“Maybe you could help him, Aunt Moira,” Addie suggested. “Is there something you could make for him that would make him feel better?”
“That is an excellent notion, but until I know what is wrong, I’m not sure what might aid him.” Moira considered her options. “I suppose I could see if Cook has some of the feverfew remedy I made for her headache. If not, I’ll have to return home for some.”
“But how are we going to give it to him when Tiago won’t let us see him?” Amelia asked.
“I have an idea,” Moira said.
Within a few minutes, everyone was in their place. Moira had tea sent to Tiago and directed the maid to provide frequent refills. Amelia and Addie played with their dolls on the landing, keeping watch over the library door. Moira waited in the drawing room for their signal to let her know when he left his post to relieve himself. She didn’t think he’d leave his post if he knew she watched him. But if he thought the girls just happened to be playing on the landing, he would be less likely to remain on guard.
When he stepped away, one of the girls would notify her, and Moira could enter the library. She’d borrowed the key from Mrs. Tollers in case the door was locked, promising not to reveal how she’d obtained it. She certainly didn’t want to get the housekeeper in trouble. She only wanted to see if there was some way she could help Lucas. From what the girls had told her, he’d been shut in the library since earlier this morning. That meant he’d been in there over five hours at least.
Moira waited impatiently, alternately pacing the room and staring out the window. Her needlework lay on a nearby table untouched. She was far too distracted to work on it.
Addie came running into the room. “Tiago’s gone. Hurry and see if Uncle Lucas is well.”
“I will do my best. Thank you for your help.” She hurried to the library door and tried the knob. Sure enough, it was locked. Her fingers fumbled with the key. At last the knob turned and she slipped inside, locking the door behind her.
The drapes were drawn closed, cloaking the room in darkness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Lucas was not at his desk nor was he sitting in any of the chairs. She looked closer and spotted him propped on the couch with his head resting on the arm and his feet dangling over the edge. He was far too tall to rest comfortably on it.
She drew near slowly, not wanting to disturb him if he slept.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice gravelly. “Get out.”
She halted at his harsh words, tempted to do as he asked. But no. She hadn’t ventured this far only to give up so easily. “I came to see if you are well.”
“I am indisposed. Leave. Please.”
The note of despair in his voice had her moving forward. “What is it? The girls said you had a headache?”
He scoffed. “Yes. A headache. Now go.”
She stepped closer and sank down by his side. He was pale, his features pinched with pain. “What’s wrong, Lucas?”
“Will you just leave?” The way he bit out the words made her think the effort to speak had drained the last of his energy.
“As soon as you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll go.” She crossed her fingers at the white lie. How could she leave him when he was in such agony?
He opened his eye to stare at her. “I’ve a headache. Nothing to be concerned with. I’ll be fine soon enough.” He closed his eye again and turned his head away from her, obviously done with the brief conversation.
“I have some feverfew I could—”
He sat up, startling her. “How many more times must I ask you to go? Tiago?” he called out.
“He’s not out there.” At least she hoped he hadn’t returned yet. If he did, Addie was going to try to distract him to give her a few more minutes.
“Christ.” Lucas leaned his head against the back of the couch as though sitting up was too much for him.
She rose and hurried to the door to unlock it and open it a crack. Amelia waited as she’d requested. “Ask Cook to steep the feverfew.”
Amelia nodded and hurried toward the kitchen.
Moira locked the door again, hoping Tiago wouldn’t return too soon.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucas sat up then stood, his hand out as though to keep his balance. “I am fine.”
Moira moved closer. “You are far from fine.” His condition worried her, but seeing him was far better than worrying from afar.
He grabbed her upper arms as though to physically remove her. “You must leave, Moira.” He stepped forward, backing her up as he went.
“Lucas.” She stood her ground then lifted her hand to his cheek before running her fingers across his forehead. “Let me help you.”
He released her abruptly and stepped back as though unable to bear her touch. “You can’t,” he bit out. “No one can.”
“Would you allow me to try?” She stepped forward only to have him move back, just out of reach. She did it again, her goal to have him sit on the couch. He didn’t seem well enough to be walking about.
“No.”
“Why?” His stubbornness was beginning to irritate her.
He shook his head then gave a muffled groan as he put a hand to his temple.
She took him gently by his arm and eased him to the couch. “Sit.”
Much to her relief, he sank down rather than arguing more.
She undid the buttons of his coat then his waistcoat.
“As much as I’d like to continue where we left off yesterday, I’m afraid now is not a good time.”
“Hush.” She chose to ignore his sarcasm rather than be embarrassed by it. The first thing she wanted to do was make him comfortable. With slow movements, trying not to jar his head, she loosened his tie then pulled on his sleeves to remove his coat.
“Done this frequently, have you?” he asked.
The jab was lessened by the slight slurring of his words. “Have you been drinking?”
“Not yet, but if you’d like to pour me a glass, I’d be pleased to start.”
Puzzled by his symptoms, she loosened his collar and cuffs, her intent to remove anything that might be constricting. Next she removed his boots, which took far more effort than she’d imagined. “Aren’t these a bit tight?”
“Good boots fit snugly.”
“Humph,” was all she could manage as she tugged the second one free.
“Will you be removing my trousers next?” he asked. He leaned his head back against the couch with his eye closed, his face pale.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
“I think it will be for what I have in mind.”
The very idea sent tingles of heat chasing down her spine. “That’s a lovely thought, another day perhaps. I wouldn’t want to make love unless you were at your full capacity.”
His head lifted at that. “I look forward to it.” The heat in his gaze had her drawing a shaky breath.
How amazing that she could be so filled with desire from one look. And that look reminded her she was playing with fire and could very well be burnt. Now was not the time to worry over such things. She turned her focus to helping him.
“I want you to relax.” She stepped around the couch behind him and proceeded to run her hands gently along the sides of his face, down his neck then along his shoulders. She repeated the process, this time pausing to massage his temples, his neck, and his shoulders. As she worked, she felt for telltale signs of tightness in his muscles, placing extra emphasis on rubbing those.
Two quick knocks sounded at the door followed by a pause and then three more.
“There’s our feverfew,” she whispered then hurried to unlock the door. “Thank you, Amelia. You and Addie have been so much help.”
“Addie told Tiago she needed his help as the mice escaped their cage.” She leaned closer to Moira and whispered, “That was a lie, but I told her you wouldn’t mind this time.”
“Well done,” she said as she took the steaming cup.
“Is Uncle well?” Amelia asked.
“He’ll be fine. I promise,” she said. While she hoped her words were true, she couldn’t help but worry about what caused Lucas to feel so poorly. This was the second time in less than two weeks this had occurred. “I’ll come and see you soon.”
She locked the door behind Amelia and carried the cup to Lucas. “Sip this.”
He glanced warily at the cup. “What is it?”
“Feverfew to aid your headache.”
“That is merely one of my ailments.” He sighed and took the cup to sniff it.
Her stomach dropped at his words. “We shall address one problem at a time then.”
He sipped the warm drink, saying nothing more.
She moved behind him to rub his shoulders and upper arms, amazed at the corded muscles there. Her overactive imagination had her wondering what he might look like beneath the soft linen of his shirt. Her face heated as she tried to control her wayward thoughts. His strength made her speculate once again what had occupied his time in Brazil.
Once he’d finished the drink and set down the cup, she eased his head back along the couch to rub his temples. The strap of his eye patch kept getting in her way. She touched the leather strap and quietly asked, “May I remove this?”
“No.” He adjusted the patch to be certain it remained over his eye. “You wouldn’t like what you’d find.”
“I don’t believe that could be true.” But she moved her hand as her request tensed him all over again. “It keeps you from being quite so perfect.”
He scoffed. “’Tis cruel of you to jest with me when I’m feeling unwell.”
She continued to rub, her movements growing stronger as she worked deeper into his shoulders. She wanted to distract him, to take his mind from whatever it was that bothered him.
“Remember the summer we convinced Markus to swim in the pond with us?”
He was silent for a long moment, making her wonder if she’d made a terrible mistake by raising the subject of his brother. Just when she thought he wouldn’t respond, he muttered, “Yes.”
“But we didn’t realize he didn’t know how to swim and he was too stubborn to admit it. He waded out too far, lost his footing, and you rescued him. He was so angry, as though he hadn’t realized until then that he wasn’t perfect. But you thanked him for allowing you to be better at one thing than he. Markus started laughing and we soon joined him. We laughed so hard we couldn’t stand. Tollers thought we’d all lost our minds.”
The slight tilt of his lips told her he remembered.
“That was the same summer you taught me how to throw a proper punch with my thumb out. You only allowed me to try it on you twice before you declared me an expert. I think that meant it hurt when I struck you.”
The corner of his mouth tilted more.
She continued sharing random memories in a quiet voice while rubbing the tension in his neck and shoulders, hoping the feverfew would aid him.
As his breathing evened, she slowed her movements, lowering her voice, relieved when he relaxed completely. She hoped sleep might help even more. With her hands on his shoulders, she bent forward to examine his face to find his features relaxed, the furrow of his brow now eased. Unable to resist, she pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek before quietly moving to the door.
She studied him before closing the door, turning to face Tiago as she heard him approach.
She held up her hand before he could speak. “I’m sorry, but I had to try to help him.”
Tiago shook his head. “I understand, miss. He’s a stubborn one.”
“He’s sleeping now. With luck he’ll soon be back to himself.”
The doubt reflected in Tiago’s eyes worried her. Would Lucas trust her enough to tell her what was truly wrong and what caused these bouts?
*
Two days later, Lucas drove his gig to visit one of the villagers who had sent a message that he needed assistance. Apparently word was spreading since workers had begun the repairs on Mr. Willers’ roof. He glanced at Moira’s home as he passed, well aware he’d been avoiding her. She’d seen him at one of his most vulnerable times. He knew she’d ask questions—questions he couldn’t answer.
While the feverfew she’d given him may have eased his headache, he knew the true reason he’d recovered quickly was because of her. Whether it had been her presence or her touch, he didn’t know, but he had never improved as swiftly as when she’d aided him.
In addition to being uncertain about how to respond to her questions, he was rethinking his suggestion of marriage, wondering if it was truly a wise notion—not that she’d agreed to it. Far from it. He hadn’t intended to remain in England for any length of time, but it had become obvious that any time he spent with her would be dangerous. Moira had already discovered his severe headaches. He could only hope she hadn’t noted the despair accompanying them that buried him. How long would it take before she knew the rest?
He couldn’t allow that.
Some distance between the two of them was definitely in order.
He shifted his thoughts to the visit ahead. Mr. Smythe was a long time resident of the village. Lucas remembered him quite fondly from his youth. The man always had a kind word for Lucas. He’d told him one day that he was a second son as well and sympathized with Lucas’s trials and tribulations with his brother and father.
While part of him looked forward to speaking with Mr. Smythe, visiting those he knew was painful. He dreaded seeing their auras, afraid of what they might tell.
The gig drew to a halt and Lucas alighted. The small cottage on the outskirts of the village proper seemed in good repair. The door opened and an old man stepped out, cane in hand. Ten years had taken a toll on Mr. Smythe. His back was stooped with age, his face wrinkled but the smile on his face beamed brightly. Lucas breathed a sigh of relief as he realized no shadow coated the old man’s aura.
“Good day, my lord. How nice of you to call on us,” Mr. Smythe said.
“My pleasure,” Lucas replied, nodding a greeting.
“This seems to be the day to receive visitors.”
“Oh?” No other carriage was outside.
“Indeed. Miss Dorsey is visiting with Mrs. Smythe.” The man’s smile faltered. “She’s feeling poorly, but I expect the remedy Miss Dorsey brought will have her on the mend soon enough.”
“Her remedies are quite effective.” Lucas couldn’t help but smile. Fate was tossing him and Moira together whether he was ready or not.
“Come in, please.” Mr. Smythe held the door wide. “I’m terribly sorry about your brother. He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. He’ll be missed.” If only Lucas could solve his murder and see justice served. He hoped the investigator he’d hired could provide more information than the police had.
They entered the cottage, and Mr. Smythe gestured toward the drawing room where Lucas took a seat.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing in Brazil.” When Lucas was younger, Mr. Smythe had always asked about his studies. The old man had a wide variety of knowledge and was a pleasure to speak with.
They visited for several minutes, but Lucas was distracted by listening for Moira. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t planned to see her today. Knowing she was here was all it took for him to remain alert for any sign of her.
Finally, his vigil was rewarded.
He heard her voice first, at which time he completely lost track of what Mr. Smythe was saying. She stopped short when she saw him sitting in the drawing room.
“Oh. Good day, my lord.”
Lucas rose. “And to you as well.” Relief filled him as it did each time he saw her and realized she was well. He glanced behind her to Mrs. Smythe and nearly groaned in dismay. The woman’s aura was dark, a sign of impending death.
“So lovely to see you, my lord,” the old woman said with a smile. She was as stout as she’d been in Lucas’s youth and bore no other signs of illness that Lucas could see. He returned the greeting, his hea
rt heavy with his unwelcome knowledge.
“Miss Dorsey, I can’t thank you enough for bringing me the peppermint oil. You’ll have me feeling better in no time.”
“I certainly hope so. We can’t have you ill, now can we?” She smiled at the woman as she squeezed her hand.
Lucas studied Mrs. Smythe closely, but there was no denying what was coming. How often had his knowledge proven true? More times than he could count. Each left him feeling disheartened as there was nothing he could do about it. And each time, he wrestled with whether he should warn the person. He’d tried to do so on several occasions, wanting to give them a chance to put their affairs in order and say their goodbyes.
Few had believed him, and none had welcomed his information.
He’d felt like the grim reaper, giving such terrible news and had stopped telling others of it long ago.
The depression and loneliness that came with bearing this knowledge on his own spread through him and caused his temples to throb. He raised a hand to his head. Moira immediately cast him a worried glance. He dropped his hand, hoping she didn’t ask if he was well. How he hated that. After all, he wasn’t the one who was dying.
Unable to watch Mrs. Smythe’s dark aura any longer, he closed his conversation with her husband, telling him he’d visit again another day.
“May I offer you a ride, Miss Dorsey?” he asked Moira.
“That is very kind. Thank you.”
They bid the old couple goodbye and he assisted her into the gig.
“Do you know what ails Mrs. Smythe?” Lucas asked.
Moira shook her head. “Not for certain. She’s been complaining of an upset stomach and tiredness. The peppermint oil might ease both.”
“Moira.” Lucas cursed himself that he couldn’t let things be. Yet how could he not warn her? “I don’t believe your remedies will help.”
She frowned. “Whatever do you mean? Do you think me inept?” Her eyes grew wide. “Did you have a problem with the feverfew I gave you?”
“No, nothing like that. I know you’re a talented healer. Of that I have no doubt. But what ails Mrs. Smythe is more serious.”
“How do you know? Did her husband tell you something?”
Secrets 03 - Shattered Secrets Page 8