“Where are you going?” His voice was still gravelly from the smoke.
The inside of her throat still burned, too, a prickling sensation like she’d swallowed a cactus.
“We can’t stay here. We have to get inside.”
He groaned, but otherwise didn’t protest. As he tried to tuck his long legs underneath him to stand, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t know if I can walk.”
She didn’t want to push him. She didn’t know what that corrosive liquid was, and therefore didn’t know the effects of the smoke it had produced. Getting his blood pumping could aggravate the toxic effect.
Then again, both their hearts were beating fast from their narrow escape from the orangery.
Firming her chin, she said, “The alternative is freezing. My wagon isn’t far, just around the corner of the manor. We’ll go there.” Maybe, with luck, she would have something inside to counteract the effects of the smoke. At the very least, they should both take a dose of the tincture they had created to treat smoke inhalation.
With difficulty, she and Gideon managed to stand. They leaned heavily against each other as they slowly traversed the gravel walks of the garden. His heat next to her was like a furnace. It brought the chill on her other side into stark relief. She tucked herself closer beneath his arm.
Giddy leaned on her far more than he would have usually, a testament to the effect of the smoke. Truthfully, Felicia didn’t know how she continued standing throughout the distance. Her lungs burned but she refused to show it. She focused on walking, one foot in front of the other. When her wagon came into view, an indistinct shadow against the larger backdrop of the stable, she focused on that. All her energy poured into reaching her safe haven.
Once she reached the wagon, she unlocked the door and helped Gideon inside. He winced as he hunched his shoulders to get through the door. She heard the hitch in his breath.
“Are you hurt?” Of course he was, they both were, but that noise hadn’t sounded healthy.
“Just a scratch.”
He’d been cut? When? The glass. It must be.
By memory, she guided him through the wagon to sit on her cot. It was less firm without the trunk underneath, but it held his weight. Once she lit an oil lamp affixed to her counter, she ran out of breath and had to sit as well. The only other place was the crate in the corner. She lowered herself onto it and leaned heavily against the wall.
The light reflected off of Giddy’s eyes as he looked her over. He didn’t say a word. His expression was pinched. Lines formed between his eyebrows and around his mouth.
To distract him, she asked, “Where are you hurt?”
“My shoulder, mostly. The glass caught me. I’ll be fine.”
Another moment and she was renewed enough to pluck a bottle of the tincture out of her cupboard and drag the crate into the narrow aisle between bed and counter. “Exactly right. You will be fine. Drink this. A mouthful will do for now.”
He didn’t argue. His hand trembled as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. He took a swig, then passed it to her. She did the same. The mixture burned against her raw throat, but the sensation soon subsided, taking away the raw pain with it as her throat numbed. She took a deep breath, relieved at the lack of ache.
“Take off your jacket.”
Uncertainty crossed his features. “I’m not certain this is the place…”
She fought a smirk. “I’m not going to ravish you.”
“I meant because it’s bloody cold in here.” Did he look disappointed? She tried not to think of their kiss. It had happened in the heat of the moment, and they had more important matters to which to attend. Like his wounds. What if some of the smoke got into the cut and infected him?
“I’ll light a brazier.” Mustering her strength, she did exactly as she said. She found a flask of water and another of pure alcohol to clean the wound, as well as one of her handkerchiefs. When she returned to the crate in front of him, he still hadn’t budged. “Your jacket. Or do I have to take it off for you?”
She doubted that she would have the energy or strength to wrestle with him, but her threat did the trick. He grimaced as he peeled his jacket from his injured shoulder. The cut was a lot deeper than a scratch, given the look on his face.
“Your waistcoat, too. And probably your shirt, as well.”
He fiddled with his cravat. “Perhaps we ought to fetch the physician.”
“For a scratch?” She raised her eyebrows. Her hands were full or she would have crossed her arms, too. “If you’d like to fetch him, go right ahead. I’ll stay here.”
With a few flicks of his fingers, he unknotted his cravat and tossed the cloth onto his coat, next to him. The space was crowded, his knees rising nearly to his chest when he planted his feet on the floor. He hesitated as he traced the top button of his waistcoat.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to handle cleaning the cut myself.”
She glowered at him. “Take off your shirt, Giddy. I’ve seen you bare-chested before, or have you forgotten?”
Color poured into his cheeks. He glanced away. “I haven’t.” His voice was so soft, she barely heard.
Within seconds, he unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat. His shirt proved more troublesome. Even after undoing the fastenings so the collar gaped open, he had to lift his arms in order to pull it over his head. When he hissed in pain, Felicia set the flasks at her feet in order to help him. Blood from his shirt wet her hand. His wound was much deeper than he’d thought. Would she need her sewing kit? She hoped not; her eyes were starting to blur from fatigue.
The cut on his shoulder wasn’t the only place where the glass had caught him, but it was the deepest. She started there, and told him to bite down on his cravat if he needed to. “This might hurt.”
He grunted when she poured water onto the wound to wash away the blood. She shifted, moving onto the cot with him in order to examine how deep it was. She should stitch it, to be safe. Fortunately, she usually kept her sewing supplies near her bed, where she did most of her mending and embroidery. The needle was within easy reach. She sterilized it with the alcohol. She used undyed thread.
“I’m going to clean it with alcohol now.” As she splashed from the flask onto the wound, he made a strangled sound through gritted teeth. She dabbed at the wound with her handkerchief and made two neat stitches. She rubbed his uninjured forearm. “That’s the worst of it. I’m just going to clean the smaller cuts. I don’t recommend you put your smoky clothes back on, though. We’ll have to find something else.”
“Thank you,” he said as she moved on to the other shallow cuts along his biceps and shoulders. They’d already stopped bleeding. No doubt they stung a bit when she washed them, but he gave no indication that he was in further pain.
His voice was bland as he said, “Our research is likely ruined.”
“I would say so.” She gently removed the crust of blood from a small nick. “Even if the plants survived, we don’t know for certain what the gas did to them.”
He stared at the specimen she’d tucked into the corner, the last brugmansia plant they had. “I guess you were right to keep one of the plants in reserve.”
She said nothing. This didn’t feel like the right time to say, ‘I told you so.’
“If you’ll let me tend to it, I’ll take the plant to my room.”
“We should keep it here.”
“It’s cold in here,” he pointed out.
She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe, but we shouldn’t leave it unattended somewhere else. We don’t have the orangery to use as our laboratory anymore. The wagon is the closest thing we have to a controlled environment.”
He tensed beneath her hands, but the only word he uttered was, “Agreed.”
And what of the person who did this? Although the inquiry was on the tip of her tongue, she stifled it for now. She tended to the rest of his cuts in silence.
Even that small amount of exertion exhausted her. She leaned her forehead against Gi
deon’s arm as she caught her breath. He shifted his arm to envelop her in his embrace. Her mind buzzed with questions and doubts but for now, she was too weary to think of them. She settled her weight against him as she recovered her strength.
Another sip of the tincture soothed the rising sting in her throat again. Knowing that it would make her even more tired, she took only the tiniest of sips. Giddy took a larger one. She removed the lamp to take with them and stripped the blanket off the bed for him to wrap around his shoulders as they returned to the abbey.
When she deviated from the path to the front door, he stopped her. “What are you doing?”
She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t leave the spill in the orangery. It’s dangerous. I have to clean it up.”
He followed her. “I’m going with you.”
Stopping him with a hand on his chest, she told him, “You aren’t dressed. Go inside and find yourself a new shirt, at least.”
“No.” His voice was mulish. “What if the air makes you woozy and you pass out? If you won’t leave this for someone else to clean up…” He trailed off, his voice rising in a question.
“I won’t.” She crossed her arms. “I am the most qualified person to safely dispose of chemicals. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Then I’ll stay to make certain you don’t get hurt.”
She sighed, even though inwardly she was glad of his presence. She felt guilty that he stood in the cold with no more protection than the blanket she’d provided, but knowing that he was there in case weakness overcame her made her feel safer.
Slowly, they meandered to the orangery. The lantern inside had guttered out. The only light came from the dim glow of the lamp she carried. She held up her hand and begged Gideon to remain at the door. “There’s no sense in both of us being weakened if the air inside is still toxic.” She pulled her dress up over her nose and mouth just in case.
First, she surveyed the damage. The plants had slowed the progress of the liquid. The bulk of the damage had already been done, but given the look of the plants, Felicia didn’t trust stepping on the affected areas. She needed a base to neutralize the acid and render it harmless. Soap would work in a pinch, but she didn’t have any on hand. The nearest place she kept some was the wagon. She locked her knees against the wave of weakness at the thought of venturing all the way around the side of the manor again.
Fortunately, the catastrophe in the orangery had drawn the attention of the household spies. Mr. Keeling was the first to arrive, and was quizzing Gideon when Felicia emerged from the orangery. He was more than happy to bring Felicia the supplies she needed.
The down side to the servants knowing about the event was that soon the entire house knew—including the Graylockes.
“This is abominable,” Lucy exclaimed as she stomped up to the scene.
Felicia, having just finished sprinkling a base over the acid to neutralize it, was now seated on the ground waiting for it to take effect before she allowed the servants to clean up what they could. Most of the plants could not be salvaged.
“First the fire in your room, now this? Who would do such a thing?”
Felicia exchanged a panicked glance with Gideon, who had a fresh shirt and greatcoat, also brought by Mr. Keeling. They couldn’t allow the family to think that the accidents had been deliberately arranged. It would raise too many questions—ones that led back to the spy business.
Felicia cleared her throat. “It was my fault. I knocked over the wrong chemicals and caused the spill.”
“Really?” Lucy frowned. “That doesn’t seem like you.”
With a sidelong glance, Felicia leaned forward to brush her fingers against Giddy’s arm. “I was distracted.”
He frowned at her.
Play along. Or do you want them to guess the truth?
Fortunately, Lucy and her mother were too busy exchanging sly glances to notice the silent exchange between Felicia and Gideon.
Linking her arm through her daughter’s, Evelyn said, “Perhaps it’s best to stop working for the evening. I’m sure the servants will be able to handle cleaning this up without your supervision. Come, join us for the evening entertainment.”
Felicia didn’t know whether she could remain upright throughout the walk to the manor, let alone keep awake throughout whatever entertainment Evelyn had planned. The energy seeped from her like wisps of warmth driven out by the chill. She leaned against Gideon.
“It’s been a long night,” he said. “Perhaps we can sit with you tomorrow evening instead.”
“Certainly,” Lucy chirped. “You both should run off to bed. Don’t worry about Chubs tonight, Felicia. I’ll take care of him.”
As she flashed them a wicked smile and turned away, Gideon groaned under his breath. He shifted position so they faced each other. By now, with all the servants carrying lanterns, the lawn was almost as bright as day. Gideon looked weary, uncertain, and maybe even a little annoyed.
“Why did you do that?” he whispered. “They’re trying to force a marriage as it is.”
Felicia’s stomach flipped at the word marriage. A torrent of emotions overwhelmed her—fear, hope, and regret among them—but she was too weary to dwell on it. She shoved them aside, striving for equilibrium.
Fatigue edged her voice as she answered, “I didn’t want them to ask too many questions about the nature of the accident or our work, otherwise your mother might become suspicious. This distracts them, doesn’t it?”
The disapproval in his expression faded. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “They will make this very uncomfortable for us.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Let them. We need to focus on uncovering who in the household has turned against the crowd.”
His mouth flattened into a grim line. “We’re exhausted. Neither of us is operating at the height of our faculties. Let’s regroup in the morning.”
Felicia nodded in agreement. The lure of bed was too strong. But tomorrow they had a mission to complete and a traitor to find.
21
The morning was so young that the warmth from the kitchens hadn’t yet seeped into the floorboards. Felicia danced from foot to foot as she rapped on Gideon’s door. Since she and the Vales were still residing in the family wing of the house, she hadn’t had far to walk.
No answer. Felicia knocked again.
This time she heard a faint, muffled, “Come in.”
She did, stopping short on the threshold as the dim morning light peeking between the curtains lit on Gideon’s naked torso. The bedsheets pooled around his waist as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. The moment he locked eyes on her, he yanked the sheets up to his chest.
“What are you doing in here?”
“You told me to come in.”
He glared. “I thought you were a servant.”
By will alone, Felicia kept her gaze fixed to his instead of admiring his form. If she shut the door…
But she wouldn’t. They had business. A traitor in their midst. There wasn’t time for her to recall the scorching kiss he’d delivered last night.
“Very well, I’ll leave. Will you join me in the library?”
“Posthaste.”
Gideon was true to his word. Felicia scarcely had to wait ten minutes in the large, book-encased room. When he joined her in the empty room, she reluctantly stopped her perusal of the bookshelves and met him in the chairs in front of the hearth.
“We have a problem,” Felicia said.
That, he already knew, but perhaps the reminder would spur him to help her solve it.
With a sigh, Giddy dropped into the armchair opposite her. He rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned forward. “I know. Ferreting out an enemy spy will be difficult, impossible maybe. Morgan trained me, so I know exactly how he would have trained the rest of the household. They’ll be on alert for any deviations from our normal behavior, any hint that we might have guessed at the culprit. We’ll be watched.”
Felicia formed a
steeple with her fingers as she thought. “I considered that. I’m new here, so my behavior is watched already. I don’t fit in with the staff and can’t ask the right questions without being noticed.”
“We need help.”
Gideon’s expression was serious, his green eyes gleaming as he read her reaction.
She made a face. “We can’t afford to ask for any. The spy might even be Mr. Keeling, for all we know.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t contradict her. He must have seen the prudence in her warning.
“We can’t do it ourselves. We’ve lost our work until now, and you must admit, that serum would prove vital in discovering who is truly responsible.”
“It would. I can start with our remaining plant while you—”
Gideon cut her off. “We work better together and you know it. That plant needs my care right now, if we have any hope of getting it to bloom.”
Felicia sighed. She rubbed her head. “Did the cutting survive?”
“The smoke contaminated the water. I can work with it, but I don’t like the color permeating the roots. It might have an untoward effect if we try it.”
“You’re right.”
He leaned forward, capturing her hand. His skin was warm. “We need help, Felicia. We can’t do this on our own.”
She gritted her teeth as she admitted he was right. They did need help, desperately. But who could they trust?
Gideon. She trusted Gideon. Squeezing his hand, she asked, “What do you suggest?”
Less than an hour later, Felicia found herself ensconced in a room with two people who hated each other more than she and Gideon ever had. Catt and Rocky sat on opposite ends of the sofa, but that didn’t stop her from shooting him dirty looks every time he shifted his position. Which, due to his obvious discomfort and the way he continually wiped his palms on his thighs, was often. Felicia exchanged a look of trepidation with Giddy. Was he certain this was for the best?
But he must have been. With all of the staff under suspicion, Gideon had assured her his two closest friends were the only other people of the household that could be trusted. And despite their initial surprise at finding out about the spy network inside Tenwick Abby, the pair had seemed more than eager to take part.
Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3) Page 21