“Miss Benton!” Augusta was aghast at her flippant boldness. “I am beginning to understand why my nephew is so preoccupied with you, because you two share the same complete disregard for manners.”
“Yes, I suppose we do.” A faint smile pulled at her lips at that bittersweet connection to Edward. “I know you can call for the footmen and have me physically removed. But you should know that in the past few weeks, I was sent away from my home to the moors, then forced to flee from even there in order to rush here.” She rested her hand tenderly against his cheek. “So having been through all that, there is little you can do to make me fear you.”
“Well, I have never—” Augusta stopped. Then, her expression grew curious. “Tell me,” she asked, her voice unexpectedly soft, “how did you get here from Greymoor, Miss Benton?”
Deciding she had nothing to lose, Kate raised her chin and boldly met her gaze. “When the messenger brought your note, I took his horse and rode through the night until I caught up with the mail coach. Then I sold the horse and bought a ticket to London.”
Augusta’s face carefully concealed her thoughts in yet another stark resemblance to Edward. “The mail coach doesn’t come into Mayfair at night.”
“I know. I walked the last three miles.”
Kate thought she saw something close to pleased admiration flash in the countess’s eyes, but it was gone instantly. “So the Duke of Strathmore’s ward is also a horse thief,” Augusta commented dryly.
That thought had occurred to Kate, too, while she’d been riding across the moors. “I’ll pay Edward back…somehow.” She frowned at the impossibility of ever being able to do that on Brambly’s meager revenues. “So now I guess you can do me harm. You can have me arrested.”
“I shall remember that for the future should it become necessary,” Augusta assured her. Her lips twitched. “Strathmore will undoubtedly be impressed when he hears what you’ve done.”
At that, Kate’s cheeks flushed, although she very much doubted it. The moment he woke he’d most likely send her right back to Greymoor. “Thank you for letting me see him.”
“I want what is best for my nephew.”
Her eyes stung. “So do I.”
Both women gazed at Edward then, his body so terribly still except for the slow rise and fall of his bandaged chest.
“There is nothing more you can do for him tonight,” Augusta informed her quietly, placing a gentle hand on Kate’s shoulder. “The housekeeper will prepare a room for you so you can rest.” She scrunched her nose at the odor of horse. “And bathe.”
“Let me stay with him,” she pleaded. “I’ll keep out of the doctor’s way, I promise.”
“Very well,” Augusta consented with a regal lift of her brow. “Although it seems to me, Miss Benton, that Dr. Brandon would be wise to stay out of yours.”
Kate looked up and pleadingly met the countess’s gaze. “Please don’t let them take out the sutures tomorrow. Let them stay in a few more days.”
Augusta contemplated her, as if weighing the situation, then nodded. “If you feel that is the right—”
But Kate had already turned back to Edward, his hand tightly held in both of hers.
“Edward,” Kate whispered, desperate to make him hear her, “please wake up.”
No response. His eyes stayed closed, his body still.
“Just as stubborn as ever, I see,” she chided in her best governess voice, although it trembled with worry. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, do you hear?”
She leaned forward to touch her lips to his feverish forehead, closing her eyes against the warmth, the familiar masculine scent, and the salty taste of him. So much had happened between them, such vulnerability and need, then the tenderness plunged into animosity…Yet he was alive, the blood still pulsing through him, and that was all that mattered now.
“Since I know how much you detest me,” she forced out as her throat tightened, “you’d better wake up and tell me to leave if you want the torture of my presence to stop. Otherwise, my darling, you are stuck with me.”
Sitting back in the chair, settling in for the night, she was determined to bring him back to her, and if he really could hear her, he was going to be furious when he woke. But if his anger made him better, then she’d gladly accept it. She would do whatever it took to nurse him to health.
And then she planned on throttling him to within an inch of his life for making her worry.
“You sent me to the moors, so I think I should reciprocate by telling you about every minute I spent at Greymoor.” She paused. “Ready to wake up? No? All right then, you leave me no choice. Let’s start with Bible study, in German.”
She didn’t see Augusta silently watching and listening from the doorway before finally leaving for her own suite of rooms, a knowing expression on her face.
* * *
Just before dawn, Edward’s eyes fluttered open, blinking, and filled with confusion. His foggy brain had no idea where he was, what had happened, what time it was. His body was both pained and numb, stiff and cold, his limbs too heavy to move. He couldn’t lift his head from the pillow. It took every ounce of his strength just to keep his eyelids from closing again.
But he felt a light pressure against his hand…warm, soft, secure. He glanced down—
And saw her.
She was asleep, sitting on a chair beside the bed but leaning her body forward onto the edge of the mattress, with her head resting gently on her left forearm while her right hand clasped his tightly even in her sleep, her fingers laced through his. As if she were afraid he might slip away.
“Angel,” he whispered.
Then his eyes closed, and he drifted back into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Augusta found Kate the next morning still sitting at Edward’s side. Blinking away the foggy confusion of sleep, she sat up and stretched her aching back.
She’d stayed by his side all night, applying cold compresses to his forehead and draping damp sheets over his body until his fever broke shortly before dawn, but once it did, she still found herself mopping his brow, still brushing her fingertips across his face…anything to keep touching him and feeling the warm pulse that continued to grow stronger. When exhaustion finally overcame her, she’d slipped into a deep but troubled sleep.
“Dr. Brandon would like to examine Edward in private,” Augusta informed her.
Kate glanced toward the physician as he entered, his leather bag in his hand, then reluctantly agreed to leave, knowing she had no choice.
“Since you will be away from him for a while,” Augusta explained as she linked her arm through Kate’s and escorted her down the hall, “you might as well freshen up. I have had this room prepared for you.” Augusta led her inside a pretty yellow-and-cream-colored bedroom, where a steaming bath already waited. “I will have a breakfast tray sent up for you.”
“Thank you,” Kate agreed, too tired to protest. Despite her desire to remain at Edward’s side, her body ached, and a hot, soothing bath tempted her more than she wanted to admit. So did breakfast, since she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
Once Augusta left, she stripped quickly and sank into the hot water, a long, grateful sigh escaping her as the heat loosened her stiff muscles. No bath in the history of the world had ever felt this marvelous.
Kate remained in the bath until the water grew tepid and the tension eased from her body, and after finally washing away the dirt and odors of her flight from the moors, she felt much, much better. But heavens, she was exhausted! A dressing robe had been left for her, so she slipped into it, and then, unable to stop herself, crawled into bed. Her heavy eyes closed, and she fell into sweet sleep.
When she woke hours later, the long-case clock on the stairway landing chimed one, and sunlight streamed through the tall windows. She climbed off the bed and stretched.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened, and a maid carried
in a tray. “Tea, miss?” Smiling at Kate, she set it down on the table. “The countess requested it for you.”
“Thank you.” Kate warmed at Augusta’s thoughtfulness when she could have ejected her from the house. Good fortune with the Westovers. For once. “How is His Grace?”
“Don’t know, miss.” She poured a cup and handed it to Kate. “But her ladyship did say to let her know when you were up. If you don’t need me, I’ll tell her.”
“Thank you.”
The maid nodded. “Try the lemon biscuits,” she urged secretively. “They’re delicious!”
Kate fought back a smile at the young maid’s exuberance. Instead of taking one, she reached for the plate covered with biscuits and little iced cakes and held it out to the girl. “Please, help yourself—I won’t tell.”
The maid hesitated at what was clearly a breach of household etiquette, then gratefully took two lemon biscuits and slipped them into her apron pocket. “You’re a kind one, miss!” Her eyes shined. “I’m Mary, one of the upstairs housemaids. But her ladyship asked that I be your lady’s maid while you’re here.” Almost in afterthought, she gave a small curtsy, then nervously admitted, “I’ve never been a lady’s maid before.”
“Then we shall get along splendidly,” Kate assured her, “because I’ve never had a lady’s maid before.”
“La! A fine lady like you?”
Kate felt a blush rise in her cheeks at the earnest compliment. She was the furthest thing from a fine lady. “Why don’t you find the countess and tell her I’m awake?”
“Yes, miss!” She turned to scurry away.
“Oh, Mary?”
“Miss?”
Kate glanced around the room. “Where are my clothes?”
“Those filthy black things?” The little maid wrinkled her nose.
Kate nodded as she raised the cup to her lips and took a sip.
“Why, her ladyship burned ’em!”
She choked on her tea.
The little maid slipped away, and fighting down her amused laughter, Kate took a good look at her new room. Lace-edged velvet curtains fell from ceiling to floor, matching the drapes on the four-poster bed, and pillows sat piled high on a well-cushioned settee before a small fireplace with a carved ivory mantel. Paintings of flowers decorated the walls. The room was beautiful and feminine, filled with soft fabrics, utterly lovely, and so completely unlike her room at Greymoor.
Her throat tightened. During the past few years, even at Brambly, she’d forgotten what it was like to have such fine luxuries.
“Miss Benton, you are awake.” Augusta swept regally into the room, eyeing her critically. “You are also well rested, then?”
“Yes—and His Grace? How is he?”
A faint smile of relief tugged at her lips. “Brandon thinks he is improving. His pulse is stronger, his color is better. And I have dissuaded him from removing the sutures, for now.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighed, pressing her hand against her worried chest and deeply inhaling a great breath of relief.
Kate suspected the countess hadn’t dissuaded the doctor so much as simply commanded him to leave the sutures alone, and Kate doubted anyone defied her orders. But she found herself beginning to like this woman who reminded her so much of Edward. They both possessed that hard Westover exterior that disguised a genuine warmth and humor beneath.
The countess called over her shoulder, “Mary?”
The young maid hurried into the room, a dress draped over her arm. She handed it to the countess.
Augusta held it up in front of Kate, checking the fit and length. In sage-green sprigged muslin with cream-colored lace trimming the square-cut neckline and capped sleeves, it fell gracefully to the floor from its high waist.
She nodded, pleased. “This will do nicely until your new wardrobe arrives.”
“Wardrobe?” Kate repeated, not certain she’d heard correctly. “But I don’t need a new wardrobe.”
“My dear.” Augusta’s gaze leveled on her. “You are the ward of the Duke of Strathmore, and you cannot go about London looking like a German Puritan.” She shook her head. “Whatever had Mrs. Lutz been thinking when she gave you that black monstrosity?”
“His Grace his orders,” she mumbled.
The countess ignored that and handed the dress back to the maid, but Kate thought she saw a twitch of consternation at the woman’s lips. “It is Edward’s responsibility as your guardian to provide a suitable wardrobe. That,” she informed her in a tone that signified she would brook no contradiction, “and all the other things I plan on informing him he will do for you.”
Before she could ask what those other things were, Mary helped her into the dress and began to fasten up the row of tiny pearl buttons at her back.
“It’s beautiful.” Kate had never worn a dress this fashionable before. “Whose dress is it?” It was much too young in style to belong to the countess, and Edward had never mentioned a sister.
“It was one of Jane’s, but she never wore it.”
“It’s lovely.” Kate smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “Who’s Jane?”
Augusta hesitated. “Edward never mentioned Jane? Nor Stephen?”
“No.”
“You truly know nothing of the accident?” She stared at her disbelievingly. “Dear Lord, neither Edward nor your father ever told you…”
“No.” Kate held her breath, waiting with dread, knowing something horrible was coming. Edward said her father hurt his family, but she’d always assumed it was over money. But an accident…“Tell me, please.”
“Mary, give us privacy,” Augusta ordered gently.
Nodding, the little maid fastened the last button, then left the room.
Augusta closed the door. She paused before turning back to Kate, as if weighing her words. “A little over a year ago, your father was gone for several weeks and was completely out of contact with you.”
Kate grimaced. Papa was rarely in contact unless to ask for money or demand she give him Brambly, but the countess was correct. Last year he had been out of touch for much longer than usual. “He’d gone to Portsmouth. He’d invested in a ship that sank and had to settle the accounts.” But everything she thought she knew about her father was proving to be a lie, and her chest squeezed painfully, knowing the answer even before she asked, “There was no ship, was there?”
“No.”
“Then where was he?”
“In prison, awaiting trial.” Her pulse pounded in her ears, so loud and violent she could barely hear as Augusta confirmed her worst fears. “For murder.”
She steeled herself. “Who?”
“Edward’s brother and sister-in-law.”
Oh God, no…A sickening shudder convulsed through her. No—that was impossible! The world tilted beneath her, and she grabbed for Augusta’s arm to keep from falling.
“Sit, my dear.” Augusta led her to the settee.
Kate sank into the cushions and let her head fall into her hand as she fought to keep back the flood of emotions roiling inside her. And somehow remember to breathe.
“Edward had an older brother named Stephen,” Augusta continued, sitting beside her and holding tightly to Kate’s hand. “The two boys adored each other, and neither had a closer friend in the world. Stephen inherited Strathmore, and Edward joined the army.” Her lips pressed grimly into a thin line at the memory. “Then, last year, the carriage carrying Stephen and his wife Jane was struck by a phaeton. The other driver had been drunk, racing his horses recklessly. Stephen and Jane…” Her voice choked, and she cleared her throat before continuing, “They were both killed.”
Kate knew instinctively—her father was the other driver, the man who robbed Edward of his family. She pressed her hand against her stomach to keep from being sick as the nausea boiled inside her. She felt a hot, wet sensation on her cheek, and she wiped her fingers against it, not realizing in her stunned shock that she was crying.
“Edward was in Spain when it hap
pened. He arrived home as soon as he could, but by then, the magistrates had deemed the collision an accident. Edward was helpless to obtain justice.”
Understanding fell upon her like a crushing weight. The fury she’d seen in Edward, the harshness, the coldness. Every time he looked at her, he must have been reminded of his brother and the accident, yet he’d protected her, helped her with Brambly—and through it all, she’d foolishly defended her father. Worse, she’d defied him and sent money. Oh no…Her chest clenched with guilt and remorse as she realized why he’d been so furious at her, why he’d been so upset at a single letter. Why he’d had to send her away to the moors to get her as far away from him as he could.
He thought she’d sided with the enemy.
“Edward swore to destroy your father, just as he had destroyed Stephen, so he took away his money and possessions, and then he took away as much of his freedom as he could by having him followed wherever he goes and watched at every moment.” Augusta drew a regretful breath. “Phillip Benton is not a captive prisoner, but he might as well be, as his entire life is now controlled by Edward.”
His entire life…No more of his gambling or drinking, no more reckless spending or ill-conceived business ventures, no more whoring—her father’s life as he had lived it was over, and knowing Papa, he must have believed that Edward had thrust him into hell. Yet that punishment was extraordinarily merciful when Papa could have swung at the gallows for killing a peer.
But it didn’t explain everything. “The guardianship—” Kate blinked her tear-blurred eyes, shaking her head. “Why would Edward agree to that?”
“Revenge.”
Kate froze. Her heart stopped. “Revenge?”
“A life for a life. Your father took Stephen from him, so Edward took you from your father.” Augusta grimaced. “Unfortunately, when Edward discovered that the child he’d expected was actually a grown woman, he was certain Benton tricked him, and I suspect Edward believes the same sort of deceit from you.”
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