She did not stop to consider exactly who that someone might be. It was only as she tentatively pushed the door open that it occurred to her the room could be occupied by an intruder. In her terror she dropped the candle and plunged herself into total darkness. She had to flee, but disorientated by the lack of light, she had no idea in which direction to go. Too late she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and the door crashed open.
Emily tried to press herself against the wall and she prayed for deliverance, what she got was a lethal blow to her right temple and she collapsed, without a sound, at her attacker's feet.
“God's teeth!” Sebastian swore and dropped to his knees in horror. He had known the minute his clenched fist landed that he had made a terrible mistake. It was only now that he appreciated just how bad. He had thought he had felled a house-maid on an illicit night time jaunt, but this was so much worse.
In the light from his sitting-room he gently scooped his unconscious fiancé up and her unbound hair spilled over his arms in warm thick ripples. Its soft touch made his stomach clench and his pulse accelerate.
Carefully he laid Emily on the nearest sofa. He dropped again to his knees and pushed back the hair from her face. He swore again, more viciously. The vivid purple bruise already appearing on her temple was ample evidence of his brute force. He looked around for something to press on the swelling. There were only the dregs of his claret decanter. It would have to do. He tipped the thick ruby liquid onto the neck-cloth he had removed earlier.
The red stains left by the damp cloth matched the spreading bruise. Should he call for assistance? How was he to explain the presence of his fiancé, with hair unbound, unconscious in his private quarters? Whatever explanation was offered it would be disbelieved. The evidence spoke for itself. It had been an assignation in which they had violently disagreed and, in his fury, he had struck her down.
A faint sound alerted him. She was coming to her senses. He saw her eyelids flicker and open. He stared into her extraordinary hazel eyes and his chest constricted. How could he ever have thought her plain? She was the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever seen.
Slowly, Emily returned to full consciousness. Her head hurt and her vision was blurred. Then she remembered the door opening and the violent blow to her head. She stiffened and fear flooded back. She was trapped, helpless, with the monster who had tried to kill her. She felt herself falling back into a black pit. From a distance she heard a familiar voice.
“Emily, it is I, Sebastian. You are safe; I will not hurt you again. It was an accident. I thought you were an intruder.”
She lay still, assimilating his words, trying to make sense from them. It was Sebastian who had treated her so cruelly? But he was in Belgium, how could he be here in London? She felt a soothing coolness on her throbbing temple and, although she did not fully understand what she heard, she knew they were words of comfort. She sighed, relaxed and slipped into a deep restorative slumber.
Sebastian bent down and rested his fingers under her jaw, seeking for her pulse. It was strong and regular. He thanked God she was asleep and not unconscious again. Sebastian watched her, glad his blow had apparently not caused her serious harm.
He uncoiled, rubbing his unshaven jaw, his expression troubled. He was, for the first time in his adult life, at a loss to know how to proceed. He could not carry her, undetected, upstairs to her rooms, because he did not know exactly where she had been placed. But neither could he leave her here, in his chambers, she would be hopelessly compromised. Even engaged couples could not indulge in such wanton behaviour.
What he needed were servants who were discreet and totally loyal. His man, Smith, was one; and he was certain Emily's abigail would be another. He pulled the bell and waited impatiently.
“Smith, I have a problem. If Miss Gibson and I are to come out of this unscathed I am going to need your help.”
Smith, an intelligent man, took in the situation at a glance. He had the sense not to ask questions. If he had seen the bruise marring Emily's face he might not have been so helpful but it was conveniently covered by her hair.
“I need to know which chamber Miss Gibson has been given. I also need her maid down here immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Smith vanished leaving Sebastian to pace anxiously. Ten minutes later his servant reappeared, Jenny at his side.
“I have been beside myself with worry, my lord, when Miss Emily did not return. I didn't know what do for the best.” Jenny hurried over to her mistress puzzled that she lay so still. She was more observant than Smith. “What has happened here, my lord? Has there been an accident?” She knelt beside Emily who stirred a little but did not wake.
Viscount Yardley coughed and cleared his throat unwilling to admit that it was he who had caused the injury. “I startled Miss Gibson and she fell, hitting her head; but you will find that she is asleep, not unconscious.”
Jenny sniffed, which did not endear her to his lordship. “She should be in her own bed, sir, not down here on your settle.”
He ground his teeth. “If you would take me to her rooms, she will be in her bed soon enough.” Sebastian, Emily cradled in his arms, followed Jenny, with her candle high, along the black, silent corridors. Smith padded along in front quietly opening and closing the doors.
The warm weight of his sleeping fiancé felt right in Sebastian's arms. Her head nestled trustingly on his shoulder and she had slid her arm around his neck when he lifted her.
On reaching her bedchamber he released her reluctantly, putting her carefully on her bed. He stepped back, barely resisting the temptation to drop a kiss on her brow. Smith lit his passage back, allowing him to follow, immersed in his thoughts.
He realized he was more than reconciled to his forthcoming marriage. Life with Emily would never be dull. He smiled widely. From this point forward he was determined to turn his considerable charm and diplomatic skill to winning his young fiancé's heart.
Emily opened her eyes and attempted to lift her head but an agonizing pain shot from her temple to her jaw and forcing her to lie still. The shutters were still drawn and she could see sunlight through the cracks. It was morning; it was time to summon her abigail. She tried a second time to rise and her world spun and the intensity of the pain sickened her. She closed her eyes until the unpleasant swirling sensations had ceased.
Jenny had heard her struggles and came bursting in. “Now, you stay put, Miss Emily. You took a nasty tumble last night and banged your head. I have informed Lady Althea and she's on her way to see you.”
Emily felt too unwell to argue. She raised a feeble hand to indicate her agreement but made no attempt to speak. Her brain would not engage itself and it was too much effort to marshal her tangled thoughts.
Lady Althea arrived and was horrified to find her older daughter prostrate. “My darling girl, this is too bad. I am sending for the doctor right away. It is a great pity as I planned to introduce you to society today. We have cards for an elegant musical soiree at Lady Armitage's house; it would have been the perfect venue for you to make your curtsy.”
Emily forced her tongue, which felt, and acted, like a piece of wet lamb's wool, to form an answer. “You go to the soiree without me, Mama. It would be a shame for both of us to miss it.”
“Very well, my dear; if the doctor pronounces you well enough for me to leave you.” She glanced around the room searching for clues. “Jenny, what exactly did Miss Gibson trip over?”