as foolish. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“You’re new to this forest. Someone should have gone with you, no matter how much you wanted to be alone.” His upper arms tightened around her, the reins remaining secure in his fists. “Ease against me. I’ll keep you warm.”
She was too embarrassed, in too much pain, and too tired to argue. And his chest wasn’t only warm, the security of his touch comforted her. She closed her eyes, trusting in his strength to take them home. Nothing else mattered at the moment. Yes, they were still at odds. They had entered into a marriage agreement too hastily and without love.
But for now, it seemed real. It seemed like Sher cared. It was almost as if she were a real wife in the arms of a loving husband.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over, still so cold and so very tired.
“There’s no need to apologize.” His lips brushed her temple. “You may have been a bit cavalier, but there was no chance you could have known a storm was brewing when you left.”
“I still feel like a dolt.”
“You’re not a dolt.”
“Mayhap not, but you hate me all the more.”
“I beg to differ, Your Grace. You are the one who sent me a letter ordering me never to see you again.”
She slumped against him. “Little good that did.”
He tensed and cued the horse for a trot, which brought on a wave of nausea. Eleanor choked back her urge to heave and curled forward, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“Whoa.” Sher tugged on the reins. “Are you all right?”
“Ever since I awoke, I’ve been sick to my stomach.”
Sher transferred the reins to one hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ll try to keep you as steady as I can, but we must hurry.”
Holding her snugly and kicking his heels, he demanded a canter.
Sher heaved a sigh of relief when they rode to the Rawcliffe Castle door. Hollering orders as he dismounted, he pulled Eleanor into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She wasn’t only listless from the cold, if left untreated, the injury she’d sustained to her head might be lethal.
“Mrs. Temperance! I need a bath drawn in Her Grace’s chamber straightaway,” he bellowed as he marched through the kitchens. “Send for Dr. Roberts. Make a pot of willow bark tea and bring up a stack of bandages!”
Sher bounded up the stairs and kicked open the door to the duchess’ chamber. “Where the devil is Rosie?”
Not waiting for a reply, he headed for the bed and rested his wife atop the mattress, then unfastened his cloak and cast it aside. “We need to remove your wet clothing.”
“I can manage,” Eleanor said, her trembling fingers fumbl
ing with the buttons on her snugly fitting spencer while her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
Sher brushed her hands away. “I’ll do it.”
His icy fingers felt like clumsy lumps, struggling with buttonholes seeming to be three sizes too small. Unwilling to waste another second, he ripped open the jacket.
“This is new, mind you,” she garbled, rubbing her temple.
“I’ll buy you ten more.” Sher twisted her shoulders sideways enough to allow him access to the ties on her gown.
Rosie burst out from the servants’ entrance near the antechamber. “Oh, my heavens, Your Grace, what has happened?”
“The duchess has had a nasty fall.” Sher pulled the bow and yanked open the wet laces. “I’ve ordered a bath. Stoke the fire. She’s chilled to the bone.”
As he shoved the riding habit from her shoulders, Eleanor’s teeth chattered with her shiver. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Sher grasped her wrists. “You need to stand to allow me to remove your dress.”
With a cringe, she glanced toward the maid who was busy tending the fire. “Very well.” Still shivering, Eleanor allowed him to pull her to her feet and as soon as she was upright, the gown dropped to the floor in a sodden pile.
The sight before him took his breath away. Her Grace’s shift was soaked through and nearly translucent. Her stays encased her waist and ribs, presenting her breasts like a gift. But what drew his gaze were the half-moons of her nipples straining against the fine holland cloth. They called to him, intoxicated him, making his mouth grow dry. His mouth. Dear God, within the blink of an eye, he wanted his mouth on those breasts with every male fiber of his body.
“I have your tea, Your Grace.” Mrs. Temperance’s voice came from the corridor. “And the lads are here with the bath and water.”
“A moment.” Sher, snapped out of his trance, grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it across Eleanor’s shoulders. Then he urged her back down to the mattress. “Enter.”