Roark fingered the egg-sized knot on the side of his head. He’d have a brilliant headache for a day or two. There was no help for it. Duty called. He couldn’t stay abed and nurse his head. He’d suffered far worse at his sire’s hand and still functioned.
“Pepperhill, please tell Westbrook to have Sir Hugh meet me in my study,” he glanced at the clock, “in an hour.”
That gave him plenty of time to bathe and organize his thoughts. They drifted repeatedly to a chocolate-eyed siren. Suddenly he was quite famished. After spreading marmalade on a piece of toast, he took a healthy bite.
“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Yes, I’d like a bath, and I want to be informed the moment Miss Ferguson is awake. Did Doctor Kimball say if she’d be able to entertain visitors or be up and about today?”
He took another bite of toast, then forked a bit of egg into his mouth. It was cold, precisely why he preferred eating below stairs. Hunger compelled him to take another bite despite the unappetizing condition of the eggs. Besides, he needed his mind keen today. An empty stomach didn’t lend itself to sharp thinking.
“I’m unaware of Doctor Kimball’s orders regarding her. I’ll check with Miss Ferguson’s abigail straightaway, my lord.” Pepperhill opened the chamber door to leave.
Roark paused, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. “Pepper, where’s the Scot, Brayan McVey? I assume he’s been detained somewhere on the grounds.”
The valet sent Roark a searching look. “Sir, he perished in the fire.”
Pepperhill moved back into the room. “You and Miss Ferguson were barely found in time. The coach house collapsed moments after the two of you were brought out. No one had time to find the Scot, much less rescue him. If it hadn’t been for Miss Ferguson moving you as far as she did, and Miss Seonaid’s vision, I’m afraid you both would have died as well.”
This time, there was no hiding the tears pooling in the man’s eyes. He brushed them away, but made no apologies for his emotional display.
The Scot was dead.
Adaira had obviously held him in affection, at least at one time. Something told Roark, she’d grieve her friend’s death, despite his atrocious actions. The man had been unbalanced, much like Edgar. Why the stupid fool had started the fires, Roark would never know. For certain, Brayan hadn’t expected to be a victim of his own demented scheme.
“Where is his body? His next of kin will need to be notified.”
“My lord,” Pepperhill swung his attention to a window. “The building burned to the ground. There were no remains left.”
Roark could muster no sympathy for the Scotsman. What Brayan had put Adaira through was unpardonable.
“You mentioned Adaira saved me by dragging me to the door.” Roark furrowed his brow. “But, Miss Seonaid, how could she have known?”
Pepperhill grinned, which so startled Roark, he choked on his coffee, spewing it across the table. Pepperhill didn’t grin. Ever. The minutest upward tilt of his lips passed for a smile on extremely rare occasions.
The manservant rushed to Roark and began pounding him on the back, sending shards of pain into his already thrumming head.
“Enough man! Did you forget my head?”
“My apologies, my lord. I did indeed. I feared you were choking.”
Roark waved off the apology, his appetite effectively squashed. “You were saying? Miss Seonaid?”
The valet nodded. “It seems she has the second sight. Prior to this, I’d not believed in such drivel. While we were fighting the fires, she and the other ladies were sequestered in the drawing room. She suddenly went stiff and blurted something about Miss Adaira being in danger.”
Pepperhill brushed a speck of lint from his immaculate sleeve before straightening his already perfectly aligned waistcoat.
“But how did you find us in time?” Inexplicably restless, Roark stood. He crossed the room to gaze on the charred ruins beyond his window. He’d come very close to dying last night. Adaira could have escaped. She risked her life to save his. His chest tightened with suppressed emotion.
God, he was grateful she was daring and unconventional.
Why had he thought to change her?
“I’m given to understand Miss Seonaid sees things. Images.
I was told she saw flames, carriages, and her sister being set upon. But if it hadn’t been for Miss Adaira getting you near the entrance, you would have died.”
Pepperhill made an odd sound in the back of his throat.
Visions?
Thank God her family believed Seonaid, trusted her enough to send help. And thank God for Adaira. How she’d hauled him that far, he’d never know. Clanking and tinkling told Roark the dutiful servant cleared his leftover breakfast.
Then he was beside Roark, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Sir, are you well? Can I get you anything?”
Turning his head, Roark smiled. “I’m fine, Pepper. I need naught else but my bathwater. There’s much to put aright today. Please send Westbrook to me after you’ve delivered the message to Sir Hugh.”
“At once, my lord.” Gathering the breakfast tray, Pepperhill made a smart half bow, then turning on his heels, left the room.
Roark’s gaze skimmed the blackened mounds proclaiming where the stables and carriage house once stood. His house party was over before it began. Although the arrangements were made, there was no way on earth he should host a ball tonight. He’d not be surprised if half his guests hadn’t left for home already.
Blister it. More visitors would be arriving today. His other barns were sufficient to house their horseflesh, and none of the guests’ carriages had been in the coach house. However, there was the magistrate to contact, staff and guests to question, a list to prepare of lost goods, one of items to be replaced immediately, and still another of building supplies to order.
And, of course, there was the bumblebroth with Adaira and her thoroughly compromised reputation.
Those and dozens of other thoughts careened about in his head. If it didn’t already ache fiendishly, the turmoil in his mind would have set his head pounding.
Leaning against the window’s sash, a silvery spot caught his eye. Fionn, head and tail high, trotted majestically around the pasture followed by several mares. Even as he watched, the stallion mounted Tenacity.
Well, confound it. She was in season.
Roark quirked his lips. It seemed Adaira’s stallion was destined to sire a line for him after all.
Adaira. He released a long, controlled breath.
Last night, the passionate woman in his arms had been unequalled. She fascinated him. He’d not deny it. His responses to her were powerful and unrestrained—overwhelming reactions previously foreign to him. Her fervent kisses revealed her desire for him too. Doubt and suspicion raised their ugly heads, however.
He’d no doubt Godwin had forced himself on her. But Roark had kissed her on several occasions. Not once had she responded like a woman afraid of passion. In fact, the opposite was true. Had Brayan spoken the truth? Was Roark nothing but another man to her? Did she revel in her conquests like Delia had?
Adaira wouldn’t have jeopardized her life to save him if that were true. His gut told him neither Delia nor Helene would have gone to the extremes the Scottish lass had to protect him.
Brayan’s revelations staggered Roark. Even now, rage boiled his blood. Adaira had been assaulted. The worse, most degrading, fate for a woman. The knowledge explained much. Her discomfort around men. Her unsuccessful attempts to hide her femininity by wearing boys’ attire.
Bugger it, but he was a boorish cur. He’d accused her of that very thing. Ignorance and pride had blinded him to her loveliness.
Lord, what a mess. He rubbed the nape of his neck, wincing when he encou
ntered a smaller lump low on the back of his head.
She was ruined. A good score of men had seen her state of undress. The telling marks on her delicate skin didn’t leave much to the imagination. There were people in this very house who’d be only too happy to whisper and snicker behind their hands, spreading their version of last night’s events.
There was no help for it. The mold was cast. The outcome couldn’t be changed. He sighed. Pushing away from the window, he strode to the bell pull.
If Roark hurried, he could have a courier leave for London today with a missive requesting his solicitor obtain a special license.
CHAPTER 26
The moment Adaira awoke this morning, her mother, sisters, and Maisey converged on her like fog on a loch. Their faces marred with concern, she’d not the heart to object to them fretting over her. Father, Dugall, and Flynn had poked their heads in to check on her health as well.
Maisey, her eyes red-rimmed and nose suspiciously shiny, flitted from one side of the bed to the other on the pretense of straightening the coverings or rearranging items on the bedside tables. Cheerful mid-morning sunlight bathed the other four women crowded atop the mattress.
Kiki, hind legs stretched behind her, wiggled her way toward the breakfast tray resting on the counterpane beside Adaira
“How are you feeling? You’ve quite a knot on your head,” Mother fussed, her gaze returning over and over to the welts she knew lay hidden beneath Adaira’s gown.
Self-conscious, she pulled the nightgown’s neckline a bit higher. She’d explained the marks last night, but the unsightly tokens reminded everyone of the attack. “I’m fine, Mother, truly. My head scarcely hurts at all. I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I’ve lost the cameo necklace and bracelet.”
“Don’t fret about them.” Mother patted Adaira’s knee. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Kiki snatched a piece of toast. She dived onto the floor. With her prize clamped in her mouth, she scurried under the bed to enjoy her treasure uninterrupted.
Isobel gasped. “Why, the little thief.”
“It’s all right. I wasn’t going to eat anymore.” Adaira had managed a bit of bacon, a couple bites of toast, and a few strawberries to appease her mother’s anxious promptings.
Isobel extended a fat strawberry. “Here’s a nice, juicy one.”
“No, thank you. I couldn’t possibly eat another.”
And if dear Seonaid didn’t leave off brushing Adaira’s hair and bumping her bruised scalp. . .
“Seonaid, I do believe there’s nary a tangle left.”
“True, Addy, but your hair reeks of smoke and needs washing.” After one last stroke, Seonaid laid the brush in her lap.
“A bath’s been ordered, chére. We’ve only to send word once you finish breaking your fast.” Mother took the cold washcloth Adaira held to her cheek. “The bruising isn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared.”
“That’s because our Addy has a hard head,” Isobel teased, handing her another cold cloth.
Adaira stuck her tongue out and grinned, wincing when her bruised cheek objected. She swept them with her gaze. “I thought I was going to die last night. I still cannot believe Seonaid had a vision. I prayed God would send help, and he did.”
Seonaid nodded slowly, her soft brown eyes searching Adaira’s. She grasped Adaira’s hand. “I saw Brayan and the fire. And Lord Clarendon lying on the ground. I was utterly terrified for you.”
Seonaid’s eyes misted with tears. She trembled as a slight shiver shook her. Concern and a remnant of fear lingered in her gaze. “It was one of the clearest images I’ve ever experienced.”
Ignoring the emphasis her sister placed on the word one, Adaira squeezed Seonaid’s hand. Adaira suspected she knew precisely what other vivid vision Seonaid had seen recently and wasn’t about to speculate on what she’d seen, or why this revelation had taken four years to manifest. Or why Seonaid was keeping silent on the matter. Most likely to protect Adaira.
Good Lord, unless she’d seen Adaira and Roark kissing?
To hide the blush staining her face, she bent forward and bussed Seonaid’s cheek. “I’m most grateful, and I’m sure his lordship is as well.”
Dropping her gaze to her lap, Adaira plucked at the coverlet’s tatted edge. Her last memory of him was unnerving— hovering over her, furious and cursing. Did he believe Brayan’s lies? She was a woman despoiled, albeit she’d been spared the memory of the worst of Godwin’s attack.
Would Roark turn her, a woman disgraced, from his house? His strict adherence to respectability allowed him little choice. Society might recognize the difference between being compromised and willing participation, but the outcome for her was the same.
Shame and disgrace.
Adaira cringed inwardly. She closed her eyes and touched her sore lower neck. He’d tell her parents about Godwin. She’d no doubt whatsoever. Roark was honor-bound to do so. Unless, he thought they already knew. She stifled a sigh. What purpose would it serve to continue to conceal the assault from them? After last night, everyone would think the worst had occurred anyway.
She was thoroughly and completely ruined. She supposed she could retire to a priory in France.
No. She couldn’t.
She’d become corkbrained. Not that she didn’t have a strong faith in God. But she didn’t possess a docile or complacent bone in her body. Hadn’t yesterday proved it?
Truth be known, now that she was tainted, marriage was no longer an issue. Neither was becoming a lady of refinement. A smatter of silver glinted in the murky cloud fate dealt her after all.
Yes, after his lordship requested she remove herself from his premises, she’d be free to do as she pleased. For certain, her parents wouldn’t force her into marriage now. Who would have her anyway? Some ancient lecher? A doddering fool? It mattered not that Brayan hadn’t had his way with her.
Used goods. Soiled goods.
That’s what the gossips would label her. So be it. Adaira could raise her horses, ride astride, and wield her riding crop until the snowdrops and heather carpeting the moors and hills near Craiglocky ceased to grow. She didn’t need or want a husband.
Blue eyes, the color of early morning sky, whisked across her memory. She sent her mother a sidelong peek. “How is Lord Clarendon?”
Mother rose from the bed, taking the cloth with her. “He’s fine except for a vicious lump on his head and a headache to match. On his lordship’s behest, his manservant came by earlier to check on your condition.”
He had? Adaira quickly hid the smile curving her lips lest she have to explain it. She wasn’t precisely sure why Roark checking on her well-being please her so much.
She lifted her gaze. “What. . .” She licked her lips. “What of Brayan?”
Isobel’s lovely teal eyes pooled with tears. She grasped Adaira’s hand. “Oh, Addy.”
Adaira dipped her chin to her chest, rubbing at the plump tears washing her cheeks.
“I thought as much,” she whispered. “He was such a good friend until—”
Mother hugged her. “No one knew Brayan was capable of such treachery.”
Angling away, she tucked a strand of hair behind Adaira’s ear. Mother attempted a smile, though her lower lip quivered the merest bit. Tears glimmered in her aqua eyes. “I’m praising God you escaped.”
Brayan’s betrayal had wounded them all.
“His poor mother. Has word been sent to her?” Adaira wiped her face with her sleeve.
Mother nodded. “Hugh sent McDonnell and Kirkpatrick before light this morning.”
Adaira snuffled noisily.
“Here, Addy.” Seonaid handed her a handkerchief embroidered with blue and white roses.
“Thank you.” Adaira dabbed at her face, flinching when she brush
ed her cheek too hard.
Three sharp raps pattered on the door. Maisey scurried to open it. She spoke softly with someone for a moment, then closed the door before turning with two notes in her hand. She passed Mother one, and then handed the other to Adaira.
“That was Mr. Pepperhill.” Maisey cast a glance to the door and flushed, her freckles blending with the hue of her face.
Adaira hid a smile behind the handkerchief. Was Maisey enamored with Pepperhill? The notion was charming. Tall and solidly built, she was significantly larger than the diminutive valet.
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 26