She tightened the sash of her dressing gown, her motion ungentle. “It’s maddening to talk to you.”
He was only trying to reassure her. Things had been set in motion this night, but he could not tell her any more at the moment.
“But you insist on peppering me with such nonsense, my dear.”
“In that case, don’t be surprised to find yourself drugged and shanghaied. I will do whatever it takes to keep all of us safe.”
He should be irked, since her whatever-it-takes stance was what had married them in the first place. But it was difficult to be too upset when it was his well-being that had her vexed and anxious.
“Ah, come, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “We are only on the third day of our honeymoon and we are already bickering.”
She threw up her hands. “Fine. Let’s just change your bandage.”
She assisted him in the removing of his waistcoat. He was only going to roll up the sleeve of his shirt but she wanted that gone too. “If I don’t take off the shirt, how will I put your nightshirt on you?” she said, her ire still hot. “You will pull at the wound if you do it yourself.”
Evidently the thought of his going to bed naked never occurred to her. He acquiesced.
After she changed his bandaging, she went into his dressing room and returned with a nightshirt. Something about his person caught her attention and made her frown. She pointed to the left side of his rib cage. “What are those?”
He looked down at the scars. “You’ve never noticed them before?”
“No. How did you get them?”
“They are from my riding accident.” With his good arm he made the trajectory of someone being thrown high in the air and then falling sharply. “Everybody knows about my riding accident.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s very strange, considering that you are my wife. Well, it happened when I was sixteen, not long after I came into the title. I was at my great-aunt Lady Jane’s summer place in Aberdeenshire. Went for a ride one morning, took a tumble off my horse, broke some ribs, suffered a concussion, and had to stay in bed for a few weeks.”
“That sounds quite serious.”
“It was. It was,” he reassured her. “Of course, some stupid people believe that I fell directly on my head and damaged my brain. But that is an utter fabrication. I have been, if anything, a sharper thinker since my accident.”
“Hmm, I wonder why they would believe that,” she said. “Were there any witnesses?”
Smart woman. “Witnesses? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can see you suffered an injury on your torso. But where is the evidence for the concussion? Who was your attending physician?”
His attending physician had been none other than Needham. But he was not about to tell her that.
“Ah…”
“So it’s your word and your word alone that there was a severe concussion.”
“Why would I lie about something like that?”
“To pass yourself off as a credible idiot if you hadn’t been one before.”
“But I just told you, I suffered no ill effects. I was a brilliant boy then and I am a brilliant man now.”
She cast him a still-incensed look. “Indeed, your brilliance dazzles.”
“Then don’t worry when I tell you not to worry,” he said softly.
She sighed and lifted her hand. Her fingers traced along one scar, her touch burning.
He yawned and walked away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m falling asleep on my feet.”
Behind him she murmured, “You don’t need me to make it up to you tonight?”
Her words went directly to his privates. He clenched his teeth against the upsurge of desire. “Pardon?”
“Never mind,” she said after a moment. “Good night.”
“Good night, my dear.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you think, Ellie,” said Aunt Rachel diffidently, “that there might be doctors who will know how to—how to distance me from laudanum?”
It took Elissande a moment to realize her aunt had spoken and another to understand what Aunt Rachel had said. She turned away from the window, where she’d been staring, unseeing, into the garden.
Aunt Rachel was having her breakfast in her bright, lovely room. She still had her meals brought to her bed. But after only a few days away from Highgate Court, she was already feeding herself.
The previous afternoon she’d requested her window be opened to let in a few notes of birdsong. Last night, after her dinner, she’d shyly inquired into the possibility of a tiny piece of chocolate, should such be available in the house. Elissande had had no idea, but Mrs. Dilwyn had been pleased to inform Mrs. Douglas that indeed, his lordship was very fond of French chocolate and there was always a supply on hand. Aunt Rachel’s expression, as she placed the little morsel of chocolate in her mouth, had been one of such pure joy that Elissande had to turn aside to wipe at her eyes.
And this morning, as Elissande entered her bedroom, Aunt Rachel had said, “How pretty you look, my dear.” The last time Aunt Rachel had been well enough to compliment Elissande had been eight years ago, before the snowball fight that fateful Christmas day, before the laudanum.
There was no doubt about it: Aunt Rachel was improving in every way. Too fast. Had she remained inert and unresponsive, perhaps it would not make such a difference. But to let her fall back into Edmund Douglas’s clutches now—
“Ellie? Are you all right, Ellie?”
Elissande swallowed. She advanced to the edge of Aunt Rachel’s bed and sat down. “I might have to hide you.”
Aunt Rachel’s fork fell. “Is it—is your uncle—”
“He’s not here yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Despite her husband’s reassurance, Elissande had churned all night in her bed. “You are too easy to locate in this house. I’ve chosen a hotel for you. You will be only minutes away and I will come and see you as often as I can.”
Aunt Rachel clutched Elissande hand. “Will you—will you and Lord Vere be all right?”
“We’ll be fine. We are not afraid of him.”
Though she wished her husband would be a little more afraid. It was dangerous to underestimate her uncle.
“When you have dressed, I will take you to a dressmaker’s. We will go in the front and come out the back, take a hack, and then head for the Langham Hotel. I will bring your things by later; first we secure your person. Do you follow me?”
Aunt Rachel nodded hard.
“Good, now—”
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” said Elissande.
“Your ladyship, Mrs. Douglas,” said the footman, holding a silver salver before him. “Mrs. Douglas, there is a gentleman by the name of Nevinson calling for you. He asked me to deliver this note to you in person. And he wishes to know whether you are at home to him, mum.”
Aunt Rachel, already too frozen to speak, looked to Elissande.
Elissande took the note and broke the wax seal on the envelope.
Dear Mrs. Douglas,
This is Detective Nevinson of the Metropolitan Police, on urgent business with regard to your husband, Mr. Edmund Douglas. I pray you will receive me promptly.
Your servant,
Nevinson
Elissande clenched her fist. Was it her uncle, sending the law after her aunt?
No, he had no cause for it. A man’s wife was at perfect liberty to travel to London for a week.
Then it must be a ruse. The detective was an impostor, a Trojan horse sent to breach the defenses of this house when it could not otherwise be stormed.