Wasting no time, Phoebe clambered to the opposite bench and crawled alongside Millicent. With the child out of the way, he laid Elizabeth on the bench, her head and upper body resting across his lap.
Her face was almost in complete shadow. Why hadn’t he lit the damn lamp? In the dimness, he could make out her delicate features but couldn’t discern the hue of her skin. He continued to watch her and when a flash of lightening offered him a view of her pale complexion, his worry intensified.
“Elizabeth? Can you hear me?” When she didn’t stir at the light shake he gave her, he touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. His hand froze when it made contact with her cold and clammy skin.
He swung his gaze to Millicent. “What is wrong with her?”
Although she didn’t appear indifferent to her niece’s condition, the older woman sounded far too calm considering the circumstances. “Just keep her comfortable, boy. She will be well once we reach the inn and she has rested.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You make it sound like this has happened before.”
His words hadn’t been phrased as a question, but he knew Millicent understood what he was asking. “That isn’t for me to tell. You’ll have to discuss it with Elizabeth.”
“How the hell am I to do that?” he responded, his voice as loud as the cracking thunder. “She is unconscious.”
His outrage didn’t seem to faze her, causing his ire to increase. “Language! And don’t be daft,” she finally replied. “You’ll obviously have to wait for her to wake.”
Impatience coated his words. “And when will that be?”
“I cannot say. But, don’t fret, she will.” Millicent slipped her arm around Phoebe. “Now, stop yelling, you are scaring the poor child.”
He dropped his eyes to Phoebe and frowned as the woman pulled her closer. When he caught the quiver of her tiny bottom lip, he immediately regretted his harsh tone. A normal father would apologize and comfort his daughter. He didn't know how to do either.
He settled for a quietly spoken, “I’m sorry.”
Phoebe stared at him for a few seconds and unsmilingly nodded, obviously not fully pardoning him. “Thank you.”
He regarded her for a moment longer. For saying few words to the child since he’d met her, he sure had been conversing a lot with her during the course of the trip. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been as awkward as he’d thought and he hadn’t expired on the spot. Maybe he wouldn’t be a complete loss of a father. Then again, who was he trying to fool?
When a particularly loud crash of thunder rocked the coach, Elizabeth let out a soft moan. “Minx, can you hear me?” Her body had started to shake and he pulled her closer, hoping his strength would ease whatever the hell was happening to her.
He contemplated shedding his overcoat, to give her more warmth, when the coach slowed. Carefully, he leaned forward and peered out the window. Through the curtain of rain, the lights of the inn broke through the darkness and he’d never been so relieved.
Not about to let Elizabeth out of his sight—or his arms—he turned to Millicent. “Can you deal with Phoebe—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll watch the child. You see to my niece.” The woman apparently also read minds.
He gave her a quick nod and gathered Elizabeth fully in his arms. When he turned back to the door, it was already open. He exited the coach and stood fully upright, surprised at how light Elizabeth felt in his arms. If she were asleep instead of passed out, she would make the most adorable bundle.
The rain fell steadily around them. He could feel drops rolling over his cheeks and down the back of his neck. Rushing to the shelter of the inn, he tried to block the deluge with his upper body.
Warmth wafted around him as he stepped inside, an indication of how much the storm had chilled the outside air. He glanced around the room and noticed the stir his entrance had created. Apparently a man carrying an unconscious woman through the door didn’t happen often. He ignored the steady stares of the other patrons and strode to the innkeeper.
This particular establishment was on his usual route between his estate and London, so he was a frequent visitor. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible to pose as someone else and at the moment, he had more important concerns. Elizabeth had yet to wake and worry for her condition overrode all else. He’d worry about any damage to her reputation later.
The innkeeper snapped to attention as soon as he caught sight of Gabe. He’d been easily identified, no surprise there.
“Your Grace.”
The man may have greeted Gabe but his eyes were fixed on Elizabeth. Gabe knew he’d be slipping the man extra coin to keep his mouth shut.
The thought put a bite in Gabe’s response. “I believe some rooms have been readied for my arrival.”
Wisely remembering his station, the innkeeper tore his eyes from Elizabeth, before he stammered, “Yes . . . Of course, Your Grace. My wife saw to it.” He took a step toward the stairs. “Should I show you the way?”
Gabe forestalled the man with a shake of his head. “No, sir. There is another woman and a child who will need assistance. Please see to their needs. All I need is direction to my room.”
The innkeeper viewed Elizabeth with a furrowed brow, but replied, “Certainly, Your Grace. Up the stairs, third door on the right.”
A twinge of concern for Elizabeth’s reputation stopped Gabe at the base of the stairs. “The lady became ill during the trip. Please be prepared to collect a physician, if needed.”
With nothing else to say, and eager to remove Elizabeth from the prying eyes of the patrons taking respite before the fire, he bounded up the stairs. He’d reached the top landing when he heard the man greet Millicent. He continued to his room. Elizabeth’s aunt was more than capable of handling herself and Phoebe.
Without juggling his feminine burden, he managed to shoulder his way into the room. Kicking the door shut with his boot heel, he was pleased to note any chill in the air had been chased away by the fire in the grate.
He crossed the wooden floor and gently laid her on the bed, then threw off his overcoat and sat next to her.
He knew he needed to attend her, yet he couldn’t help but pause as he watched her. With one of her hands resting below the curve of her jaw, cradling her face, she appeared enchanting. Dark lashes rested on her unusually pale cheeks—a paleness that only enhanced the pinkness of her lips. Unable to stop himself, the need to touch her too great, he raised his hand and with one finger, slowly pushed aside the blonde strands that rested along the side of her face.
As he twirled her hair around his finger, an uncomfortable emotion slammed into his chest. If I let myself, I could love this woman.
An instant chill ran through him and he dropped her silky locks, then gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? Of course, he couldn’t love her. Even if he wanted to love her—which he didn’t—in the end, all his love would do is destroy her.
No matter what he did, he must never fall in love with Elizabeth Blakely.
Focusing his attention back to her comfort, staying as detached as he could, he worked her free of the blue travel dress. As he revealed more of her creamy skin, he struggled to keep his movements mechanical. If he didn’t, he was afraid his fingers would stop to stroke every inch exposed.
His anxiety started to rise when she didn’t respond to him peeling the dress from her arms and down her body. It was almost at full alarm when he shifted and jostled her to ease it over her curves, and she still didn’t stir. He shoved it aside, reminded of Millicent’s guarantee all would be well. It had better be or the woman would have more than a little explaining to do.
He briefly closed his eyes, hoping to find some inner strength when she was completely freed of her dress and her long legs were exposed through her thin shift. Desire continued to pou
nd through him with each heartbeat. How unwise it was for him to care for her instead of her aunt, for his good deed could easily end in disaster if he didn’t proceed cautiously.
And yet, exceedingly familiar with divesting a woman of her undergarments, his fingers nimbly took control, knowing exactly what to pull and tug to remove her corset quickly. With it out of the way, he raked his eyes over the gentle curves of her slight waist. He never understood why a woman would deny a man the pleasure of seeing the natural bend of her waist by wearing such a contraption. Moreover, it merely created more things to remove.
His willpower about to snap, he swiftly loosed the remainder of her clothing, leaving only her shift. He repositioned her, tugged the coverings from beneath her and pulled them over her glorious body.
With her safely covered from shoulders to feet, Gabe sat next to her once more. She appeared at ease and color had returned to her cheeks, but she still showed no sign of waking. Should he have called for the doctor? Millicent claimed Elizabeth merely needed rest and the older woman seemed to be aware of what was happening.
His anger rekindled as he pondered why Millicent had kept silent.
Somewhat assured Elizabeth would wake soon—and if she didn’t, he would surely send for a doctor—he rose from the bed. A spindly chair rested near the fire. He carried it across the room and positioned it next to the footboard, lowered his weary frame into its too-small confines, and tried to get comfortable. After shifting his body left and right a half dozen times and hoping the creaking wood wouldn't crack beneath him, he finally found a position he could live with, folded his arms, and kept his gaze steady on her.
And prepared to wait for her to wake.
Chapter 16
Silence was the first thing Elizabeth noticed when she woke. No ear splitting thunder. No pellets of rain.
Well, not absolute silence. If not mistaken, since she had yet to open her eyes, she could hear the light crackling of a fire. Physically exhausted, she hoped the fire was contained to the grate. At present, she was hardly capable of running from a raging inferno.
Her limbs seemed to move freely, no longer restricted by her dress. She took in a deep breath. No corset pinched off her breathing. That, too, seemed to have gone the way of her dress. Jane must have seen to her needs once they’d arrived at the inn. Hopefully, Aunt Millie had managed to explain away her physical state.
Elizabeth opened her eyes a crack. Without moving her head, she scanned her eyes to the left. With only an old fireplace and empty table, the room was sparsely furnished.
She started to sweep her eyes to the other side but froze at the sight of male boots—very large male boots—resting near her thigh. Her eyes snapped open. She slowly lifted her gaze over thick muscular thighs molded within buff breeches. Afraid to blink, she continued up, taking in the way the white shirt pulled across a tight stomach and broad chest. She licked her lips, trying to bring moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. Abruptly, her perusal stopped when she locked on a set of dark brown eyes, regarding her with unmistakable humor.
Gabe raised one brow. “Did you look your fill, Minx?”
Heat that had nothing to do with the fire warmed her from the inside. She had no clue if it was from being caught ogling him or arousal from his close proximity.
Perhaps she’d best ignore both. “What are you doing here? Where is Aunt Millie?”
He swung his feet to the floor, but remained reclined in the chair. “Your aunt is with Phoebe.”
It didn’t escape her that he’d overlooked telling her what he was doing in the room. “Will she be back soon?”
A lazy grin curved the corners of his mouth. “Well, it would be rather difficult for her to be back when she has never been here.”
“Then Jane. When will she be back?”
“Hasn’t been here either.”
She didn’t want to ask what he meant, afraid she already knew the answer. She didn’t see a way to avoid it. “If she hasn’t been here, who . . . who removed my dress?”
His grin transformed into a wicked smile. “That pleasure was all mine. Oh, and don’t forget the corset. Now that was particularly my favorite.”
She shouldn’t be embarrassed. For heaven’s sake, not many days earlier, the man had kissed her bare breast. Though, somehow the idea of him removing her clothing as she slept felt more intimate. “And why exactly did you act as my maid?”
“Because I wanted to.” His face lost any hint of a smile. Whatever was coming wouldn’t bode well for her. “After falling at my feet, in a dead faint, I felt the least I could do was to make sure you were comfortable.”
“But—but why would Aunt Millie allow it?”
He bolted up in the chair, erasing any semblance of being relaxed. “Perhaps she knew I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hell, Minx, one moment you were sitting across from me, the next you were on the floor. To top it off, your aunt doggedly refused to tell me anything.”
She flinched at his sudden anger, but couldn’t respond. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say. She never spoke of her fears. Sensing Gabe’s determination, she knew she would have no choice but to tell him.
“Don’t think I’m letting you out of this room without the truth,” he added at her continued silence, as he sat back once more.
Feeling at a disadvantage, she straightened against the pillows, pulling the sheet tight around her chest. No sense in staying prone while she exposed her affliction. She opened her mouth to begin, but suddenly closed it. It had never been easy talking about such abnormal behavior. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. Despite her best efforts, the words wouldn’t come to her.
“Start at the beginning.” His voice had softened, almost becoming soothing.
She took a deep breath. This was Gabe, who had consoled her as a child. She should have no reservations about disclosing the details.
“The first time it happened was shortly after my parent’s accident.” Her words were barely above a whisper. Except, to her, they seemed to vibrate through the quiet room. “Marcus and I were heading somewhere in the carriage. I don’t recall where. When we left the estate, the rain had been a light drizzle—barely noticeable.”
Unable to look at Gabe, she studied her hands, her fingers worrying and bunching the worn fabric of the blanket. “At first everything had been fine, just another normal trip. Until the rain fell heavier.” A trickle of unease hit her, causing her to pause in the midst of her memories.
Gabe said nothing but merely allowed her to collect herself.
She whispered, “I don’t know why, but by the time the thunder started, I was paralyzed with terror.”
It wasn’t until she felt the tears roll down her cheeks that she realized she was silently crying. “I . . . I couldn’t move. I had curled into a ball on the seat before the first flash of lightning.” She heard him shift in the chair, but she couldn’t find it in her to look at him. “We didn’t get wherever we were headed. When the episode started, Marcus had the carriage return to Foxmoore. It was still storming when we reached the estate. Marcus had to carry me into the house. Wrapped in my fear, I didn’t hear him talking to me. All I heard was the pounding thunder until it was a steady roar in my head.
“Marcus sat with me on my bed, rocking me. I kept my eyes closed, afraid I’d still see lightning if I opened them. We sat like that for what seemed forever before I was calm enough to open my eyes.” The words caught in her throat, but she swallowed and somehow continued. “By the time the doctor arrived, the episode had passed. According to the physician, there was nothing physically wrong with me. Marcus was not satisfied. I lost count of the number of doctors I saw in the next couple months. After a consensus that I was physically sound, Marcus had to accept there was nothing he could do.
“It wasn’t until after the third episode that the
connection between traveling in a carriage and the storms was discovered. It didn’t take much of a leap to link it to my parents’ accident. With no cure available, I became careful about where I went during foul weather. It is the sudden storms that present a problem.”
Gabe sat quietly while the fire popped in the grate, filling the silence. She focused on the light sound, consumed by her thoughts yet determined to hold the memories at bay.
The depression of the mattress and an eerie creak from the old headboard was the only warning before he enclosed her in his arms.
“Why did you feel as if you couldn’t tell me?” Gabe asked, tucking her head under his chin. “Why didn’t Marcus tell me?”
Pulling strength from him, she settled fully into his embrace. It was the only place she’d ever wanted to be. “I don’t speak of it to anyone. It is such a preposterous abnormality. I don’t like others to know. Marcus promised to never speak of it to anyone besides Aunt Millie.”
“I’m not just anyone,” he whispered into her hair.
She sat silently, tucked against him. He had no way to know that, because he was like no other, he was the hardest to tell. For most of her life, he had seen her as a child. A silly fear of storms would only bring out his protective instincts.
“Elizabeth, I was at Foxmoore after your parents were killed. I saw how it had affected you. Why would it be so hard for you to believe I would understand? You are lucky to be alive. If you’d been with them, instead of riding in the following carriage with your governess, you could have been seriously hurt, or worse.”
She twisted in his arms, meeting his eyes. “How can you understand it? Not even I do. It defies logic.” Anger at herself, for her own weakness, sharpened her voice. “I can stand in the middle of a storm and feel no fear. But the moment I step into a carriage, I can’t control it. How can anyone understand something so foolish?”
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