“If I hold you in front of me astride, can you ride?” he asked quickly, striding back toward his mount before she could respond.
“I think so.” Her voice was muffled but he was able to hear her well enough.
Francis remembered passing a small cottage not a quarter mile back. Given that this was Fullbridge’s property, he imagined that the place would be well kept and possibly even lightly supplied for the man seemed to leave nothing to chance. At the very least, the cottage would provide shelter until the storm passed and with any luck, he would be able to build a fire to warm Charlotte. She was soaked to the bone and shivering almost violently in his arms.
As gently as he could, Francis hefted her into the saddle, well aware that his leg was beginning to tingle. That was not a good sign, but then, he had expected this possibility. Francis was always careful not to overtax the injured limb if he could help it. Today he had not done so.
“Steady yourself, pet,” he said as he swung up behind Charlotte, not wanting her to fall off the horse as everything – including the saddle – was soaked through and extremely slippery.
“Th…th…thank you.” Charlotte’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably now and her lips were beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of blue.
With a hard yank on the reins, Francis wheeled the horse around and set off as quickly as he could back toward the little cottage. With Charlotte’s additional weight, the beast was not quite as speedy as he had been earlier, but the horse was quick enough and soon, they arrived in front of the cottage.
Francis thought about placing Charlotte on the porch so that she could wait for him there until he found a way inside but then reconsidered. Once he left her to go in search of a key, the only warmth she would have would be from the horse. If he left her alone, exposed to the wind and rain, she might take a further chill and that would never do. So she would remain with the horse, at least for now.
Guiding them around to the back of the building, Francis was nearly overjoyed when he saw a small shelter and post clearly meant for hitching horses. After securing his horse, which also seemed to be extremely glad to be out of the rain if the twitching of the animal’s tail was any indication, Francis ran back to the front of the cottage and rummaged about in the shrubs until he found a rock that was lighter than all the others. Flipping it over, he saw that it had been hollowed out, just as he had hoped. And there, tucked up in the center of the rock with the help of some cleverly carved notches, was a key.
As they had ridden back toward the cottage, Francis had remembered Fullbridge bragging the first night of the house party about how he was always prepared in case of an emergency. He had described the cunning hollowed out rocks containing keys to the various buildings on his estate, along with how and where to find them. This cottage hadn’t been mentioned specifically, but Francis had little doubt that a man like the duke would make certain every building on his property had such a cleverly hidden key within easy reach. He was too uptight to do otherwise.
Francis had no idea if Fullbridge found himself stranded about his estate often or if he was simply mad, but just then, he didn’t care. He had a key that would open what looked to be a very sturdy oak door and he would not have to attempt to break it down in order to get Charlotte safely out of the rain. Not that he could likely break down a door anyway. His leg would never allow it.
After opening the door and determining that the cottage would do – and had a well-kept hearth – Francis hurried back to the shelter where Charlotte still sat almost frozen atop the horse, exactly as he left her, which was to say, cold, wet and an increasingly unhealthy looking shade of blue.
“Come, pet,” he said as he reached up to help her down. “We need to get you inside.”
It worried him that she did not have a sharp retort ready and waiting for him or even a clever and cutting remark of any sort. That was Charlotte, especially with him and especially as of late. Now, she simply stared off into the distance, as if gazing at something no one else could see.
With great difficulty, for his leg truly was beginning to tingle rather painfully, Francis managed to get her inside without tumbling them both to the ground and then quickly set about building a fire. As he had expected, the cottage – which appeared to be something a bit more elaborate and decadent than a simple gamekeeper’s abode – was well stocked. Fullbridge must have been richer than Croesus to be able to afford to keep every building on the estate properly supplied at all times, and just then Francis was thankful for the man’s wealth and extravagance. In addition to the dry wood and starter kindling, he also found a large supply of matches and some bits of old, twisted newspaper that looked as if they had been prepared for an occasion such as this.
Once he was satisfied that the fire had caught, Francis turned back to Charlotte. “I need to go see to the horse, pet. I don’t need the death of that creature on my head along with all of my other transgressions. I shall be back soon.” He gestured to the fire. “You should get out of your wet things. There is likely something dry lying about, for I have a feeling that Fullbridge could keep a full army garrison here rather comfortably if he liked. The place is ridiculously well stocked.”
In response, Charlotte nodded wordlessly, her lips still deathly blue.
That was not the response Francis had been hoping for, but he still had to see to the horse. He had noticed some sort of tall, hand-carved cabinet to the right of the shelter that likely held oats and other necessary supplies. He hoped he did not have to go scrounging about for things, but he could not let the task of seeing to the creature wait much longer for the poor horse was probably just as miserable as both Francis and Charlotte were.
“I shan’t be long, pet,” he tried again to elicit a response from her. “Only a few minutes. I need to retrieve my walking stick as well. Just in case.” For really, his leg was beginning to throb and tingle unmercifully.
That was met with another half-frozen nod. Again, not the response he was hoping for just then.
Francis sighed and went deeper into the cottage, hoping that he could unlock the back door that led almost directly to the shelter. This day was not going at all as he had hoped and he had a feeling it was about to become a great deal worse.
Charlotte barely noted the sound of the closing door as Francis exited the cottage to attend to the horse. She had more important things to worry about, not to mention blessings to count.
She was safe. She was not going to die of frostbite in Lord Fullbridge’s hedges. Oh, very well. She would likely not have died of frostbite, but she had been firmly stuck, her riding habit caught on some nasty thorns, and she was rather soaked. She was also most decidedly cold and could conceivably come down with a fever as a result of this morning’s little escapade. She was also miserable at present and her leg throbbed unmercifully, as did her back and her side.
But she would live. Even if for a brief moment while stuck in the brambles, she had allowed her imagination to get away from her in a most un-ladylike fashion. Or rather, in a most un-Charlotte-like fashion. She was not usually so fanciful – or flighty. Then again, she also did not usually tumble from the back of a runaway horse into a briar patch in the middle of a rainstorm either.
Still, she should stop being such a ninny and get on with things. There were, after all, practical matters to address – plenty of them.
For instance, she needed to shed these wet clothes as a start. Francis would be back soon and Charlotte had no desire for him to see her unclothed, or at least not at that precise moment. She doubted she would make a very enticing picture just then, looking more like a drowned cat than a sensual woman.
Except that despite her best efforts, she could not make her fingers do what her brain commanded, though eventually, she did manage to shed her jacket. Nor, after a few attempts to reach her back, could she make her arms move as she desired so that she could unfasten the rest of her habit. In fact, she could barely make her body do anything at all, her limbs flailing about as if
they were not attached to the rest of her body. She was thankful she had sunk to her knees in front of the fire before attempting to disrobe for if she hadn’t, she believed she would have taken her second spill of the day. And this one might have hurt a good deal more than the shrubbery the runaway horse had tossed her into without a care.
Charlotte was still struggling with her buttons when Francis returned – and he did not look any too pleased to see her still dressed.
“I…I…I…” Drat! Now her tongue would not work either. She needed to tell him that she was trying to do as he asked, that she was not simply being contrary. She knew he was thinking that very thing for she had been acting contrary all day, especially by visiting a bunch of ruins she had no interest in only because Noah had asked her to accompany him. More to the point, she had gone only to spite Francis, especially once he discovered that she was with Noah and clearly didn’t care for the company she was keeping.
Charlotte tried to speak again, but this time, she could not manage to push any sound through her lips, instead flailing about wildly as chills wracked her body. This was not good. Not good at all and she was becoming increasingly annoyed with herself.
She tried to stand. She honestly did. Except that her legs would not work as she expected and even if they had, she wasn’t entirely certain her knees would support her if she could somehow manage to reach her feet. In fact, Charlotte found that she was so unsteady that she needed to reach for a nearby chair as she tried to rise once more, fury – or something close to it – burning brightly in Francis’ eyes as she did so.
Except it was all too much. The chills and the cold. The damp clothing and her inability to control her own body. Charlotte was fighting a losing battle, except that she refused to relent. Until she had no other choice.
She heard Francis swear just before blackness claimed her. Then she heard nothing at all for a good, long time.
He should have known she was not well. He should not have left her to fend for herself, not even to attend to the blasted horse.
Francis silently berated himself for all of that and more as he once again scooped Charlotte into his arms as she pitched forward, her body shaking uncontrollably. She was on the verge of catching her death and he was outside playing with animals. How foolish and stupid could he possibly be?
Even with his painful leg, he still managed to hoist her firmly into his embrace once more and placed her gently in front of a chair closer to the fire before dragging over a long, low couch that looked more as if it were made to accommodate lovers than guests at an afternoon tea. Which was not surprising because as he had gone through the rest of the cottage to seek out the back door, Francis had come to the conclusion that this was not a child’s playhouse or a gamekeeper’s cottage. It was a love nest. There was no other word for it.
Why Fullbridge owned such a place or even kept it so well maintained was beyond him, but the hows and whys didn’t matter. For the place had everything Francis required for Charlotte just then, including dry female clothing.
Satisfied that Charlotte was safe for the moment, even if she was not exactly conscious, Francis dashed upstairs as quickly as he could given his leg. As expected, he opened a wardrobe full of ladies dresses and all other manner of feminine frippery. Working quickly, he found a thick, woolen nightrail and matching robe, as well as a pair of slippers. Though the outside temperatures were not all that cold, Charlotte was chilled to her very marrow and thus would need heavy clothing to help her get warm.
Another quick search of what had likely been set up as a retiring room produced several thick towels that he hoped to use to dry her long, heavy hair, along with a brush and a few more essential feminine items. Once he had gathered all of the items, he dashed back downstairs and set to work, doing his best to think only of what was best for Charlotte and not what his body continually insisted would be the pleasurable thing to do.
Working as quickly as he could, Francis stripped off her wet clothing, doing his best not to notice the lush curve of her hip or the way her breasts were so perfect and alabaster white that they almost tempted him to madness. As he tugged off her drawers, he did his best to ignore the dark triangle of hair between her legs, the very place his cock most wanted to be just then.
Something in his gut told Francis that he was made of stronger stuff than he had first imagined, being able to both strip Charlotte naked and then redress her in warm clothing without giving in to his baser instincts. No matter how much he wanted to do just that.
Finally, when he was satisfied that Charlotte was warm enough, he used one towel to dry her hair as best he could, wringing a good deal of rainwater from the normally silken tresses before brushing out the worst of the tangles. She probably could have used a hot bath but he had no time to heat up the water just then, nor did he know if this place had a large copper tub – though he suspected it did. If she awoke later, he would see to it that she had a bath if she wanted one. For now, she was warm and mostly dry. That was all that mattered.
After wrapping her still damp hair in a second towel, Francis moved Charlotte to the lounging couch and stretched her out before the fire. Even unconscious, she must have been able to feel the blazing heat, for she turned toward the flames, her body craving their warmth.
While she shifted her body into a more comfortable position, Francis took the time to spread out her clothing near the fire. The room was heating quickly, the hearth both well designed and well placed to ensure the entire room could be heated from the single source. At the very least, he did not believe she was in danger of catching her death from the chills any longer.
Charlotte whimpered again, likely from her leg, and Francis knew he should check the limb and make certain nothing was broken. Except that doing so would mean moving her again and he did not have the strength such a task would require. It took all of his remaining strength to remove his own wet clothing, hang the garments up to dry next to hers, and shrug his chilled body into a thick banyan that he had found hanging on the back of a door upstairs and thought to grab for himself.
Francis did somehow find the will to push a second, much longer couch next to the fire as well, moving Charlotte’s couch – with her still on it – into a different position so that they were now both on a diagonal facing the fire. As he lay down upon the soft – and likely expensive – fabric, he risked a glance over at her. Just then, her lips seemed more pink than blue and she had stopped shivering. Instead, she was almost relaxed, her body curling toward the fire’s heat.
He should stay awake to keep watch and make sure she did not succumb to fever. Though if she was going to catch a chill, he had done all he could to prevent it. Right now, her health, as well as his, was in the hands of a higher power. So with a weary sigh, Francis closed his eyes and let sleep claim him. He could not stop it, no matter how hard he tried, his body pushed to the brink of exhaustion from a combination of the lack of sleep the night before and all of the energy he had expended searching for Charlotte.
Francis could only hope Charlotte was still there when he woke, alive and, if not in the pink of health, then not at death’s door either. He sent up a silent prayer as his eyes drifted shut and then he, too, fell into one of the deepest slumbers of his life.
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
It was dark outside when Charlotte awoke. Or perhaps not dark so much as gloomy. She could hear the patter of rain on the roof, but the howling wind that had driven the rain sideways earlier seemed to have abated. It also looked to be foggy, the area immediately beyond the window nothing more than a silvery-gray mass so thick she could not even see the outline of trees. This sort of weather was not unusual for England in the spring, but she was still surprised how fast it had turned for the morning had been so perfectly lovely.
She was aware that her riding habit had been removed, replaced by a thick nightrail and soft robe. Since she had not been able to make her arms cooperate well enough to undress herself – not to mention that
the habit fastened mostly in the back – she was well aware that she had not undressed herself. It had to have been Francis.
That knowledge did not disturb her nearly as much as it probably should have. Rather, it warmed her since that meant he cared enough for her to see to her needs and not allow her to catch a chill – or her death. He also cared for her enough not to take advantage of her, for he easily could have. Noah probably would have, his desire for her body overcoming any shred of gentlemanly behavior he might have possessed, at least if his actions at the ruins were any indication of his true nature.
Then there were the slippers. Only a man who truly cared for a woman would seek out slippers for her feet instead of just tucking a blanket around them. It was a little thing, Charlotte supposed, and perhaps she was reading more into that act than Francis had meant. However, she didn’t think so. The slippers meant he cared and that he cared a great deal.
Oh, she knew he cared about her, she always had, but this was proof – proof of what he had claimed so often. That he cared for her enough to wed her when the time was right. She supposed that, given the lack of an immediate proposal, some part of her had always wondered if his words were true or if he was a rogue beneath it all.
His actions today had answered that question.
Briefly, she wondered if that caring was enough to compel him to wed her sooner rather than later, but she pushed that thought aside. Right now, they had more pressing concerns, like being alone together – naked – in a cottage on a ducal estate without a chaperone.
Perhaps that whole marriage thing might take care of itself anyway.
Still, those were issues for another time, for her stomach was grumbling and Charlotte wondered if there was any food about anywhere. Knowing Fullbridge, there was likely something, for the man prided himself on being prepared for any and all emergencies.
A Lady to Desire Page 17
