by Sahara Kelly
He had a goal, right here and right now. He would die if he had to wait.
She gasped at the sensation and opened her eyes, her pupils dark, her cheeks flushed as she moved with him, and opened the front of her gown. They were dancing to the same music, a sensual waltz of need and passion and desire.
Her leg slid high outside his thigh, opening her body for him. She gazed at him, her pulse throbbing in her neck as she licked her lips.
He pushed his cock forward between her legs, finding the sizzling heat of her flesh, dewed with honey, slick and ready. Her breasts were bared as he shifted her gown away and to the side, leaving him unfettered access to all her wonderful parts.
“Are you sure?” He had to ask. She hadn’t married him for this, but somehow it seemed right. Natural. The most wonderfully perfect moment to end what had been a decidedly unusual day.
“Yes, Edmund. I’m sure.”
And at that very moment, a loud knock sounded at his door and the two of them jumped a collective foot into the air.
Chapter Seven
Rosaline didn’t know whether to scream with frustration or laugh at the expression on Edmund’s face upon hearing the sound of knuckles thumping on wood.
But he moved away with a groan, so she hurried back to her room to grab a much more appropriate robe, diving into it and tying it firmly around her. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should return, if it would be appropriate. But then she threw caution to the winds and strode back to Edmund’s chamber, to find him tying his own robe snugly around his waist while trying to calm Chidwell.
“I am so sorry, my Lord.” The man was all but wringing his hands in distress. “But everyone else seems to have partied a little too heartily to be of use. Mr. Simon himself took one look, and told me to summon you. After which I believe he was quite unwell behind the shrubbery.”
“Good God.” Rosaline came to Edmund’s side. “What is it?”
He glanced down at her, eyes worried. “Apparently we have a wounded visitor. Not a guest, but someone who managed to get here and no further.” He turned back to Chidwell. “Can you gather some first aid items? Is anyone downstairs able to assist you?”
Chidwell nodded. “Yes, I believe Mrs. Hampstead hasn’t indulged too freely. I’ll ask her to gather a few bandages. We’ll certainly need those.”
“Edmund.” Rosaline put her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you and Chidwell collect as much as you can in the way of medical supplies? Let me go and review the situation and the patient.” She turned to the butler. “Where is he?”
“In the conservatory, my Lady. Apparently the door wasn’t immune to his collapse and it opened when he fell against it.”
Visions of ghastly gashes from broken glass darted through her mind. “Better find needle and thread. There may be a wound or two needing stitches.” She started for the door, then turned and picked up a candle. “Oh, brandy. Bring a bottle. We’ll probably have to disinfect such injuries.”
Not waiting to see if they obeyed, she took off down the corridor, trying to remember where the conservatory was. She’d seen it once…at the far end of the west wing of the Chase. There were few plants left, one or two windows that had cracked and a layer of dust over the iron furniture. It was probably bright in the sunshine, but tonight it would be dark and musty. The worst place for an injured man.
But then again, it would be out of the cold, and probably a welcome shelter if he was severely wounded. She shivered, unsure of what to expect.
It took a few minutes for her to reach the right door, since she had to retrace her steps once when she branched off toward an old library by mistake. But finally she saw light and heard the murmur of voices. She had found it, and her candle still flickered; both considerable accomplishments.
Entering the room, she saw several people bending over a figure lying prone on one of the wrought iron benches.
One rose and turned at her entrance—it was Letitia.
“Oh thank God, Rosaline.” She stepped back, wiping her hands on what looked like a grubby towel. It came away reddened. “He’s hurt quite badly and none of us have enough experience with this kind of wound to help.”
Rosaline glanced around, feeling a draft from the window. “The glass? Did he break in and cut himself?”
“No.” Letitia shook her head. “Worse.”
“Indeed yes, Rosaline.” James FitzArden lifted up from where he had been kneeling. “Gunshot, if I’m not mistaken. Winged him, but I’m hoping it wasn’t anything vital. Bleeding like a stuck pig though.”
Rosaline neared the injured body, and looked, then nodded. “A head wound. Yes, they’ll bleed the worst. Are you sure it’s a gunshot?” She held her candle nearer, and noticed the savage gash that stretched from the man’s eyebrow to above his ear.
“Don’t see what else it can be.” FitzArden sounded somber. “What can we do?”
She thought for a moment. “Well I don’t recognize him. And I’d like to clean him up. Edmund and Chidwell are bringing some things down with them, so we’ll take over.” She glanced up. “Can you take Letitia back to the party, James? Get that blood off her hands and do your best to keep this quiet? I’d rather not have my wedding day any more cause for gossip than it already is.”
“I will. Wise woman.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Letitia recognized him, by the way.”
“You did?” Rosaline began to unfasten the man’s thick coat. His eyes were closed and he was limp but breathing.
“Yes. I saw him once or twice in the village. I believe his name is Farnwell. He’s one of the best fishermen around, I’m told. Always out on his boat. Keeps himself to himself.”
“No family we should notify? Or a wife we should try and reach?”
Letitia looked uncertain. “I’m not sure. I will try and find out if I can, without arousing too much interest. Perhaps one or two of our friends at the party will know.”
“All right.” Noise from the corridor announced the arrival of Edmund, Chidwell and Mrs. Hampstead, the cook. Rosaline stood, thankful that they had arrived. “Of course you won’t speak of this, Letitia, I know. But anything you can find out might be of assistance.” She leaned over and gently hugged her new sister. “We will certainly remember this day, won’t we?”
Letitia managed a weak smile. “I would say so, yes.”
“Come on, my lovely. I think another glass of champagne is in order for you. Soap, water, a bit of the bubbly and a waltz. That’s the FitzArden prescription.”
“Excellent.” Rosaline nodded at James. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do keep life interesting, Rosaline.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And here’s my husband.”
Edmund hurried in with a bag, closely followed by Chidwell carrying a pot of steaming water. Mrs. Hampstead had an armful of towels.
“We have what we need, so off you go, you two. Remember, not a word of this, if you please.”
Edmund nodded at his sister and FitzArden as they left, but his attention was on the patient, lying so still on the bench. “I’ve seen this chap somewhere.”
Rosaline busied herself cleaning up the worst of the blood and revealing the extent of the wound. “James thinks it was a gunshot. If it was, then he’s one lucky fellow. An inch to the left and he’d have been killed in an instant.”
Edmund was beside her. “Yes, that’s a graze from a musket ball all right. I’ve seen more than my fair share. Does he have any other injuries?”
Rosaline paused. “To be honest, I haven’t checked. Since this was the most obvious and bloody spot, it took all my attention. Would you take a look while I tend to this?” She dabbed again at the blood oozing from the raw streak of flesh. “The bleeding is slowing, so I might be able to clean it up and put a stitch or two in it. Let’s hope he stays unconscious, because it’ll hurt like the very devil…”
She moved the candles closer and set herself to her self-i
mposed task, while Edmund gingerly probed the man’s limbs and chest to make sure there were no broken bones or other gunshot wounds.
“The rest of him is unscathed, as far as I can tell.” Edmund straightened. “He’s got some fine oar calluses though. And his clothing is that of a man ready to withstand the cold of an ocean. I’d say he has a boat and isn’t afraid of sailing it in the winter.”
“Astute.” Half her mind appreciated Edmund’s observations, while the other half was carefully wiping a brandy-soaked cloth over the wound.
The man moaned and shuddered as the liquor hit raw flesh. “Aaargh, fuck me, that hurts summat terrible…”
“I’m sure it does, but it must be done, sir. You have a graze on your scalp, but it would seem you’re quite lucky and have sustained no other injuries.”
“Gawd, this one’s enough…” He groaned loudly as Rosaline plied the brandy and the needle. “If you’d be passin’ me that bottle…”
Obligingly, she paused and let him swig a couple of mouthfuls of the liquor, hoping it might help dull the sting a little. “Only a few more stitches, sir. You’ll be right as rain shortly.”
He opened one eye and saw the Baron leaning over him. “If she’s yer wife, tell her she’s got a strange way of describing one hell of a headache. Ain’t got nuthin’ to do with no rain…”
Edmund grinned. “That’s the lad. Keep your sense of humor, no matter what. I knew you were a seaman first time I clapped eyes on you.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” He shut his eyes tightly and caught the worst of the groan in his throat.
“There.” Rosaline leaned back and passed the back of her hand across her forehead. “’Tis done. Not the neatest sewing, I’ll confess, but it will suffice.” She gently put a clean cloth over the gash and began to wrap a bandage around the man’s head. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Tom, Missus. I’m Tom Farnwell. I fish for a living’ these days.”
Edmund stepped to Rosaline’s side and helped Farnwell sit up a little against a couple of old pillows. “Well, Mr. Farnwell. Unless the fish are arming themselves these days, you didn’t get that wound from a mackerel.”
“Nay, sir. That I did not.” He touched his bandage. “But I gotta say this hurts awful bad. Thank ye Ma’am for helping’, but I got one big ache up here right now.” He shot a quick glance at Edmund. “Can’t say as I feel much like conversation…”
“Quite understandable, Mr. Farnwell.” Rosaline stood and pushed the bloodstained water and cloths aside. “I think you need to be somewhere a little more comfortable.” She glanced at Edmund. “Do you think we could get him into the old library? It’s a bit musty, but there is a couch in there and with a few blankets I think he’ll do for the night…”
Edmund shot her a quick look. “He cannot travel?”
She shook her head. “No. I would strongly advise against it. There might be a concussion, or the stitches might tear…not to mention some dizziness or lack of balance. One never knows with head wounds. I’d rather err on the side of caution…”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Edmund sighed. “The library it is, then.”
Chidwell and Mrs. Hampstead, who had stayed out of the way during the medical proceedings, neared Edmund and Rosaline.
“I’ll help, my Lord.” Chidwell went to one side of the bench. “If you might possibly get one arm behind him…”
Between them, the men got Farnwell to his feet, but he was indeed very unsteady and turned quite pale when he saw the mess of cloths.
Rosaline looked at the cook. “He’s a local, it would seem.”
“I know the name, Ma’am, but I can’t say as I know him at all.”
“Right then.” Rosaline made a decision. “I need you to find one footman who is still sober enough to keep an eye on this man. Have him pull up a chair, whichever one is near, I don’t particularly care as long as it’s comfortable, and put it in the corridor outside the library. I don’t want our guest wandering Ridlington at will.”
“Very good, my Lady.” Mrs. Hampstead nodded in agreement. “If young Arthur is around I’ll have him do it. He’s a big lad, won’t mind a nap in a nice chair and I’ll get him some blankets and a cuppa as well.”
“Excellent.” Rosaline beamed at her. “I shall leave you in charge of that end of things.”
“You can leave all this too, my Lady. Goodness, it’s bad enough you’ve had to sew up a man’s head on your wedding night. You shouldn’t be having’ to clean up after it as well.”
Rosaline chuckled. She’d forgotten all about that in the more recent drama, but now she wondered where her husband was.
As if summoned by her thoughts, he peered around the door. “He’s all settled and looks like he’s half asleep already. I left him the brandy, which should help matters along.”
“So we can go up?”
“We can indeed.”
Rosaline smiled and turned to the cook. “Many thanks all around, Mrs. Hampstead. I hope you all have a chance to sleep in yourselves in the morning. We shall not need breakfast until quite late. So promise me you will take advantage of that…”
The woman curtseyed. “I will, my Lady. And thank you.”
Rosaline turned and reached for Edmund, taking his hand and letting him tug her away and into the corridor. “That was unexpected.” She yawned. “Is it always this exciting at Ridlington?”
Edmund chuckled. “God, I hope not.”
“I hate to confess this, Edmund, but I’m tired.” She felt the weariness crawling up her spine like fog creeping in from an ocean of exhaustion.
“I’m not surprised. I’m staying awake by the grace of God.” He yawned as well. “It would seem we shall be postponing our nuptial activities, my dear wife. Because I should hate to embarrass myself by falling asleep in the middle of it.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “I am quite all right with that plan. Although tiredness and a lack of modesty compels me to confess I should like to sleep next to you tonight.” She shivered. “I’m so cold.”
“Come on then.”
He hurried them both upstairs, turned back the covers, stoked up the fire and removed their thick robes, doing a little shivering himself as they slipped beneath the cool linens.
“Turn over.” He moved beside her and snuggled his legs up against hers. “There. Better?”
Cuddled against his chest and fitting every bit of her back and legs into his body, Rosaline sighed with pleasure. She was growing warmer now, drowsy and relaxed even though this was the first time she’d shared a bed with a man in many years, and the first time ever she’d done so with such willingness.
There was something comforting about Edmund, she realized. But then she fell asleep before she could work out exactly what that something was…
*~~*~~*
Edmund’s bed was unusually toasty.
That fact impinged itself upon his barely awake mind as he stretched out his legs to encounter linens that were definitely of a different temperature than usual.
He sighed with pleasure as his brain began to function, and reached for his wife.
Who wasn’t there.
The heat next to him told him she’d only recently quit their bed, but he didn’t really need to open his eyes to sense her absence. He did anyway, just to be sure she hadn’t fallen out of the other side of the bed and was presently sleeping on the floor. He actually checked, but no, she wasn’t supine on the worn carpeting.
A slight sound from the adjacent room told him that his worst suspicions were true. She’d left him sleeping and gone to her own room. Which meant she was preparing for the day—yes, there was what looked like daylight trying to creep between the curtains—and all these facts made him quite sad. He was married, had spent the night with his wife, and had not a single erotic memory to show for it.
Life, he mused, was rather unfair sometimes. In addition to his lack of pleasurable endeavors, he was now faced with the business of getting up, getting dressed and be
ing a damn Baron again. For a man who had been wed for less than a day, it was really aggravating.
He was strongly tempted to storm his wife’s rooms, catch her up over his shoulder and carry her back in here where she belonged. And where he would strip off her nightclothes and…and…
“Good morning, my Lord.”
Chidwell entered with a light tap on the door, bearing the usual tray with a cup of tea. This morning there was also a glass of what looked like Cook’s special picker-upper concoction. Edmund eyed it with distaste.
“It was thought that your Lordship might benefit from a little extra refreshment, today.” Chidwell placed the tray on the table next to the bed and crossed the room to draw back the curtains.
“You know, now that I’m wed, perhaps we need to re-think our morning routine, Chidwell.”
The man paused. “Really, sir?”
Edmund looked at him. “Have you ever been married?”
“No sir. I have managed to avoid that…er…hazard, with a little luck and some blessings from above.”
“I see.”
“However, I am not completely ignorant as to the married state. Her Ladyship’s maid is already attending to Lady Ridlington, thus I deduced that you were ready to begin your morning’s preparations, sir.”
“Ah.” Edmund nodded. “So you wouldn’t enter unless you knew one or other of us was up and about?”
“Certainly not, sir. I am aware of the sanctity of the—er—marriage bed.” Incredibly, he blushed. “It would be most unseemly to disturb such matters. I would never forgive myself should I inadvertently interrupt a moment of…of…”
“Quite. Thank you, Chidwell. As always you have grasped the topic of discussion most accurately.“ Edmund could stand no more. “Now, I must get dressed. Can’t have my wife breaking her fast alone.”
“Of course, sir.”
By the time he was ready to face the day, Rosaline had in fact begun her breakfast, such as it was. There was a half empty teacup beside her, and two pieces of toast and jam on her plate. She looked up as he entered the room and her smile warmed him.