by Lauren Smith
“How is he?” Regina stood by the doorway, her eyes red.
The two of them had become Rafe and Ashton’s caretakers. Regina hadn’t wanted anyone else to risk exposure, and Rosalind had agreed. They’d sent the younger servants away, and only the most stubborn had insisted upon staying. Rosalind was barely aware of anything happening outside of Ashton’s bedroom.
There was some strange part of her that felt that if she were to lose focus on him for even one minute, she would lose him. She felt as though her strength was helping him to stay with her. It was foolish, but she wanted so desperately to believe she could do something to help him through this.
“He’s sleeping again. I cannot tell if he’s better when he’s still or when he’s restless.” Her voice was a little shaky, the barest hint of the storm raging inside her heart. Rosalind’s hands trembled as she removed the cloth on his brow and replaced it with a fresh one.
Regina came in and sat down next to Rosalind.
Rosalind leaned into Ashton’s mother, needing just one minute to rest and recover. She and Regina had become close these past two days, like soldiers defending a fort entirely on their own. They had learned to read the evidence of tears in each other’s eyes, the language of sorrow and grief, the flicker of hope and the glint of raw determination to see these dark days through.
She had always felt so alone after her mother had died, but now, facing losing Ashton, she’d longed for someone to take care of her in these rare moments of weakness. Regina had done just that, having seen to her care without a thought to herself. It was something she’d seen glimpses of in Ashton. That sense of selflessness toward those he loved.
Ashton’s mother touched the back of her hand to Rosalind’s forehead, testing for a fever. “How are you?”
Rosalind sighed wearily. “I’ve survived much hardship in my life, but I’ve never felt so helpless as I do now.”
When her father had been in a foul mood, he’d sometimes lock her in her room for days without food and only a pitcher of water. But those days paled in comparison to this battle, which she could not fight herself. It was up to Ashton to survive this on his own. She could only watch and wait and do what little she could to make him comfortable.
“Your previous husband, was he…” Regina trailed off.
“No,” Rosalind said. “Henry was a good man. My father was a brute. When at last I ran away, Henry rescued me from that life.” She reached out and brushed a lock of Ashton’s hair back from his face. “But this—this dreadful waiting—it’s far worse.”
“I know, my child. I know. We wish to fight the battles of the ones we love the most, but often we cannot.” Regina curled an arm around her shoulders, giving her a sweet hug. Her mother used to do that, she remembered, many years ago, when life had not been so full of pain and shadows.
Ashton’s lips moved, making Rosalind and Regina tense, but the words weren’t comprehensible.
“He said something about his father earlier,” Rosalind said.
Regina swallowed and nodded. “He was barely a young man when his father died. He doesn’t talk about it, but I know he still suffers. He was there, you see, when it happened. It must haunt him beyond reason to have witnessed something so terrible at so young an age.” Her eyes darkened with the weight of tears. “I see so much of my Malcolm in him, and it reminds me of what I lost. I have always been hard on him, and that is my sin to bear. I only wish I’d told him how much I do love him.” Ashton’s mother suddenly began to cry, and Rosalind hugged her back, offering the last bit of her own strength.
Rosalind stroked Ashton’s arm. “He has a great heart. One he hides. He isn’t cold. He can be insufferable and stubborn, but he’s loving and warmhearted too. I misjudged him.”
Regina sniffed. “It seems I have been a worse mother than I thought.”
Rosalind shook her head. “No, I’m sure you’ve been a wonderful mother.”
“I’ve spent years taking out my anger on him.” She bowed her head. “I wish he knew how sorry I was for everything.” She stood and walked over to her son to press a kiss to his forehead.
Rosalind rubbed her fingertips along his jaw. “If there’s one thing I know about this man, he’s too mule-headed to surrender to an illness.”
Ashton’s mother’s nodded but didn’t speak.
Emotions whirled through Rosalind as she watched Ashton sleep. She’d hated his determination to own her and to win every battle before, but now she felt she was beginning to understand him. He was a man trying to take control of his life because he’d been so young when everything had spun out of control. He’d watched his father die, and his family responsibilities in the aftermath had weighed heavily upon him. It was no wonder that he was so set on having his way. It was the only way he felt secure.
Just like me…
When Ashton’s hand suddenly twitched, Rosalind curled her fingers around his.
“I’m so happy he met you. You’re the right woman for him.”
Rosalind was moved by her words and the sentiment behind them. She wanted to be worthy of Ashton and wanted his family to welcome her as a worthy match for him.
“Thank you, Lady Lennox.”
“Mother?” Ashton spoke, his voice hoarse.
Rosalind and Regina both turned to him. His eyes were open, but his gaze was still murky.
“I’m here, my boy, oh my darling boy.” Regina brushed fresh tears from her eyes as she touched his forehead and smiled, her hands trembling.
Rosalind had trouble breathing. He’d asked for his mother, and she shouldn’t have been jealous, but she had hoped for him to speak her name.
I should go. He doesn’t want me here. She started to get up from the bed, but Ashton caught her wrist.
“Stay, please,” he whispered. “I need you here.” His blue eyes were filled with the echoes of his haunting dreams, but she saw his need for her as well.
He wants me to stay. But what she had really wanted to admit to herself was, I am wanted.
“See?” Rosalind said to Regina, a smile curving her lips despite her concern. “Stubborn man. I knew no illness would keep him abed for long.”
Regina chuckled, and Ashton nearly smiled.
“I see you two have been bonding over my many flaws.” It was a mere rasp of a reply, but she could see a glint of merriment in his tired eyes. He squeezed her wrist.
“Oh my sweet boy.” Regina leaned over to kiss his forehead again. “I feared I might lose you.” Regina’s voice broke a little, and Ashton blinked slowly, a tear dripping down onto the pillow.
“Mother, please. I’d rather you be angry with me than to have you cry.”
She sniffed but straightened herself. “I must tell you something, Ashton. It has weighed on me all these years, and you deserve to hear me say it. I’ve been a wretched creature, simply wretched toward you, my darling child. I…” She paused but waved a hand when Ashton tried to interrupt her. “You remind me so much of your father. You have his looks, his intelligence, his warm heart, but…but what I mistook for coldness all these years, it was strength. You are a good man, Ashton, and a good son.” Regina had kept herself quite firm as she spoke, but at last a little sob choked her throat. “You are my son and I love you. Please forgive me for being so harsh on you all these years.”
Rosalind leaned against the bedpost close to Ashton’s head, and she saw him struggle for words. He still clutched her hand and was squeezing it hard now, as though what he was hearing was too good to be true. Had her father had ever uttered such words it would have astonished her.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mother,” Ashton promised, and after a quiet moment of simply gazing at his mother in a weary contentedness Rosalind suspected he hadn’t felt since he was a child, he sighed and smiled. His eyes brightened, and he tried to sit up. “Rafe…how is he?”
“A little better than you. Sitting up in bed and taking food. I should get back to him now that you are awake.”
“Mother,
if you fall ill, I’ll be most upset. I asked for no one else to tend to Rafe.”
“Yes, well, someone had to.” Regina sniffed. “Rosalind was quite insistent she wished to take care of you, and since we were the only two brave enough to risk tending to you both, I took charge of Rafe. No one else has fallen ill in the house. I believe we may be safe.”
Ashton shook his head. “I won’t feel safe until a week has passed with no one else falling ill.”
“You may fret all you like, but for now you will do so from your bed.” She leaned in again and kissed his cheek. “I must go see to your brother. Get well, my boy.” She patted Rosalind’s shoulder and exited the chambers.
Rosalind shifted her feet, which ached from standing so long. Now that Ashton had come around, she felt exhausted and oddly exposed.
“I…” Her voice trailed off, but when he smiled at her, it was a soft, dreamy expression, the sort a man might have after a long night of bliss between the sheets. Not unlike the one she had whenever she recalled being in his arms.
“Come here, sweetheart. You look ready to faint on your feet.” He patted the other side of the bed where there was a place for her to sit down.
She walked around the bed and climbed up to sit beside him.
“Would you mind terribly if you helped me to sit up? My back is aching terribly after lying down so long,” Ashton said.
She eyed him, his pale skin and glassy eyes. “Are you strong enough?”
He nodded. “I can lie back on the pillows. I need to be up. Feeling as weak as a kitten doesn’t suit me,” he growled.
She chuckled. “Considering a few minutes ago you were suffering fevered dreams, I think this is a vast improvement. You shouldn’t rush your own healing.”
“Fevered dreams?” He sighed heavily, and the sound twisted Rosalind’s heart.
She gripped his arm and helped lift him up. “Yes, about your father.”
“My father?” His expression darkened, but Rosalind didn’t want to upset him, not after everything he’d endured. She leaned into him, kissing his cheek.
“I’m so relieved you are better. You gave me quite a fright.” She tucked her head into his shoulder, careful not to lie too heavily against his side.
“Me too. The grippe is a damned nuisance.” He glanced around the room and found the clock on the mantle. “Good Lord, is that the time?”
“Yes,” Rosalind said. “You’ve been sick for three days.”
“We still have a wedding to arrange, and the rest of the League will be descending upon this house at any minute.”
“Oh? What for?” Rosalind’s heart thudded against her ribs. The idea of them all coming here at once made her strangely nervous. What if they were like Charles and not at all pleased that she and Ashton were to be married? What if she never fit into their company the way the other wives had? Everyone seemed so at ease with one another, and those friendships ran deep. She was a stranger to them and couldn’t ever see herself fitting in, not when Ashton wasn’t marrying her for love.
Is my love for him enough for both of us?
“They wish to attend our wedding. It’s tradition. I hope you don’t mind.”
She laughed even though her heart still ached. “I suppose keeping them all out of our business is impossible.”
“It is,” Ashton agreed. “You’ve met Emily, so you know that little woman always gets her way.”
Rosalind giggled, remembering how well she and Emily had gotten along. “Yes, I quite believe she does.” At least I shall have one ally in the League of Rogues.
Someone knocked at the door of the room.
“Who is it?” Rosalind asked.
“Charles.”
“Don’t let him in,” Ashton warned. “I’m not yet well enough. I don’t wish to make him ill.”
Rosalind walked to the door and opened it a crack. Charles stared down at her from the crack in the doorway.
“He doesn’t want to see you, my lord. He’s afraid you’ll become ill as well.”
She started to close the door, but Charles shoved his arm through the slit and used his considerable strength to force it open.
“Charles, no!” Ashton coughed and tried to leave the bed.
“Bloody fool.” Charles growled and rushed to catch him. He glared at Rosalind when she tried to help put Ashton back into bed. Charles’s fine clothes were rumpled, and he seemed as exhausted as she felt, with dark circles under his eyes. While she had been tending to Ashton, he had helped keep the Lennox household running and had overseen the construction of the tenant farmer houses. Both he and Jonathan had been incredibly helpful.
“Make yourself useful, Lady Melbourne. Fetch some broth and bread from the kitchens. I need to speak to Ashton. Alone.”
“But—”
“It is League business and none of your affair,” Charles said.
Rather than bow to Charles’s insufferable attitude, Rosalind looked to Ashton. He met her gaze, his expression soft and understanding.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I should speak with him. I promise I won’t keep you out of my secrets forever.” He winced, then added, “Broth does sound rather good. Would you mind?” Ashton’s chagrined expression was the only reason she agreed to leave. League business or not, she would not have backed down to Charles unless Ashton asked her to.
Rosalind left the bedchamber but froze when she overheard Ashton speak.
“Why did you send her away, Charles?”
“Because she’s our enemy. I just received a letter from London from the men you had looking into Rosalind’s accounts. She and Waverly are more deeply connected than we suspected. They have more than one business venture together, and there were letters in her offices to him regarding reports of your interests in various investments and your companies. They were working together to spy on you, and through you to spy on us. I warned you that you weren’t thinking clearly when it came to her, and I was right.”
Waverly? They knew about him? He’d befriended her shortly before her husband had passed away. She’d been impressed with his knowledge of business and his keen eye for acquisitions. It had been he who had put her on the path to buying companies from under Ashton’s nose. They’d communicated frequently regarding various interests, but among them had been Ashton’s business strategies. They’d shared a laugh over sending him in circles and depriving him of companies he wanted to purchase.
A sick feeling turned Rosalind’s stomach. Waverly had never given any indication he’d had a personal history with Ashton. It was just business…wasn’t it? But now that she looked back, she could see that Ashton always managed to come up in their conversations. By her own intentions, she’d assumed, but she realized now Hugo had said things to make her think of Ashton, and that had prompted the discussions nearly every time they met at her offices.
I’ve been played—on both sides. The nausea only grew inside her.
“What do you mean they’re working together?” Ashton demanded.
“Your future bride has been hiding things from you. This, and more,” Charles said.
Rosalind knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but they were talking about her. She pressed herself flat against the wall beside the door, ears straining to pick up the conversation.
“Explain.”
“This goes beyond her companies,” Charles said. “Her father and Waverly knew each other ten years ago in Scotland.”
“What on earth would Waverly be doing up there?” Ashton’s voice was soft but concerned.
“No idea, but it couldn’t have been anything good. And his claws have never left that family. Your sweet Rosalind”—Charles sneered the word—“has been writing directly to Waverly for nearly six months. Did you know about that? For all we know she could be sharing his bed or telling him all our secrets. Ash, this is serious. You must send her back to London. Sever ties with her and rip up that blasted license. We must close ranks before she becomes privy to anything Hugo can use against us.”
An icy chill shot clear through Rosalind, leaving her unable to think beyond the cutting words. A puppet? That’s all I am to him? And Sir Hugo knew my father but never told me? That coincidence filled her with unease. She’d trusted Waverly, and yet it seemed he’d been manipulating her to act against Ashton. But why?
“You think she’s so enamored with you?”
Rosalind held her breath. Her blood pounded in her ears so hard it nearly drowned out their voices.
“I know she is. She cannot resist me. You forget, I was seducing women years before you, pup. I still know a trick or two.”
An invisible blade pierced her heart. Ashton was playing her like a fiddle, and what made it hurt more was that he was right. She was falling in love with him. She could not stay here, not when she was a pawn in this private game they were playing. She had warned him that was the one thing she would not stand for.
He’d stolen her heart and broken his promise.
Rosalind blinked away tears and hardened her heart. She would not be a victim. Not again. I will not stay here, not when I’m neither wanted nor loved.
She would need Claire to help her pack her things, and then she’d leave.
*****
Brock motioned for his brothers to stay close behind him as they snuck up to the terrace at the back of Lennox House. After three days of hard riding with barely any sleep, they’d managed to find the home of the man who held their sister captive.
Brock checked the pistol he held, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it, but if Lennox or his friends tried to stop them, he would. He glanced at his two younger brothers, both holding their own pistols, their faces grim as they studied the expansive country house. Thankfully there were a few lights by the windows, which helped conceal them in the darkness while they searched for a way in. Hugo’s man was supposed to leave a terrace door unlocked for them.