Dare and Kate took one side of the coach, and Emma sat with Sally, facing them. Wynbrook hardly gave them time to sit down before he got the coach moving, not wanting to linger.
Emma took a deep breath of relief as the coach rolled out of the hamlet and onto the dark road. “I am glad to put the Green Man Inn behind me,” she confessed.
Lady Kate nodded in mute agreement, her angular face appearing even harsher in the flickering light of the swaying coach lantern. She was a tall, thin woman who had a strong resemblance to her brother, except where his eyes were dark as night, hers were an alluring silver. It was the only thing flashy about her, as her clothes and demeanor might have best been described as reserved.
Kate and Dare shared a penchant for taciturnity, for neither spoke. Kate turned toward the dark window without a word, and Dare’s eyes closed. Emma knew the best thing he could do was rest.
Emma had hoped that Sally would be cheered with the prospect of escaping the inn, but her maid only scowled at her feet. Without anyone inclined toward conversation, Emma contended herself in sending a silent prayer of thanks for their escape.
After a few hours, they appeared to turn onto a drive that was less frequented. The road was rough and every bump, every shift of the coach brought a new grimace of pain from Darington. Emma was certain a man of less fortitude would have been hollering in pain, but Dare took it with the cool detachment that was his temperament.
Finally, the coach began to climb up a windy, steep road. Lady Kate’s face was pinched, and she stared out the black window. Emma knew they must have been getting close to the house. Even Dare’s body went rigid, as if preparing to fight an unknown foe.
“When was the last time you visited Greystone?” Emma asked politely.
She saw at once it was the wrong question, for both Kate’s and Dare’s faces hardened.
“It has been a long time,” said Dare in a low voice.
As the carriage struggled up the steep road in the poor, slick conditions, both brother and sister were rendered as tight as bowstrings. Even Emma could not miss the sense of foreboding as they crept slowly up the hill toward Greystone. She stared out the window, trying to make out the dark shapes of the landscape in the light of the pale moon. She wrapped herself a little tighter in her cloak.
The skies were clear, but the wind was sharp and the temperature a brittle cold. They reached the top of the bluffs, which Emma guessed must have looked out over the ocean, though at night, it was all blackness. They turned a tight corner and the imposing house came into view.
Greystone Hall stretched five stories high like a monstrous black tower. Emma searched for something pleasant to remark upon but was at a loss. Everything about the striking tower was stark and bleak. From the scraggly bushes and windswept trees along the bluff, to the sharp edges of the imposing tower house, everything about the place was formidable and barren. It was almost as if the place itself did not wish its master to return.
“My, but that is a striking hall,” Emma said, trying desperately to find something kind to say. “This is your home?”
“This is where we were born and spent the first few years of our life,” said Lady Kate in an icy tone. “We have not been back since our father died thirteen years ago.”
“Thirteen years? But then, you haven’t been back since you were children. Is this not your country seat?” Emma could not understand why Kate and Dare had not set foot in their own home for so long. According to Dare, his fortune had been restored, so why stay away?
“It has been more financially advantageous for us to rent the property.” Kate did not look at her as she spoke. “We’ve had a series of respectable families who have lived here, though it is vacant at the moment. We have kept the house fully staffed, as we expect our land agent to find a new tenant soon.”
“How fortunate that your home is staffed, as if it was waiting for you to return.” Emma was determined to bring some liveliness to the grim siblings before her. Dare did not speak, but his color was pale. The main thing that pleased Emma about reaching Greystone was it meant that their journey was almost at an end. Dare needed to rest. She smiled even brighter, as if she could ward off all misfortune by determined cheerfulness.
They pulled into the drive and Wynbrook jumped down, half-frozen and shivering.
“I trust I found the right place,” said Wynbrook through chattering teeth.
“Oh, you must be chilled through,” said Emma sympathetically. “What you need is a good bowl of wine punch.”
“Make that rum punch and I think you’ve about got it.”
Darington and Kate both glared at her. She was taken aback at their reaction but quickly realized neither of them appreciated her interaction with Wynbrook. Instead of being offended, she chose to see this as an indication of Lady Kate’s regard for Wynbrook. She smiled at them, trying to convey that they need not worry.
Wynbrook was a tall, handsome man, but he was in love with Lady Kate. Emma could tell by the way his eyes rested on Kate, the way he watched her and smiled at her when she was not looking, then pretended to be attending to something else when she turned his way. Wynbrook could be charming and flirtatious, but Emma had no doubt as to where his heart lay.
What was less clear to her was Dare’s reaction. Was he displeased with Emma because he feared she might steal the affection intended for his sister? Perhaps. Or maybe it was his heart, his affection, which gave him pause. Despite the frigid wind that cut through her wrap, Emma flushed warm.
They shuffled up to the main door and Emma was a little concerned about their reception. To appear in the middle of the night on the doorstep of a house, even if it was the house you owned, was not done. She also wondered, as she and Wynbrook assisted Darington on either side, how they would explain arriving in the middle of the night, unannounced, and with the master of the house injured.
She need not have worried though, for Kate took things well in hand. The butler and housekeeper who arrived at the door were clearly surprised and had to be convinced that people they had never met before were in truth the master of the house and his sister. Emma doubted she could have convinced anyone of such a thing, but she underestimated Lady Kate. Kate was sure and confident, with a regal manner that, despite her plain wool coat and bonnet, left no doubt she was aristocratic. She spun a story of traveling together and getting set upon by highwaymen who shot Darington.
The house was roused and Kate quickly had everyone snapping to her commands. The maids were awakened, fires laid, punch served (Emma had two cups before she could even begin to feel her toes). Emma watched in amazement as Kate managed everything, directly and precisely. She was not rude or unkind, but she was exacting and clearly in command. Emma’s grumpy maid was whisked off to the servants’ quarters. Kate would never allow herself to be served by anyone who was not respectful and competent.
Emma admired Kate. Greatly.
Greystone was a grand house, or at least it could have been. It was a bit of a blank canvas. The furnishings were limited, and at first, Emma had difficulty determining what made the house feel so imposing. Then she realized the sparseness of the mansion exuded a barren, neglected feel. No pictures adorned the rooms, causing the sound to bounce off the empty walls and carry long and loud. Emma found herself walking on tiptoe to try to avoid being heard. Everyone’s voices were hushed, as if not to disturb the ghosts that prowled there.
They did not linger in the drawing room, nor did they talk much. There was often one of the servants present to prepare the room in some way, so conversation about anything important was out of the question. Small talk seemed irrelevant after all they had gone through, and even Emma lapsed into silence.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” said the housekeeper, bustling into the room. “It may take a bit to get the master’s chamber prepared. We were not expecting you, and we had not prepared the family suite. That wing o
f the house was never opened, you know.”
“I think it more important that we get rest than that we sleep in any particular bedroom,” said Kate severely.
“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper curtsied and hustled away.
Emma wondered why the family wing had been kept unused and off limits. Soon they were shown to their rooms by the housekeeper. The main staircase rose up to an open balcony that looked down through stone arches to the marble floor of the entryway below. From there, two staircases continued up, one on either end of the open corridor.
Emma followed the woman up the stairs on the right-hand side, while Dare, his arm around Wynbrook for support, climbed the other. She glanced back at Dare, watching him proceed slowly up the stairs. She wanted to help. She needed to help.
Emma wanted to check the stitches, and she knew Dare was due for another dose of laudanum, without which he would have a difficult time sleeping due to the pain. Despite their unconventional sleeping arrangements of the night before, as an unmarried female, she was not allowed anywhere near his bedroom at night—or ever. She supposed she could give him a dose of medicine in the hallway, but she could certainly not check the wound there. Dare did not look back at her to give any indication of his needing her. Of course, it was not the sort of thing he could rightly ask of her.
Emma was shown to a bedroom with a fresh fire lit in the grate. It was spare, but pleasantly appointed in blue and sage green. She guessed the linens and drapes had been recent additions, probably added by the current staff for the series of tenants. Sally knocked a moment after Emma arrived, and she had no choice but to submit to the questionable assistance of her maid, who helped her into her nightgown.
Emma could hardly tell the young maid she did not wish to change because she wished to visit an unmarried man—no, an unmarried earl. Even worse, the Pirate Earl himself.
Sally finished with a sullen frown and dragged herself out of the room without a curtsy. Emma sighed. She would work on common courtesy later.
Emma took a deep breath, grabbed a candle and her medical bag, wrapped herself in a thick blanket, and cautiously stepped outside the room. She looked back at the beckoning bed. It looked comfortable, and she knew a young maid had heated it with a bed warmer. Her tired body ached to crawl under the goose-down comforter and fall into a deep sleep.
And yet, somewhere in the house, Dare needed her. So despite all societal rules against it, she would go to him. It was as simple as that.
Eighteen
Emma stepped out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her. She walked down the corridor in soft slippers, careful not to scuff her feet on the floor. She slunk up the stairwell she had seen Dare ascend, wondering how she would find his bedchamber.
She wandered down a corridor of doors. She guessed one of them held the Earl of Darington, but which one? With sudden inspiration, she blew out her candle and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Light shone from under two of the doors. She had even odds of picking the right one.
She took a breath and knocked on the first door.
“Enter,” said a muffled male voice from behind the door.
She opened the door and found Lord Wynbrook in a dressing gown and nightcap, sitting in bed, reading a book. His eyebrows shot up to see Emma standing there in her nightclothes, and he hastily attempted to hide his book, but not before she noted it was the Captain’s Curse, one of those gripping novels young women were warned against…and she had hidden in her trunk.
“I do apologize. I am looking for Lord Darington. It is time for his medicine,” Emma attempted to explain. Of course she would pick the wrong door.
Wynbrook gave her a slow smile. “I see.”
She was not sure what exactly Wynbrook saw, but it was not good whatever it was. Closing Wynbrook’s door, she hurried to the next lit door and rapped lightly.
She was bade to enter and this time Darington was on the other side.
“Oh, good, it is you this time,” said Emma, entering quickly.
“This time?” Dare was also in bed wearing a nightshirt. He wore no cap though, and instead, his dark-brown hair, which she had only seen pulled back in a queue, hung loose around his shoulders.
“Yes, I…” For some reason, seeing him with his hair untied felt strangely intimate, which was odd since she had seen much more of him than his undone hair. “I found Wynbrook’s room first.”
“You went to Wynbrook’s room?” he asked in a dark tone.
“Not on purpose,” she explained, but he did not look appeased. Heaven help her, it did nothing to dispel the strange attraction she felt toward him. He may have been wounded, but he still held an aura of danger. “I came to give you some medicine and check to make sure your stitches held.”
Dare acknowledged her with a nod. “Thank you.”
She knew he must have been hurting if he accepted the laudanum without a fight. She walked to the bed and poured out a dose, which he took with a grimace.
“Has the wound bled during travel?” she asked.
“Some,” he admitted.
“I had best take a look at the stitches. It will be a wonder if they are not all pulled out.”
Dare gave her a quick nod and pulled down the covers to his waist and sat up farther. He was dressed much more appropriately than before in a voluminous nightshirt. No doubt it kept him warm, but she missed seeing his bare chest in all its naked glory.
She blinked at the sudden turn her thoughts had gone. When had she become a wanton? She was here to help this man, not ogle him.
“Would you mind pulling up the nightshirt so I may inspect the wound?” she asked briskly.
He paused a minute, then complied. Though now his top half was covered, his careful movements made her realize that unlike when they were in the inn, he was wearing nothing from the waist down. The mere thought brought heat to her cheeks.
He moved carefully and slowly, possibly due to the pain and possibly due to the need to pull up the nightshirt while keeping the blankets in place.
“I will be looking for any redness, heat, or swelling that might be a sign of infection,” she babbled, focused on his slow, deliberate movements.
Finally, the dressings came into view, stained in dark-red blood. “I am glad I brought more bandages. That is more than a little blood.”
She went to work removing the old dressing and inspecting the wound. As she did so, she could not help but notice his pronounced muscles, taut and tempting. One prominent muscle formed a ridge from his lower hip going down toward his core. What might she see if the blanket slipped down a few more inches?
“Well now, let’s see how those stitches are holding,” said Emma as if she did this all the time. She examined the entry wound and was relieved to see that it looked as well as she could hope.
“Could you roll over so I can examine your back?”
Dare nodded and rolled onto his side, away from her. She had begun to examine the larger wound on his back when the blanket slipped a bit and she could see the top part of his derriere. She forgot to move, forgot to breathe. Surely he was the perfect form of a man.
“Did I rip out stitches?” asked the man whose backside had captured her entire interest.
“I…err…” The stitches. Look at the stitches. She forced herself to look at the wound and was pleased to see no sign of infection.
“Does it look good?” he asked.
Very, very good. She cleared her throat more easily than she did her mind. “There has been some slight tearing, which probably accounted for the bleeding, but it has stopped now. I think it will heal well.” She was pleased she sounded reasonable despite the flight of her unruly emotions.
He rolled onto his back and met her eyes. “Emma.” He said her name with such sincerity it made her heart pound. “Thank you. I am greatly sorry for embroiling you in this escapad
e. You deserve better.”
“No, indeed, I have found our adventure excessively diverting, especially now that we are safe. I would not change one second of it.” Her words were true.
She dressed the wound, her pulse increasing every time she touched his skin. She must get herself under better control. She needed to leave the man’s bedroom before she did anything untoward. She found the Earl of Darington more attractive than was good for her. “Sleep now. I shall come again in the morning.”
Dare’s eyelids grew heavy. “Thank you, Emma.”
Emma crept back to her bedroom, knowing who would be featured prominently in her dreams.
* * *
Dare listened as she crept away from his room, down the hall. Truly, he owed Emma more than he could repay. Even if she was promised to another in marriage—an engagement that seemed rather suspect to him—an offer of marriage from him was due. Though the proposal might be obligatory, his intentions were decidedly sincere. He was determined to change her mind and secure her hand in marriage. The thought of her marrying another set his teeth on edge.
He would ask her tomorrow. He just wanted to be fully dressed and on his own feet when he did so.
* * *
“What do you mean they have gone?” Eustace Ludlow ground out, trying unsuccessfully to conceal the anger in his tone.
“I’m sorry, sir. They didn’t tell me they was leaving. When the maid went to check on them to see if they done with the dinner tray, they were gone.” The landlord stood at the door of Eustace’s room wringing his hands on a dirty apron.
“I am very concerned for my friends. I thought I requested you to let me know when they emerged.”
“Well now, that’s the thing. I’m not sure when they left. I don’t stand at the door all the time, you know, but one o’ the lads said he seen them get into a coach with two others.”
“And where did they go?”
“I don’t rightly know.”
“You don’t rightly know?” Eustace repeated at a shout. He was too angry to keep a level tone. He could not have come all this way only to have her slip away in the presence of some strange man…if it was her.
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