“So, my lady has finally returned, has she?”
Vivian couldn’t tell if he was out of sorts with her, but she knew he’d come by on two other days to find her not at home.
“I’m sorry I was away. I hope you’ve been comfortable?”
He folded the paper and set it aside.
She needed time to collect herself. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Radcliffe, I’ll just rid myself of this hat and make myself presentable.”
She started to turn away, but his voice stopped her. “You’re quite presentable as you are, Vivian.”
He rose and advanced slowly, her entire body humming a warning. She could tell he wasn’t angry, but something about him made her distinctly uneasy.
He removed her hatpin, lifted the fashionable little chapeau from her head and stabbed the pin through its crown. Strong fingers traced the brim and stroked the adorning feathers from quill to tip. A flick of his wrist sailed the hat into a nearby chair, and he sighed.
“Where have you been, Vivian?”
She didn’t like how easily he could discomfit her. He had no claim here. She was an independent woman and had never asked for the slightest support from him. They were both aristocrats, which, she believed, put her in a different category from past mistresses. The expensive jewels he’d given her were gifts from a wealthy man to his lover, not any kind of payment. Ironic, how she’d planned his seduction in anticipation of those very gifts, yet now they were insignificant to her. Oh, how had her life become so tangled?
Trying to ignore his penetrating gaze, she focused on a shirt button, rubbing it with her fingertip. This close, her senses seemed ultrasensitive, poised and waiting for the brush of his fingers, the press of his lips. The combination of unease and attraction played havoc with her composure.
She looked up through her lashes. “I’ve been to the park. Every day.”
He captured her nervous finger. “Hyde Park? St. James? Regent’s? Why the sudden interest in taking the air? It’s been a bit early in the day, and you’re gone for hours.”
Something about his tone made her examine his face, but his expression divulged nothing. She said, “Only a small park for the use of nannies and dog-walkers. You know I grew up in the country. I merely wanted to sit outside on a bench and watch. Sometimes it’s nice not to be in a fashionable place.”
Especially when those you passed went on to whisper about you.
He frowned, and she added, “Sometimes I read.” His expression didn’t change.
She didn’t know what to do, and with every minute her nervousness grew more acute. He couldn’t know anything about her secret activities, which, as unlikely as it seemed, left only jealousy. A powerful surge of hope supplanted her nerves. If she thought there were any possibility of his having real, deep feelings for her…such an event would eclipse everything bad in her life. Sweetness filled her, then Radcliffe released her finger and reality came sweeping back. Such a notion was fantasy. The earl was still frowning.
She couldn’t think of a way other than seduction to distract him. She lifted onto her toes and ran the tip of her tongue along his jaw. “Come upstairs,” she whispered. “I think we can rid you of that frown.”
She’d thought herself too twitchy to feel desire, but with her lips against his smooth-shaven skin, the scent of soap and smoky, spicy wood filling her head, how could she not?
His hands clasped her shoulders. He stepped back. “As tempting as that is, I have another appointment.”
Shock silenced her. She’d seen him dash off hurried notes and cancel appointments in order to stay with her. Now he was walking toward the door.
He turned. “Are you free tonight? For the theatre?”
“Yes.”
He gave a short, decisive nod and left.
#
“Sir.” A worried-looking Chetney stood at David’s door. “A Miss Rebecca Marsden of Lady Haliday’s household is asking to see you.”
Alarm shot through David. For the past two days an empty, unsettled pit existed where his stomach should be. Today marked the third day Charlotte had not been to work. It had begun with her feeling unwell during their overnight stay at the cottage. By morning she’d decided to return home, and knowing she’d be most comfortable there, he didn’t argue. The last two mornings a footman delivered a note telling him she felt too ill to come to the office. So a maid requesting to see him could not be good.
“Send her right in.”
A moment later Chetney showed a young woman with curly brown hair through the door. David recognized the brown and black striped dress she wore as a castoff of Charlotte’s, and his gut clenched. The frock distinguished her as Charlotte’s lady’s maid.
“Miss Marsden?”
“Mr. Scott?”
At his impatient nod, she spoke in a rush. “Mrs. Jones, my lady’s housekeeper, bade me fetch you. She doesn’t know what to do.”
The urge to stand and pace made David fist his hands. “Is Lady Haliday very ill?”
“She’s unable to eat and too dizzy to leave her bed or pen a note. She keeps asking for you, Mr. Scott, and won’t let Mrs. Jones send for her father. The physician came yesterday but she’s much worse today, sir.”
David looked at Chetney hovering in the doorway. He barked the man’s name, and the secretary stiffened in a first-rate imitation of a soldier coming to attention. David commanded, “Send a boy running to my stable. He’s to tell Simpson it’s urgent.”
Bless him, Chetney immediately turned and hurried away.
David opened his desk drawer, extracted a sheet of paper and began penning a note to Harland Bliss, a physician he’d met in the Crimea. He’d heard Bliss, having left the army, resided in London. Chetney would find him as his very next task.
It took an interminable amount of time to leave the office, drive to Charlotte’s home and get himself inside. The relief David felt upon arriving lasted only until a spare woman with thin lips and the dangling keys of a housekeeper faced him.
“Mr. Scott, I can’t let you upstairs,” she said, twisting her hands. Miss Marsden and three footmen stood in the small vestibule as well. Boone and Pickett waited behind David.
He could see the lady’s distress and somehow held on to his temper. “She’s asking for me, isn’t she?”
The housekeeper nodded. “But she’s not in her right mind, sir. She couldn’t want you going up to her private room.”
Etiquette demanded he wait. Mrs. Jones was only doing her best to protect Charlotte, and Bliss would arrive soon. The physician would inform him of Charlotte’s condition. David going up to her bedroom was inappropriate by anyone’s estimation.
But he had to.
He knew the housekeeper was the one person Charlotte confided her whereabouts on the nights spent at Rose Cottage. Hopefully the woman wouldn’t send for the constable or order the footmen to toss him out, because he would have no intention of going.
“Boone. Pickett. Let’s go.”
His two men stepped forward and scooped him from his chair. He perched between them, weight resting on their linked arms. He’d gotten up the outside steps to the front door this way, but he’d been in his chair when shown inside.
He looked at the heftiest footman nearby. “Bring the chair,” he ordered. Then he tapped Boone and Pickett on their shoulders. “Up.”
Miss Marsden hurried ahead, leading the way. Good. He wouldn’t have to search through every room because the housekeeper wasn’t helping. And by the time his chair was on the upper floor and he was ensconced in it, Mrs. Jones relented. David had Boone and Pickett wait in the hall while she showed him to Charlotte’s room herself.
All rational thought left him at his first glimpse of her. He was barely aware of the lady’s maid pushing him closer. Shock, anguish and panic coalesced as his heart galloped in a chest ready to explode.
“My God.”
Her eyes opened, and she lifted her hand. He grasped her fingers but also smoothed tousled strands of
hair away her face. Her skin was cool. Pale.
No fever, then.
“David,” she rasped.
Cold fear gripped him. This was far worse than facing the Russians outmanned and outgunned. Her dull, unfocused gaze drifted past him. Her cheekbones seemed more prominent, her eyes sunken. Her collarbone, exposed above the neckline of her gown, stood out sharply. How could she have lost so much weight in just three days?
He kissed her fingers. “Sweetheart, I’ve sent for a doctor. He’s good. Superior. He’ll help you.” Where the hell was Bliss, anyway?
One corner of her lips curved the tiniest bit, and her eyelids drooped. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He looked up at Mrs. Jones, who stood wringing her hands. “Why didn’t you send for me sooner?”
“She wasn’t this bad yesterday, and the physician visited twice.”
David clamped his back teeth and tried like hell to hold on to his temper. Charlotte’s lips were colorless and chapped, her mouth so dry she had to struggle to speak. “A lot of good he’s done. Have you even given her water?”
Mrs. Jones chewed her lip. “She has a horrible thirst and begs for water, but even a sip makes the retching begin. This morning she’s been half out of her head and too dizzy to sit up.”
David almost expected his jaw to crack. Bellowing at the housekeeper wouldn’t help, and he could see the woman was distraught. The sight of Bliss striding through the doorway brought a modicum of relief. At least now something would happen.
The physician’s unruly brown hair needed a trim and contained more gray than David remembered, but Bliss’s direct gaze still conveyed the intelligence and steadiness the man was respected for. The physician nodded and set down the sizeable leather case he carried.
“Scott. Good to see you.”
David released Charlotte’s hand and leaned back in his chair. Bliss wrapped his fingers around her wrist. His eyebrows rose.
David drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair, tension squeezing his throat.
“Heartbeat’s a bit fast,” Bliss muttered. He glanced at David. “Give me a few minutes, will you?” The physician smiled at Miss Marsden. “Can you stay?”
David gripped his chair wheels. It was the proper thing to leave while Bliss examined Charlotte, but everything in him wanted to stay. He backed up, his gaze upon her while Bliss felt her forehead, speaking softly, gently pulling her eyelids up to study her eyes. From his bag the physician removed a tubular device for listening to the chest. Using the earpiece, the doctor applied its trumpet bell-shaped portion over Charlotte’s heart, but when he straightened he shot an annoyed look at David.
David acknowledged Bliss with a hike of his chin. He turned his chair toward the door and called for Boone, who waited in the hall. After wheeling out, the second interminable wait of the day began, but it came to an immediate end when Charlotte cried out. Even through the closed door, the distress in her cry sent an icy wave through him.
“Boone, get me in there!” David pushed hard at his chair wheels. Boone turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Jones’s objections and obeyed. He took David straight to Charlotte’s bed.
Knees drawn up, face pinched, she clutched her abdomen. Her long, low moan sliced through David’s heart, and he stroked his thumb across her wrist and turned on Bliss. Christ, his fear had him all tangled up. He could barely think.
Bliss folded his arms across his chest and pressed his lips together. “She’s got a very tender abdomen. Dry mouth, extreme thirst, confusion. Severe headache. Frequent regurgitations. Dysentery.” He looked at Miss Marsden. “And it started suddenly?”
“Yes,” David said.
Bliss’s gaze whipped around. His brows rose.
“We had dinner together, but she ate very little. She went home right after the meal, feeling sick.”
“And she felt fine before the meal?”
“She seemed to. She ate some candy and didn’t complain.”
Bliss turned toward Mrs. Jones, who stood near the door. “Anyone else in the household sick?”
“No, sir.”
He dropped his chin and stared at the floor with narrowed eyes. Just when David thought he couldn’t bear to wait any longer, the physician lifted his head and looked at the maid.
“Miss, is she a lady who uses arsenic for her complexion?”
“Arsenic!” David ran his hand down Charlotte’s arm and gripped her now relaxed hand. “You suspect arsenic poisoning?”
Bliss rubbed his jaw. “I’m afraid I do.”
“She doesn’t take arsenic,” Miss Marsden said. She looked at each person in the room. “Could it be arsenic that poisoned Persa?”
A horrible weight slammed into David, squeezed his chest and made him burn. He pinched his lips closed to keep the stream of curse words inside. Persa poisoned and then Charlotte? He didn’t believe in coincidences like that.
Another occurrence burst in his head like ignited gunpowder that left him dazed and off-balance for a moment. The man who’d rammed into her, the man who’d stolen her reticule and was chased away by Persa…he’d left her with massive bruises. The bastard had wanted to hurt her. Now he wanted to kill her and had nearly succeeded! The dark knowledge exploded in David’s chest, sent a geyser of boiling fury up his neck and into his head. The force of it locked his jaw and nearly leveled him. His temples pulsed under skin tight enough to split like sizzling sausage and spew boiling blood.
Christ! He dragged a hand down his face and fought against releasing the roar he barely constrained. He’d find the bloody bastard and give him a sample of the way a soldier dealt death. As good as he’d been at killing—striking hard, with aggression and precision—he’d never enjoyed it. This killing—because, God help him, he was going to find and kill this arsehole—would be different.
The wide eyes of Bliss and the maid brought him back to the business at hand. From their expressions, it seemed likely his twisted smile was worthy of an actor portraying Richard III.
He hoped his quarry would find it as frightening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
David lifted the spoon of mud-like, red-brown pulp to Charlotte’s lips. Her drowsiness was another consequence of the arsenic poisoning.
“Please, sweetheart,” he urged.
Thick, dark lashes swept up, her eyes found him, and she opened her mouth. He slid the hydrated sesquioxide of iron into her mouth. Her nose wrinkled and her mouth turned down, but she swallowed. Thank God she was cognizant enough to understand she needed one tablespoon every five to ten minutes. Bliss had assured him she couldn’t get too much of the antidote. They were to force the rusty concoction down her until they saw improvement in her symptoms.
Once Bliss had made the stunning diagnosis, he’d written out instructions for the apothecary and one of the footmen had been sent. The sesquioxide of iron was more efficacious when freshly prepared, so Bliss didn’t carry it in his bag.
David sent word to Chetney that he’d be gone the rest of the day and insisted on taking the first stint with Charlotte. He wanted to be with her, wanted to touch her and care for her with his own hands. Bliss had made it abundantly clear there was no guarantee she’d recover, even with the antidote. The poison had already been working on her system for two full days. They could only wait and see.
He rested the spoon in the bowl of medicine. Maybe it was merely his imagination, but he thought he could see a bit of improvement in her. He’d been at this for three hours. Inside he felt in danger of snapping, but he forced himself to remain calm and collected on the outside. Charlotte needed him to soothe her, to direct her servants and oversee her care. He’d make sure everything possible was done for her.
The solid sound of a man’s footsteps made him turn. Charlotte’s father had finally arrived. David’s note had been dispatched hours ago.
To give the man credit, he looked worried. He also looked surprised to find David at his daughter’s bedside. He positioned himself on David’s left and picked up Charlotte’s
hand. “Charlotte?”
Her droopy eyes fluttered open. “Papa.”
Tears filled her eyes, and David’s ravaged heart took another crushing blow. If he hadn’t already acknowledged his love for her, this situation would have left him in no doubt of his feelings. The overwhelming worry had him nearly insane. He hadn’t felt so helpless and enraged since the day he learned he’d never again stand on his feet.
“I’m here,” Shelby said, but her eyes closed before the words were out.
Intense, dark blue eyes appraised David. “What are you doing here?”
For a moment, possessiveness rose and swamped David’s other emotions. Damn it, he wanted to tell Shelby he was her lover and he had the right to be here. But common sense prevailed. Charlotte wouldn’t want him confronting her father with that fact, so he kept his tone mild and his eyes steady.
“She asked for me.”
He scooped up another spoonful of the rusty mush and fed it to her. Frowning, Shelby moved around the bed and stood across from him. When David set the bowl down and looked up, Shelby’s hands were deep in his trouser pockets.
“I was at one of my factories,” Shelby said. “It took a while for your note to reach me. Thank you for sending it.”
Charlotte’s father’s explanation seemed reasonable, but David couldn’t help his flash of resentment. Since he’d met her, he’d seen and heard enough to know this was yet one more instance of her father not being there when she needed him. Of course, in spite of the man’s poor showing as a parent, Charlotte loved him. So David nodded and proceeded to tell Shelby everything he knew of Charlotte’s condition.
Shelby’s face grew tight as David talked. “I may have my physician up,” he said when David finished.
“I’m sure Bliss would be happy to speak with your man. I assure you, Bliss is a brilliant physician.”
It was time for another dose of the antidote. Please, God. David couldn’t seem to get out any more of a prayer than those two words, but with each spoonful he added the silent plea.
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