by Shirl Anders
She sat speaking softly to the boy’s mother, reassuring her, promising to come by tomorrow. The doctor had told Darth that Arabella’s quick actions concerning the boy saved his arm. It would be scarred, but the blessing was the boy would live. Darth hated that sequence of words. “Would be scarred, but the blessing is to live.” It was as if one should be grateful for the life. A natural assumption that anyone should be grateful to live no matter what the circumstances.
Not that he’d ever wished for his own death, except perhaps for seconds during the darkest ravings of pain. Nay, he was thankful to be alive. Life continually offered some type of hope. He simply questioned the quality of life such a statement threatened. It was, he’d decided many years ago, a rather pompous statement to come from anyone who was not actually the afflicted.
But within his morose thoughts, Darth recognized how tired he was. So he shook his thoughts away and brought his attention back to Arabella, who was looking at him while he had been unaware of the fact. He wondered how long she had been poised so. Not many people would engage in such a perusal of him. He could not think it was pleasant. Yet, Arabella did it, and she did it as if it were normal.
He noticed with pleasure her smile, more endearing for the smudges of soot across her pretty nose. Then without any outward show of hesitation, he held his hand out to her. His heartbeat lifted as she came forward to take hold of his hand. She did it as naturally as if they had been doing it for years. Then together they took their leave holding hands. It took him only a few moments to notice that she was walking strangely. Glancing down it became apparent why and without further thought to the matter, he swept her up into his arms to carry her to the manor. She squealed his name in surprise, grasping his shoulders, as he said simply. “You have no shoes on and what in the world is it that you are wearing?”
Arabella appeared flustered with sudden wariness in her flaxen eyes. “Darth, I …” she began haltingly, and then she hid her gaze over his shoulder.
“It is very inventive, Arabella,” he said quickly as he tightened his arms around her. “I am impressed.”
She peeked at him, trying to judge his words and his actions, so he smiled, in truth because it felt good and he knew that Arabella needed it. Then she sighed and buried her face into his neck. “I am so glad you are not mad at me,” she whispered.
Darth entered the hall and instead of going upstairs as Arabella had expected, he turned toward the kitchen. She thought fleetingly that he could have set her down now, but she was glad that he did not. Being carried in a man’s arms was a memorable experience. She was not sure if she ever wanted to be anywhere else but hugged up against Darth’s broad chest.
Darth entered the kitchen, taking Arabella over to the counter by the basin sink and pump. He was reluctant to let her go, but he had a purpose. So he set her on top of the counter, facing him. The height put them nearly at eye level as he stood in front of her. The honeyed colored warmth in Arabella’s eyes stopped his words for a moment as her hands stayed on his shoulders and his hands pressed into the slimness of her waist. It did not escape him, the subtle changing in their relationship.
“You have hurt your feet,” he stated, brushing aside his thoughts for more important concerns. Then he began to pull the sock gently off Arabella’s foot, to examine the bottom. His concern grew into irritation at himself as he looked at the cuts and scrapes marring the soft flesh on the sole of her foot. If he would have allowed her decent clothing this would not have happened.
“It does not hurt very much. It cannot be that bad,” she offered to his look of concern as he guided her foot over the edge of the basin. He took the other sock off as gently as the first, and then he worked the pump, until a steady stream of water came out of the spout.
“It will be cold, little dove,” Darth warned as he stuck Arabella’s feet under the water and he began to carefully wash them. “Do you have any salve for cuts and scrapes in that treasure satchel of yours?”
Arabella smiled brightly, looking enchanting, despite the black soot smudging her oval face. “Oh, I have thyme and yarrow, which would do nicely. But then I think I have run out of the salve for cuts.” She lifted the strap of the satchel off her shoulder and set it in front of her to look inside. “I could make some though, but I am nearly out of nightshade. I wonder if I can find the plant here to replace it. England is so much colder than Jamaica. Have you ever heard of nightshade growing around here, Darth?” Darth barely shook his head as she continued. “Cowslip will do in a pinch and I have some of that. Oh, and here is some of the salve for cuts, there is still a little in the jar.”
Darth chuckled — his little dove was animated about these herbs and remedies she carried. She came into full blossom as he listened attentively to her enlivened discourse. Her feet were washed and the salve rubbed into the scrapes, with the socks returned, the whole while he learned of herbs whose names he would never begin to remember. But he kept nodding his head as if he understood everything Arabella said, completely enjoying the sound of her rich voice.
Finally, he caught her taking a breath, and he quickly interjected. “Are you hungry, Arabella?”
She seemed to suddenly realize that she’d been rambling, caught up in her verse and a blush lightly tinted her cheeks as her mouth clamped shut. Then she murmured rather demurely, “Yes, Darth, I am very hungry.”
Darth snorted trying to hold back his laugh. “You are a treasure, my little dove,” he pronounced.
Arabella ducked her head, seeming unsure, as if he might be laughing at her and he grasped her calves, swinging her around to face him as his hand caught her chin, lifting the daintiness of it upward. “I am very interested in your herbs and would listen at any time that you care to go on about them.”
“Darth!” She shoved at his chest with a laugh of her own.
“Now truly, Arabella, besides my teasing I am interested in anything that interests you.” The arch of Arabella’s auburn eyebrow told him that she was unconvinced, as he stepped backward to pull his soot-stained buckskin shirt off. “We will have to wash up down here because we are not likely to get a bath out of Chicery till morning. Can you pump the water for me?”
Arabella’s answer was to go directly to the task, and while she pumped the water, Darth bent over the basin dunking his entire head.
“Do you want some soap, Darth?” she questioned.
“I suppose that I had better, this soot is not coming off very easily.” Darth’s hand reached out and a cake of soap was placed into it. “I only have the jasmine here, Darth.” Darth plied it to his hair vigorously. “I will enjoy smelling of jasmine, little dove, it reminds me of one of my favorite things.”
Arabella was immersed in the pleasure of watching Darth washing his hair and never really heard his words. It seemed that all she could concentrate on were his broad shoulders, which were bunching and stretching in a sinewy way as his upper arm muscles ballooned outward with the motions he used to wash his hair. She felt an intense urge to run her hands over the muscular bulge of his upper arms, to feel them flex beneath her palms. He exuded power and strength throughout his tall frame and once again she found herself feeling thrilled at looking so intimately at his hard masculine body.
“Is the soap all out?”
Arabella had to bring herself around from her preoccupation, feeling highly flustered. “Y-Yes ... Darth.” Oh, her voice wavered.
Darth threw his head back and water sprayed her as he shook it once again like a great powerful animal. His gray eyes locked onto hers as a slow smile spread across his severed lips. She knew that smile and she bit her bottom lip, feeling captured beneath the heat of his gaze. Then his gaze traveled unerringly to her breasts, with heated scrutiny, and she could feel the buds of her beaded nipples rubbing against the coarse material of Darth’s shirt. Could he see them, she wondered, afraid to look down or even away from him?
“Now it is your turn to wash.”
Darth’s voice was low and smooth and all
the memories of earlier came flooding back as a slow burn centered in between Arabella’s thighs. The pulse at the base of her throat was throbbing as Darth took a wet cloth to her face, before she knew what he was about. She welcomed the cool wetness to her fevered cheeks.
His task was worked at carefully as he pressed his body forward, until she had no choice but to open her legs, which left his lean bare stomach planted firmly between her thighs. Then the wet cloth was beneath the open collar of her shirt, sliding wetly over the tops of her breasts as her hands finally did find the tight muscular brawn of Darth’s upper arms. She held on for dear life as Darth moved the cloth lower, to scrub over her sensitive nipples beneath the shirt.
“Darth,” she gasped, feeling burning heat flame between her thighs. It was so much more powerful, now that she knew what could come, what he could do to her.
“His lordship is still in the kitchen I believe, Master William.” Chicery’s voice, coming from out in the hall, warned Darth of imminent discovery and he pulled away from Arabella turning around quickly. But he did not move forward, instead staying close in front of her as she moved her legs to the side of him. He heard her low moan as her soft cheek found his back and his hand reached around to grab one of her hands with a squeezing motion.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ah, there you are, Darth,” William Thurmane began saying upon entering the kitchen. “I’m glad to find you still awake.” William was more than just Lee’s estate manager; he was also Darth’s friend. They had grown up as boys together on the estate, with William being two years older. The four boys of William, Robert Drake, Darth, and Darth’s younger brother Beau had formed a mischievous group in their younger years. Upon becoming the earl at the young age of fifteen, Darth had always insisted that his friend William continue to call him by his given name, unless they were in officious company.
Darth stalled to give Arabella a few moments to collect herself, even as he saw William noticing the legs sticking out by his side. “I never ate this evening and thought I would wash up and get some bread and cheese. Do you want some, William?” Darth asked calmly.
William’s thin black eyebrow was arched in a question as Chicery who followed behind him said, “Please allow me, sir, and some hot tea. The water is already hot, so if you do not mind sitting here at the kitchen table, I will have something for you to eat, quick as a whip.”
“Ah, yes,” William muttered, coming to stand behind one of the oak kitchen chairs.
Darth felt Arabella lifting her cheek from his bare back and he hoped that he had given her enough time. But it was a moot point because Chicery had discovered her, having come over to the counter to retrieve some plates.
“Oh, Miss Arabella, I did not see you there! Master William, this is the angel I told you about earlier. An angel of mercy she is! Helping all those people and the doctor even said we would have lost little Billy McFarden if not for her quick help.”
Darth caught a glimpse of William’s highly amused expression, turning to amazement, then to admiration, as Darth helped Arabella down from the counter to set her in front of him, facing William. “Miss Arabella Ormonde, please meet, William Thurmane, Lee’s estate manager,” Darth said.
Darth cautioned William with his gaze to asked no questions of Arabella and he saw that his friend took the meaning well, as he only bowed slightly saying, “Miss Ormonde, it is my pleasure.”
Arabella for her part, pressed her spine further into his chest appearing disconcerted, but she managed a small smile as she acknowledged William. “Mr. Thurmane, it is my pleasure also.”
William grinned broadly, glancing at Darth, with a look of approval in his gray eyes. Darth shrugged off William’s obvious amusement with a wide hand through his still wet hair. William had been after him forever, through the years, to find a woman, although how he could assume Arabella was just that, he did not know. Darth was certain they had not been seen together in their intimate play. But it became apparent to him shortly thereafter, just where William’s conclusion had come from, when he went to pull out a chair for Arabella. He saw the front of the shirt she wore was plainly wet over her breasts and he held the only wet towel. He was extremely glad that Arabella neglected to notice this, as he sought immediately to distract her. “Would you like some bread and cheese also, Arabella?”
Before she could answer, Chicery piped in. “And some nice hot tea,” he said, while setting a steaming cup in front of her. “You drink this now, Miss Arabella, and it will cure all your ills. It is my own special blend and you will like a wee bit of milk and sugar in it.” Chicery hovered around Arabella as if she were his own special prize, making Darth smile. He’d never seen Chicery take to anyone this way, and his coddling gestures were relaxing Arabella’s earlier fluster. It allowed him to turn back to William.
“Did you find anything? Did anyone see anything?” Darth tilted back in his chair with his booted foot placed on the rung of the chair next to his.
“Three of us sought out each one of your people individually, Darth, and no one saw anything out of the ordinary. Of course nearly all of them were in the Grange for the gathering of James Duffy’s, new baby boy’s christening,” William said.
“Oh, no,” Arabella murmured.
Darth’s hand found Arabella’s with a comforting squeeze. “It is a wonder more people were not hurt. Did anyone notice where it started?” Darth asked.
“Duffy said the first anyone noticed it, it was coming out of the back of the Grange. He said it went up so quickly there was hardly anytime, and of course people panicked,” William replied.
Darth leaned further backward, crossing his arms over his chest with a deep frown indenting the cleft in his chin. “The back of the Grange?”
“Yes, Darth, mischief to be sure. Tis why I sought you out. We looked over the wreckage and it appears fairly certain the fire started outside at the back of the building.” William shook his dark head and scooted his chair back. “I’ve set up watches on the embers through the night and best get back.” William looked to Chicery and added. “But I will just grab a bit of this bread and cheese to take with me.”
“William, I will visit the magistrate as early in the morning as possible. This needs to be investigated, even if it might be some children’s mischief. We cannot tolerate that, people were hurt,” Darth said sitting forward.
“Aye, Darth, my thoughts exactly. Well then, I will see you in the morning.” William stood and looked down to Arabella. “We will never be able to thank you, Miss Arabella, for all your help. It has been a pleasure.”
William turned to go and Arabella noticed that he was a tall man and from the back he looked very much like Darth, with his dark hair and broad shoulders. Darth seemed lost in thought as she sat quietly nibbling at her bread and cheese, wondering if youngster’s had really started the fire. It made sense, children’s fascination with fire was renowned, and unfortunately they did not have the true sense to realize how dangerous it could be.
“Would you like some more tea, Miss Arabella?” Chicery asked.
“No thank you,” Arabella answered with a smile. “You have been very kind.”
“Yes, Chicery,” Darth said. “Why don’t you go and find your bed now? Mrs. Wellborn can clean up our small mess in the morning,”
Arabella noticed that Darth was rubbing the scar on his temple. “Does your head hurt, Darth?” she asked, watching his attention return fully to her. He seemed to catch himself in the act of rubbing the scar without knowing it and his hand dropped away. She noticed with concern that the gray coloring of his irises was brighter and the corners of his eyes were pinched looking.
“A little,” he muttered, appearing to try and brush it off.
“It is more than a little,” she admonished. “You need to rest and you need to sleep. Let me try massage, before it takes hold and grows worse. I should give you some poppy syrup for the pain,” she stood saying, “Here, let me get you some.”
He grasped her wrist
stalling her. “No, little dove, no medicine. I would drink myself into oblivion if I wanted that kind of relief.”
Arabella thought that was a very curious thing to say and she nearly argued that her herbs could hardly be considered addictive, but Darth was obviously not feeling well and she did not want to upset him with any disagreement. Instead, she wished to help him and to that end, she needed to get him to go to bed and relax. “As you wish, my lord, but bed is a must.”
Darth tried to laugh at Arabella’s cosseting, however the starting of the action caused sharp pain to sear his face, bringing with it a clipped involuntary grunt from his throat.
“Now, Darth!”
Arabella grasped him about the waist as his arm found her shoulder and she guided him out of the kitchen. He was leaning on her more than he would have like to acknowledge and by then, he had to admit a seizure of pain was imminent as his body tightened in anticipation of the worst. So by the time he reached the side of the bed, he was worried that he might hurt Arabella with his weight. There was little he could do about it though as the agonizing pain intensified and he doubled over with it. His hands clutched his face as if he could rip the pain away. Lord, he hated the debilitating weakness that left him so helpless beneath its onslaught.
Arabella girded herself to hold up Darth’s weight, praying she could get him into the bed. He was practically withering in agony by the time she did manage to get him there and he just fell onto the mattress on his back. She recognized the first time she’d seen him this way was a mere spell compared to the contortions wracking him now. She tried to quell her raising panic — it was torture to see Darth in so much pain. Should she run and get the poppy syrup to give him? He would not be able to stop her from giving it to him at the moment.
“No,” she exclaimed to herself as she lifted Darth’s legs onto the bed. She would try everything else first, she must respect his wishes. So she ran to get several cold wet cloths, because she thought that the cold applied to his face had helped last time. When she came back to the bed, he was curled onto his side moaning with his hands clenched in fists over his face. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she crawled up onto the bed, taking his shoulders in her hands.