by Lauren Smith
“Ashton.” His mother stood at the foot of the stairs, her eyes wide. “I saw Charles with Dr. Finchley. Is Rafe ill?”
“I think he has a fever. Finchley is examining him right now. I’m fetching Rafe some water.”
“A fever?” His mother paled. “Let me get a glass. You must go and be with him and speak to the doctor.” His mother headed for the kitchens.
With a sigh, he turned around and returned to Rafe’s room. When he entered, Dr. Finchley was staring grimly at his pocket watch while holding two fingers to one of Rafe’s wrists.
“How does he fare?”
Finchley released Rafe’s wrist and slid the watch back into his pocket.
“I believe it’s the grippe. He slipped into unconsciousness shortly after you left. I won’t lie to you, Lord Lennox—I do not like the look of this. He’s likely contagious, and you should keep his exposure to the rest of the house limited. Keep him warm and try to keep him drinking lots of water. Light broths for meals until his fever and nausea passes. If his conditions worsen, I might suggest bleeding him.”
“The grippe?” Ashton murmured, his heart thumping hard against his rubs.
“Yes, a bad case it seems. I’ve come from visiting several people in the village. A man and a child have already died. If he’s been to the village lately, he could have acquired it there. What concerns me most is that his earlier wound has already weakened him.”
The world around Ashton shrunk, suffocating him. Two deaths? And Rafe carried the same illness? Normally a grown man could get through the grippe, but in his injured state, he might not withstand it.
There was a strange ringing in his ears. “Is there nothing to be done?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not. You must ride out the fever and hope he is strong enough to make it.” Finchley patted Ashton’s shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow and check on him.”
Ashton followed the doctor out. “Let me see you to the door.”
After the doctor left, Ashton walked over to the stairs and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as a dozen emotions threatened to drown him.
“Ashton? What did the doctor say?” His mother’s voice was tremulous. He looked up and blinked back the tears he’d been trying to hide. She was holding a pitcher of water, and when she met his gaze, her grip loosened on the pitcher. It fell from her hands and shattered upon the stone floor, the sound sharp and violent in the quiet night. The white china fragments glistened beneath the hall lamps.
“Just tell me,” his mother whispered, her hands shaking so hard she clasped them in her skirts as though to hide them.
Ashton wiped at his eyes. “He has influenza. Finchley said he’s seen cases in the village. In his weakened state this could be bad, Mother. We need to be prepared. The doctor believes he is contagious. We cannot risk exposing the others.”
“Influenza.” Regina clutched at the banister. “Ashton, you must not let him…” She swallowed the words, but he knew what she meant.
“You won’t lose him,” Ashton vowed.
“We won’t lose him.” Regina came over to him. Before he could protest, she bent and kissed his forehead. It had been years since his mother had done such a thing.
He reached up and grasped one of her hands, squeezing it. “Try to rest.”
“I’ll try. But it’s a mother’s duty to worry about her children. All of them.” She gazed at him meaningfully before she left him alone.
He would not let her down. He would not let Rafe die.
*****
Charles opened the door to his chamber and brushed the dust of the road off his clothing. Every muscle felt as coiled tight as a snake ready to spring. The grippe was normally not something to be worried about, but when he’d arrived on the doctor’s doorstep the man’s face had paled when he’d reported Rafe’s symptoms.
“Is everything all right, my lord?” Linley was there in the shadows, polishing his shoes with a cloth as he sat in a chair.
“Mr. Lennox has fallen ill, and Ashton’s damned worried about it. So am I.” He scrubbed his face with a hand, trying to smooth the worry lines he felt forming there. “Linley, lad, did my watch ever turn up? Those rascals from the tenant farms filched it from my room, I’m sure of it.”
“I haven’t looked, my lord.” Linley was studying the boots intently, rubbing far harder on them than was necessary. Charles came over and gripped the young man’s hands to stop him.
“Easy, boy, you’ll rub holes in the leather. Why don’t you run downstairs and fetch something to eat? I know you forget most of the time. So off with you. I’m sure the cook will have leftover tarts from tonight’s dinner.” He patted Linley’s shoulder, and with a reluctant smile, the boy stood and set the boots aside and left the room.
Charles scanned the room, then searched his drawers. Still no watch. It would be nice if at least one good thing happened to him today, but that didn’t seem to be his fate. With a frustrated sigh, he threw himself down upon the bed. Something hard jabbed into his shoulder blades where he landed. He rolled over and moved the pillow back an inch to find a gleaming gold pocket watch.
At first he felt relief, but that soon changed. “This isn’t mine. And it isn’t working…” He was about to put it on the small table beside his bed when he froze. Something about this seemed familiar.
A memory of the night that he and Avery took Audrey Sheridan out on the town to start teaching her some of Avery’s trade in spy work flashed through him like quicksilver. Avery at the quiet little pub table where they wouldn’t be disturbed, holding out a strange device that looked like a pocket watch…but it wasn’t. Audrey’s eyes gleaming with keen interest as she reached for it and opened it. A simple clock face was displayed until Avery pressed the latch a second time and a false bottom opened. Audrey turned the piece over and noticed the opposite side had a circular pattern of strange symbols and letters.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A cipher decoder. A select few of us use them to decode letters. They are quite rare. The ring of symbols can be adjusted to match new letters. At the top of any correspondence we will match one letter and symbol in the top corner and once you have this you can mimic the matching pattern and decode the entire letter.”
Charles pressed the latch and the false bottom appeared. “What in the blazes…” How had a cipher decoder ended up in his bedchamber? And more importantly, who had left it here? He hastily tucked the watch into his dresser drawer beneath some neatly folded shirts. That was a mystery he would have to solve once Rafe was better. Ashton would be too worried about his brother to focus on this new mystery.
Still…
Charles stared at the drawer, a sense of dread building inside him. Something didn’t feel right about any of this.
*****
Something was definitely not right.
Rosalind stood in the center of Ashton’s empty bedchamber. It surprised her that she was bothered by his absence. She should have enjoyed the quiet, and yet she longed for his intense gaze and the way he made her feel as if she were the only person in the world.
That was one thing she hadn’t realized she would enjoy, being the sole focus of a man’s attention. Perhaps it was because he was genuinely interested in her and had no wish to hurt or use her—he just wanted her. With Ashton, the world seemed to halt and it was just the two of them, even when they were quarreling.
After his departure in the middle of dinner, she’d assumed he’d gone to see to his brother but would likely return. Then Charles had made his apologies, as had Lady Lennox shortly after dinner was over. Given their worried looks before they’d left, Rosalind had sensed something was wrong but wasn’t in a position to pry. She’d refused to change out of her clothes and sent Claire to bed so that she might wait up for him. She jumped when the chamber door opened, but it was only Ashton’s valet.
“My apologies, Your Ladyship.”
“It’s all right, Lowell. Where is Lord Lennox?”
&nb
sp; The young valet’s expression was somber. “Tending to his brother. He’s taken ill with the grippe. The doctor told His Lordship we aren’t to be in Mr. Rafe’s room because of concerns the illness could spread. His Lordship is seeing to his brother himself. I was told to bring him some clothes, but I am not supposed to open the door.”
Lowell’s hands shook as he collected a few items. It was obvious the young man was terrified. She straightened her shoulders, and with a little nod to herself she made a decision to help him.
Rosalind approached him and held out her hands. “Allow me to take them, Mr. Lowell.”
“But—”
“It will be fine. Lord Lennox won’t know you didn’t leave them. I’m soft-footed when I need to be.” She lifted her skirts and showed him a slippered foot. “Now, let me have those. Which way is Rafe’s room?” She collected the clothes and received her directions before she left Lowell to tidy up the chamber.
Following the instructions from the valet, she found Rafe’s room and set the clothes upon the floor outside the door. Then she knocked and rushed to the nearest alcove, hiding behind a marble statue of a half-naked nymph fleeing the arms of the god Zeus.
The door opened and Ashton appeared, his face pale as he collected the clothing and disappeared back inside. She was loath to admit it, but she was worried for him and for his brother, even if he was a damned highwayman. She knew enough of foolish brothers to know that when you loved one, you could not lose him without breaking your heart. And in some ways, she had lost three. She didn’t wish that pain on Ashton.
Perhaps by the morning all would be well. She crept back down the hall, her heart sinking. Even though she despised what Rafe had done, she did not truly wish him ill. She had shot him, after all. Some might call the matter settled. And she certainly did not wish to see Ashton suffer by watching his brother endure such a harsh illness.
I wish there was more I could do.
“What are you doing, Lady Melbourne?” Lord Lonsdale’s voice made her jump. He stepped out of a doorway, holding a glass of brandy. His hair was tousled and his waistcoat was gone.
“I brought Ashton some clothes. He’s taking care of his brother. Have you heard?” she asked.
Charles nodded. “Influenza. Can be a nasty business. Rafe’s too stubborn to let himself get worse. I have faith that he’ll pull through.”
The words sounded hollow and forced, making the silence between them that much more uncomfortable.
“May I have a word with you? Privately?” He nodded at the doorway he was standing in.
“But it’s private here. We are alone.” She knew enough of men not to go anywhere too secluded with one who was intoxicated and didn’t like her.
Charles shook his head. “In a house like this? No hallway is ever empty. Please.” He stepped back, allowing her to pass by him. Thankfully it was not a bedchamber, but a parlor.
Rosalind took a seat at a lacquered card table and Charles joined her. He set his glass down and nodded at the brandy. “Would you care for some?”
“No, thank you.”
She waited, unsure of what Charles wanted to say. Given what she’d overhead before dinner, she was unlikely to appreciate whatever would follow.
“I won’t beat about the bush, Lady Melbourne. I’ve had far too much to drink this evening, and it’s left me without my usual eloquence of speech. So I do beg your forgiveness.” Even as he said this, she didn’t miss the shrewd gleam in his eyes, something that told her he wasn’t as foxed as he wished her to believe. He was one of Ashton’s friends, after all. Ashton was a clever man and would only keep similar company.
“Please, speak what is on your mind, Lord Lonsdale.”
“You and Ashton are…” He waved a hand. “Well, you are at odds, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as an observation.
Rosalind tilted her head to one side. “If we are, what business is it of yours?” She didn’t ask this waspishly, but curiously, knowing what his answer would likely be.
“The man is more a brother to me than my own brother. I’d protect him with my life, from any threats. And you are posing a threat, Lady M. Quite a threat.” His eyes flicked up and down her body.
She bristled. “I’m not a threat. He’s a threat to me.”
Charles chuckled. “Because he holds the reins, eh? But we both know what a wild creature you are. I’d rather have you free than risk my friend by letting you remain captured. A polecat bites when cornered.”
He was comparing her to a polecat?
Rosalind met him with a level gaze. “Fortunate for you, my lord, that I’m able to maintain control of my temper and my claws. Now, what is it you wish to say?”
“You need funds to buy your freedom, do you not?” He folded his hands on the table, and despite the half-empty brandy bottle she noticed on the mantle behind him, she had a feeling his wits were quite sharp.
“Yes.”
“What if you were able to receive those funds? Would you walk away from Ashton and his marriage bargain?”
If Rosalind hadn’t been prepared, she would have let the sudden surprise flood through her. But thankfully she was able to bottle her reaction.
“Are you offering this out of charity? Or do you have some negotiations of your own in mind?” she asked.
“The only price for my buying your debts and seeing to your freedom would be that you never compete with him again. Walk away from any competing interests and bow out if he becomes involved in a bidding war with you. I want him to lose interest in the joy he finds in challenging you.”
Her instinct was to tell Charles to go to blazes, because she never took anything from anyone that she did not earn. Yet the gift of her freedom back was tempting…too tempting. As much as she wanted to accept, she knew she could not. It would still be another form of servitude by playing to his tune of when to bow out and leave Lennox unchallenged. Still, it was worth seeing how determined Charles was to play this game.
“I suppose you want this to be kept a secret from him if I were to accept?”
“If Ash ever asked me, I would deny it until my dying breath.”
“Why?” That was something she could not understand. “You know he means to control me and my property. Why would you, as one of his dearest friends, act in such a way as to prevent him from claiming what he desires?”
Charles reached for his glass and sipped, staring at her coolly. There was a hint of anger and a sliver of fear deep in his gray eyes. He didn’t know he’d revealed that, but it was there.
“Because he is acting the fool. He has some silly notion that he’ll be as happy as Godric, Lucien and Cedric, that he can buy you and in so doing buy your love. I know better than anyone that love is not a commodity that should be bought or sold.”
Rosalind shifted restlessly as she felt his intense scrutiny settle on her once more.
“Can your love be bought?”
She stared at him. “It cannot. Love is something that is given. Sometimes it is earned, but it can never be bought. Affection, perhaps. Loyalty, certainly. But never love.”
“I do not wish to see Ash hurt by this marriage scheme.” He set the glass down and waited.
“As much as the man infuriates me, I do not wish to hurt him either. Especially not at the expense of my own happiness.”
“Then you’ll accept my offer?”
Rosalind weighed his offer against everything else that had happened in the last few days. The survivor in her wanted to leap at the chance to be free of Ashton’s control. But she would also no longer have him in her life.
She was a woman of honor. She had promised to abide by the terms of their wager. If she walked away and later tried to resurrect the passion that was beginning to burn between them, it wouldn’t happen. Pride and distrust would keep Ashton from opening himself up to her, and she would feel like a lowly cheat.
And if she was being entirely honest with herself, she didn’t want to walk away. Ashton was proving to
be a far better man than she’d assumed him to be. He could be sweet and playful, not simply dominating and seductive. Aside from her property, he had no desire to crush her or destroy who she was.
This might be my last chance at love.
Yes, he would own her, but if she in turn owned his heart, what would the rest matter? She, after all, could tell him no, could turn him away if she didn’t wish to be with him. He’d made that clear, that he would never take anything from her that she wasn’t willing to give. It was what made him so dangerously seductive. He promised to give her everything she desired, and it turned out what she wanted most of all was him.
“Well, what’s it to be, Lady Melbourne?” Charles asked. A smug smile hovered about his lips.
She stood, walked up to him and took his glass of brandy, and with a confident smile, she tipped his glass back and finished the drink before setting it back in his startled hands. “I’m afraid I cannot accept. I’m honor bound by my promise. Unless he wishes to cry off, I’m to marry him at a date of our choosing.”
Charles’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white as he got to his feet. “Are you certain? I could pay above your debts. Whatever else you desire. Name it and it shall be yours.”
“I’m sorry, but there is nothing you could give me.” The things she once wanted—love, a happy life, children—those had always been phantoms of the past, castles made of clouds. Yet if she stayed with Ashton, she may have one more chance to chase those dreams—and perhaps even catch them.
“You would condemn yourself to a loveless marriage?” Charles asked softly.
She nodded. “You seem so certain that love is impossible between us. I believe that we might come to love, if we are lucky.” And perhaps I have already.
Charles frowned. “I won’t let you go through with this. Ashton deserves someone better. A woman who loves him.”
“Everyone deserves love,” she agreed. “But he has made this choice, and we are bound by his decision. Goodnight, my lord.” She brushed past him and exited the room, thankful when he didn’t try to stop her.