He chuckled. “Think how much more distressed that fine lady shall be if she learns that I have failed to play the good host to you.” He swept his arm out. “I shall take you no farther than your voice can carry. Therefore, if I am the least indecorous to you, you need only give a cry for help.”
“That sounds as if you have had cause to check the distance, my lord.”
“Only when I was young enough to be certain that my governess was out of earshot.”
Ellen could not help laughing. Lord Wulfric was charming, and to own the truth, Marian would be pleased to see Ellen talking to their host. After all, Marian had been sure to tell her that the marquess was still without a marchioness.
As they walked along the gravel path back toward where the carriage had stopped, Lord Wulfric said, “I saw you speaking with Marian and Mrs. Pratt, and I thought you might appreciate a chance to escape.”
“That was very perceptive of you.”
“Not very. I have seen them scheming together for many years. Their hearts are well meaning, but I assume they have already arranged for you to welcome Mrs. Pratt’s inimitable son at Herrold Hall.”
Again she laughed. “Not quite, but only because the fireworks began.”
“No wonder you looked so pleased.” He motioned toward the seawall. “If you stand here, Miss Dunbar, I think you shall see …”
Ellen pressed her hand to her breast as the next round of fireworks ignited. Their lights reflected in the water as the sea came alive with all the colors painting the sky.
“How magnificent!” she whispered, for speaking more loudly seemed somehow irreverent.
“You aren’t scared to stand so close to the edge of the cliff?”
She shook her head. “Only if one is foolhardy does one need to worry.”
“And you are never foolhardy, Miss Dunbar?”
“Almost never.”
His laugh was low and rumbled deep within her as powerfully as the explosions overhead. “Honesty. That is always refreshing.”
“And much easier in the long run.”
Leaning one hand on the wall, he faced her. “You sound as if you are very much the pragmatic Scot, Miss Dunbar.”
“I can only be what I am, my lord.” She was not surprised that he had guessed her birthplace, for its accent filled every word she spoke. “Although I must own my mother has said more than once that I would misplace my head if it were not firmly connected to my shoulders.”
“You are—if I may be so bold—a delight. Are you visiting Herrold Hall for long?”
A trill of happiness burst within her as more fireworks sparkled above them and in the sea. “Marian has asked me to stay with her and Lord Herrold until the end of the summer.”
“As the summer is only half over, it seems you shall be here for a while.”
“Yes.”
He took her gloved hand between his broad ones. “Then may I be so presumptuous as to ask if I might give you and Marian a look-in before this week comes to a close?” He grinned. “That is, if you are not receiving Mrs. Pratt’s dear son at the same time.”
Even through her kid gloves, she could sense the warmth of his touch. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, which was even warmer. As a smile eased across his lips, heat drifted through her like a slow, lingering caress. She knew she should say something—anything—but all words had melted in this sweet fire sweeping over her.
In the back of her mind, a persistent, annoying voice reminded her that other men had held her hand and set her heart to beating too swiftly. Those men had seemed as charming as Lord Wulfric in the midst of a dance or while standing on a balcony, with a garden waking to the glory of summer’s blossoms. Later, when they had called, she had discovered the magic had belonged to the night, not to them.
A faithless heart was what Marian called it. A sensible heart was her stepfather’s opinion from Scotland. A lonely heart was her own belief.
“You hesitate, Miss Dunbar,” he said, releasing her hand. “I beg your forgiveness if I have overstepped myself.”
“No!” she gasped.
When he chuckled, Ellen asked herself how she could sound like a girl still in the schoolroom. Had three Seasons in London made no impression on her?
“Does that mean you will not forgive me?” His dark brows arched. “Or can it be you have decided to grant Kenneth Pratt the favor of being the first to call upon you here in grassville?”
She relaxed as she heard amusement in his voice. There was nothing cruel in Lord Wulfric’s sense of humor, for he was laughing as much at the silliness of this conversation as at her. “You have mistaken my hesitation to consider Marian’s hectic schedule as something else.” She soothed the pulse of guilt by reminding herself that those words were not totally false. Marian was her hostess, and her plans must take precedence.
Another volley of fireworks splashed across the sky, but she barely took note as Lord Wulfric folded her fingers between his again. He was bold as brass!
“So, may I call upon you at Herrold Hall, Miss Dunbar?”
She was delighted her voice remained much more serene than she felt as she said, “I believe Marian holds an at home on Wednesdays.”
“Thursdays here in the country,” he corrected with a grin, “if Marian has not changed her ways, which seems most unlikely.”
“She is a creature of habit.”
“Since I have known her.” Not releasing her hand, he leaned back on the low wall. “I have no doubts that she shall soon regale you—if she has not already—with the pranks I played upon her during our younger days.”
Ellen shook her head. “She has said nothing of that.”
Again he chuckled. “Come then, Miss Dunbar. Let us find your good friend Marian, so she does not fret about your absence. If I have won her forgiveness for those long past crimes, I must endeavor to do nothing to forsake it again.”
When he held out his arm, she put her fingers on it. He drew her hand within his arm as they strolled back toward the garden. Although he said nothing, the silence was not uncomfortable. She did not need to strain to find words which had little use save to fill the quiet.
A figure burst out of the darkness. Corey tightened his hold on Miss Dunbar’s hand as the shadow ran toward them. He relaxed with a silent curse when he realized it was Fenton. The old fool must be all about in his head to race through the dark like this.
“Lord Wulfric!” he shouted like a sentry calling an alarm. When fireworks flashed in front of the stars once more, he crouched. “My lord, I asked ye to put a halt to this.”
Corey took a deep breath and released it slowly. To Miss Dunbar, who was unfamiliar with Fenton’s eccentricities, the old man must appear even more bizarre. “As you can see, nothing is amiss. I appreciate your concern, but—”
“Ain’t done yet.”
“We’re within ambs ace of being done. If I calculate correctly, there should be only one or two more rounds waiting to be sent skyward.” He patted the bent man on the shoulder.
Fenton shuffled away, muttering.
“I apologize, Miss Dunbar,” Corey said.
“No need. It speaks well of this household that he is comfortable enough to come to you.”
“That is, I believe, a kind way of telling me that you think he is as queer in the attic as Lorenzo deems him to be.” When she glanced at him, confusion on her heart-shaped face, he smiled. He wondered if she was as pretty in the daylight as she was when the fireworks glittered in her eyes. The curls slipping along her shoulders must be red, and he could not help pondering if she had a temper as fiery. “I speak of my cousin, Lorenzo Wolfe.”
“I have not had the chance to meet Mr. Wolfe.”
“I speculate you shall within moments, for, if I am not mistaken, I can see him speaking with Marian at the moment. He—Watch out!”
Something sparked. Something eye-searingly bright. Ellen held up her hands as she heard Lord Wulfric shout. He grabbed her, twisting her back toward the road. The who
le world erupted into chaos. Noise struck her like a blow, propelling her away from Lord Wulfric. She was thrown from her feet. Pain scored her arm. Her head struck the ground. The world ebbed into darkness, but she would not be swallowed by it.
Sitting, she moaned as she leaned on her right arm. Fire, as fierce as the flames consuming the bushes at the edge of the garden, seared her when she fell back to the earth. Shouts came from every direction, but no words made sense. She put her left hand to her forehead and resisted the temptation to fade into the senselessness. Anguish surrounded her in a cold aura, making every motion impossible. She struggled to breathe, to hold on to consciousness.
She thought she had lost the battle, then a groan came from her right. Turning cautiously, for her head threatened to disobey even the simplest order, she scanned the scorched grass.
“Lord Wulfric!” she cried.
He was lying on the ground, his arms flung out as if he had taken a facer. Blood flowed down his waistcoat. She put her fingers close to his lips. The uneven pulse of his breath brushed her palm.
“Help!” she called as she slipped her arm beneath him to keep his head out of the wet grass. “We need help! Lord Wulfric is hurt!”
Instantly she was surrounded. She was gently brought to her feet as a man knelt beside the marquess. An arm around her shoulders steadied her. She did not look to see who was helping her. Her gaze riveted on Lord Wulfric, who had not moved.
When the kneeling man tore aside the marquess’s coat, she cried, “Be careful! He may be hurt badly!”
“He is a doctor, Ellen,” said Marian softly. “Hush, and let him see what he can do for Lord Wulfric.”
What he did was issue a series of quick orders that could not reach past the pounding in Ellen’s head. She thought she heard him order both her and the marquess back to the house, but nothing made sense.
“How is he?” she whispered, reaching for the lanky doctor’s arm. Her fingers closed inches from it.
He looked at her, his lips strained and puckered. “Young lady, Miss Dunbar, is it?”
“Yes.”
“You must lie down. You need quiet to recover from this horrible event.”
“But Lord Wulfric … How is he?”
For a moment, she feared he would not answer. He turned away to watch the marquess being placed on a litter which must have been brought from the house. A deep sigh raised and lowered his shoulders like bits of flotsam on the sea. “He took the brunt of the explosion.”
“But how is he? Is he hurt?”
He faced her again. All emotion left his voice as he said, “Miss Dunbar, I’m sorry, but after examining Lord Wulfric’s wounds, I doubt he will last the night.”
Two
The sitting room was uncomfortably bright. Light glared off the polished marble fireplace and the mahogany furniture. In a corner, behind the gold settee and the chairs flanking it, a long case clock tolled the hour.
Only eleven o’clock.
Ellen shook her head as Marian asked her—yet again—if she would like to rest. To own the truth, she was not sure if she could stand to go into one of the bedchambers on this floor. She did not recall how she had gotten to this room, although she suspected it must have been with Marian and Mr. Wolfe’s help in the wake of the last fireworks detonating on the ground.
Pain seared her arm at the thought. The debris had sprayed throughout the garden, but she and Lord Wulfric had been the only ones struck. Marian had called that fortunate. Ellen could not agree, for she could imagine little worse than sitting here and waiting for the doctor’s latest word on the marquess’s condition.
Mr. Wolfe, who was pacing in front of the door leading into his cousin’s bedchamber, was nearly distraught with worry. A bare-bones man, he had a gaunt handsomeness that was enhanced by his hair. It was as dark as Lord Wulfric’s. From the tip of his shining boots to the top of his mussed hair, he looked ready to ride to the hounds.
Until he turned to catch her eyes. Then she saw the horror in his face. It spoke, more than any words, of his anxiety for his cousin’s well-being.
“Miss Dunbar, are you sure you don’t wish to lie down?” he asked, his amiable voice adding to the ache in her skull.
“I would as lief wait to hear what the doctor has to say.”
“It will not be good, I fear.” He rubbed his hands together and forced a strained smile. “Marian, you, too, are kind to be with me at this grim hour.”
“I fear we are burdening you more,” Ellen said as Marian gulped back a sob.
“Nonsense.” He cleared his throat. “I would not wish to be alone now.”
She did not know what to say to the man whose long face was made even longer by his sorrow. His blue eyes, which were nearly so pale that they were colorless, were filled with tears. No words were necessary to show how fond he was of his cousin.
“Forgive me, Miss Dunbar,” he said, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “This is most distressing. We thought we had lost Corey once before during the war. He was returned to us, but now I fear death will catch up with him.”
“Forgive us,” she answered. She wished Marian would stop hovering over her. Each breath was harder than the one before it, for a weight seemed centered on her chest. A throb ran along her arm, increasing in strength with every heartbeat. “You do not need unexpected guests now.”
A hint of a smile returned to pull at his lips. “Corey would not want you to drive home near the nadir of the night.” He hesitated, then added, “And, Miss Dunbar, if I may own to the truth, I would appreciate your company as well as Marian’s.”
“I understand,” she answered, although she wondered where the other guests might be. Putting her fingers to her aching head, she sighed. Of course, the other guests had taken their leave in the wake of the accident in the garden. Only Marian and she remained. Another wave of pain washed over her as she imagined riding along that bumpy road back to Marian’s house. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the silk upholstery. The conversation flowed around her. The cushions shifted, and Marian’s cool palm brushed her forehead. She nearly cried out in pain.
“I fear she is hurt worse than we had thought,” Marian murmured.
Ellen did not hear the answer. A bolt of pain struck her as viciously as the fireworks detonating in the garden. She moaned, the sound resonating through her tender skull. Confused, frightened shouts crashed over her, and she wondered if all those who had stood in the garden had come into the Abbey. The pain stole her breath from her. She had never suffered its like. Darkness smothered every thought. She did not fight it, but drifted through the fathomless quiet.
When she opened her eyes again, she had come into another room. A bedroom, for she sat beside a bed whose gold curtains were closed on two sides. Beyond the oak bed, a chair was draped with a man’s coat. The material was stained with dirt and what she suspected—with a cramp in her stomach—was blood.
Slowly she turned her gaze to the bed. Beneath the covers, Lord Wulfric was lying. Only the rise and fall of the blankets told her he was still alive. His skin was an odd shade of gray beneath its rich summer tan, which bespoke that his customary life reached far beyond the walls of this dusky room. Across his brow, his hair was matted. She shuddered as she wondered what hideous wound might be hidden beneath it.
She sat alone beside the bed. Her forehead ruffled in surprise. Her head must have been hit far worse than she had guessed. Again she could not remember how she had gotten to where she was.
She saw the doctor’s case open by the bed and a folded paper with her name scratched across it. As badly as her head throbbed, she might have lost consciousness if the doctor had examined her. Mayhap he had wanted to do that examination here where he could keep an eye on Lord Wulfric. She searched her mind. It was befuddled with half-formed thoughts and memories she could not trust. Yes, she seemed to recall Mr. Wolfe’s gentle concern as he helped Marian bring her to the doctor, who refused to be budged from Lord Wulfric’s side. Remembering th
at short journey from the other room, she swayed on the chair and clutched the bottom before she could fall. Each step had sent more anguish reeling through her until she had surrendered to the near-oblivion of letting others control her motions.
The doctor had examined her … hadn’t he? She could not remember. Everything was a bumble-bath in her head.
Then where was the doctor? Where were the others? When she heard the doctor’s muffled voice by the door, she sighed. No doubt, he was giving Mr. Wolfe a report on his cousin’s condition. Deteriorating condition, if Ellen was not mistaken. Lord Wulfric’s breathing had become more shallow even while she sat here.
The voices swarmed over her, and she looked around to find that the others were lined up around the bed. She blinked, wondering why they had rushed into the room so quickly. Mayhap it had not been quickly. Each blink of her eyes seemed to leap her forward in time as she fought to hold onto her senses. She wondered how much time had vanished, unnoted, into the eddy of pain swirling in her head.
She tried to focus on Marian’s face. She could not. Shifting her eyes to the man beside her bosom-bow nearly undid her. She tightened her grip on the chair as she stared at Mr. Wolfe. His face was nearly as gray as Lord Wulfhc’s. She wanted to ask him why.
Mr. Wolfe’s words answered the question she did not ask. “I shall inform the rest of the family of his death. How ironic that he should risk death with the army across the Channel and die here in his own garden.”
“Dead?” gasped Ellen. “Lord Wulfric is dead?”
Marian put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. “You must lie down, my dear. I have never seen you so drawn.”
Tears fled down her face as she tried to shake her head. She subsided with a moan.
“The bedchamber next door has been prepared for Miss Dunbar,” Mr. Wolfe said quietly.
“Thank you.” Marian turned her toward the door. “Come along, Ellen. You must lie down before you injure yourself more.”
Ellen considered protesting, but had no strength. She let Marian steer her out the door and across the hall, stumbling on nearly every step.
A Phantom Affair Page 2
