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Emily. Her gut rocked at the name. Emily, a silly lowly maid to whom he felt… what? Attraction on occasion, gratitude in this moment, and quite possibly irreversible betrayal in the future.
Caroline closed her eyes and decided that now was as good a moment as any. She could not stand for him to look at her as he was now, as if all the trust that he had ever given were deserved.
“There’s more,” she began, “so much more.”
He must have read something on her face that the news was crushing because he shook his head.
“Not now,” he breathed. “I think someone is trying to end our entire line. I’m worried about my brother being next.” The fact that he cared for Lord Edward, despite their obvious dislike, was endearing. No matter what they were still brothers and someone, one of their father’s enemies perhaps, was trying to kill them all.
Caroline opened her mouth to continue despite his command but his hand moved from her arm to her lips. The gesture silenced her.
“When I’m more recovered,” he told her. “There will be time, but for now I need to rest. This is already so much. Please, just let’s take this small victory for the moment.”
She wrapped his hand in hers, drawing it away from her mouth and holding it against her heart. She nodded. “You’ll get better and then we shall talk.” She had forgotten that he was still so weak. He had seemed so strong in his resolve but she saw now that the effort had taken its toll. She withdrew from his side and gathered the tray of poisoned food. Then, seated before the fire with the tray at her side she began to add one spoonful at a time to the flame. The sizzle and pop of the fire spat as if it too detested the poison. When she had finished the task, she turned to see that the duke had fallen asleep in his chair. She brought a tasseled blanket over from the end of the bed and covered him with it. He would rest and then she would tell him the truth about his father’s death, the truth about her.
CHAPTER21
The duke awoke in the middle of the night to take another meal of bread and dried meat. Now that his body was receiving the sustenance it craved, he was ravenous. She watched as his strength slowly returned. Caroline reported to the house that he was in a downward spiral and that when the storm cleared, they ought to call for a doctor. Mrs. Reilly had wiped a tear from her eye and played the part of concern well. Caroline had wanted to slap the woman, but she too had a role to play. She brought fresh water and cloths for the sickbed and even asked Matthew to help the duke to change into his nightshirt once more. They had dampened his linen shirt and pants with water from the washbasin so that it might appear he had taken a bad bout of fever. Caroline had found the task unnerving. The duke had been able to soak the front of his attire himself but had required her aid for his backside. She had had to press the cloth up and down the length of his body. Never had she touched a man in so many places despite her best effort to remain indifferent to the necessary chore. His shirt had become nearly transparent across the wide breadth of his shoulders and the narrow curve of his waist. Through the fabric she had been able to see clearly the scars that she had suspected crossed the length of his back. She had not been able to resist the urge to trace her fingers along them. Her feather light touch had gone from his left shoulder to the base of his ribcage on the opposite side. He had shivered and then frozen when he had realized what she was doing.
“They don’t bother you to touch?” he had asked with disbelief. He had not turned, perhaps unwilling to see what her face might hold.
“They bother me,” she had answered, “though not in the way that you might think.”
Only then had he turned. He searched her face for answers and the questions in his eyes had told her that he was unwilling to allow himself to hope that she was not repulsed by his form.
“I hate what they mean that you had to endure.” He must have been nearly gutted, splayed open across the back. Cut across his face. She had heard of such injuries leaving men crippled. He had been very fortunate to have survived with only his scars to tell.
She ached at the thought that he must dread the moment that he revealed such scars to his future wife. Caroline refused to think of Lady Lydia in that role any longer as it was now clear that she preferred his brother. Though, the thought was likely still a burden to the duke. That the woman who could hardly look upon his face would have many more scars to contend with overall.
He took a steadying breath but said nothing. He only watched her eyes travel over all of his hurt. Caroline dared to reach up and touch the scar on his face for the third time in their acquaintance. His breath rose in trembles as she followed the path from his temple, pushing the hair out of the way as she had often done. She let her fingers trail down his cheek and over the firm line of his jaw. She felt her touch pass beside the pulse at his neck, thanking the heavens that it had not been an inch or two nearer that delicate heartbeat. Her journey stopped at the collar of his shirt. She pulled her hand away but her gaze lingered.
“How far does it go?” she whispered. She should not have asked. It was an inappropriate question, and he certainly did not owe her an explanation. Still, more times than not she had wondered and she might never have another chance to know.
He pulled the strings of the front of his shirt open to reveal several more inches of skin and the path of the line. It traveled over his collar bone and down to the muscular curve of his chest, stopping right above his heart.
Caroline did not dare to touch him this time. She had only nodded. He had remained statuesque under her gaze and she had realized that in his own way he had bared himself entirely to her.
By nightfall the duke had recovered enough to enact his plan. Caroline had waited for the house to go to sleep before slipping into the servants’ quarters to wake Lizzy. The maid had been given quick instruction to slip out and wake the constable and his men so that they might take the house unawares.
If pressed, Lizzy was to say that she had been sent to retrieve the physician as the duke was not expected to make it through the night. This would certainly bring Mrs. Reilly and her companions no end of delight. The duke had remained in his room under the guise of illness while he crafted a series of letters that would go out the following morning. Caroline had told the duke that she did not know London well enough to fetch the law keepers, which was true, and so he had trusted her decision to allow Lizzy to carry the missive that had been penned and sealed only an hour before.
She had not told him that she would not be permitted to leave the house while the criminals were present. Although he had recovered enough for this task, he had still not asked her for additional information. Either, he was not yet well enough to take on more burdens or he was delaying the inevitable blow that they both knew she must deal.
Caroline had left his room to allow the duke the privacy to dress himself in preparation for the confrontation ahead. He must be outfitted in all of his lordly glory so as to make it clear that he was not ill but in fact more than capable of handling his own. She found herself pacing in the study as she counted the minutes until the house erupted into chaos around her.
When the thrice pounded knock at the front door occurred, she found herself biting her knuckle, her fists clenched white with anticipation. Soon it would all be over. She could tell her tale and Lord Robert could send the officers to interrogate the madam and recover Marilee. She prayed that it would not be too late for her dearest friend.
Swift boots headed up the stairs to where the duke would be waiting.
A few moments later shouts rang out as the servants were called out of their sleeping quarters. Caroline guessed that they would all be in the fourth-floor hall at this hour, save the butler who had answered the door.
She allowed herself to open the door and peer out into the silence of the main hall, a small smile of satisfaction creeping across her face. She could hear the commotion above. She stepped out into the hall and made her way toward the stairway that led down to the kitchen so that she might be sure that Mrs. Reilly or the chef did not slip out the back. Footsteps sounded behind her and as she turned, a blinding pain struck her head. Then all went dark.
CHAPTER22
Caroline came to with a pounding headache. It took a long moment to realize that she was seated in the center of a dark room upon a rickety chair and her hands were bound to the arms of that self-same chair. There were voices shouting on the other side of a cracked door.
“This is insanity,” a male voice raged. “Why on earth is she still alive?”
