With weariness all the way to her bones, she climbed the stairs as Beatrice came down, the bundle of bloody cloths in her hands. “I’ll soak these, ma’am, and wash them in the morning.”
“Yes. Thank you, Beatrice. And then see that you and Bridget find your beds. It’s been quite an evening, and I’m sure we all need our rest.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good night.”
Charlotte thought about asking for tea, but assuming her servants were just as weary as she was, it did not seem fair. For a few seconds, she hesitated, thinking about fixing tea for herself. Instead, she climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom where Elliot was ensconced. He remained asleep, which was a good thing. He was sure to have some pain once he woke up.
She pulled the quilt up over his bare chest, with only the bandage covering his arm. She would have to have Thomas see to undressing him in the morning, and providing something more comfortable to wear. She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn and eyed the brandy bottle.
With a shrug, she crossed the room, poured some into the glass they’d used for Elliot, and took a deep swallow.
She coughed and wheezed all the way to her room, tears running down her cheeks.
Chapter Seventeen
Elliot awakened feeling strange, out of sorts. Then he attempted to roll onto his side. “Ouch!” What the devil was wrong with his arm?
“Ah, you’re awake.” The warm sound of Charlotte’s voice greeted him. Why was she in his bedroom? His eyes flew open, wondering if she was lying alongside him.
No such luck. He was in a room he didn’t recognize, and Charlotte leaned over him. Fully dressed.
Damn.
Then it all came back to him. He’d been shot. Right in front of Charlotte’s townhouse door. Something about it tickled his memory, a fact he should concentrate on. “Yes, I am awake.” His voice was raspy, and he realized he was very thirsty. “May I have some water?”
“Yes, of course.” She moved away from the bed, retrieved a pitcher from the top of a dresser, and poured water into the glass sitting alongside it. “Here.”
He shifted to take the glass from her, and a sharp pain shot through him. He sucked in air through his teeth. Gingerly, he eased himself into a sitting position, with Charlotte helping with one hand as she held the water in the other. The water was cool and delicious. “I feel as though I had more brandy than I normally consume.”
“You did down two full-size glasses before Dr. Sanford worked his magic on you.”
“Ah, yes. I remember. No doubt it wasn’t the amount I consumed, since I’ve been known to imbibe more than that, but the speed in which I consumed it.”
Charlotte took the glass from him and set it on a table alongside the bed. She pulled over a chair and settled in, studying him carefully. “I know you’re in pain, but otherwise, how do you feel?” She reached out and felt his forehead with the back of her fingers. The coolness of her brush made him realize he felt quite warm.
“I think you might have the beginnings of a fever.” She frowned and used both of her hands to cup his cheeks. “Yes, you are definitely warm to the touch.”
“Ah, that might not be a fever, merely your touch. Are you trying to raise my temperature?” How would he not be overwarm lying in bed and her so near? And so dressed.
“I’m happy to see your injury has not dimmed your sense of humor.” Her brows rose, and she attempted to fight a smile.
“But perhaps I am not joking. Any man would be likewise affected with a beautiful woman sitting alongside him.” He grinned. “While lying in bed.”
“I can only assume the fever you seem to be suffering from has muddled your brain.” Choosing to ignore his flirtation, she continued, “Dr. Sanford had hoped a thorough cleaning of the bullet wound would prevent an infection, but it is almost impossible to avoid that with your type of injury.”
He suddenly became aware of a bodily need that he didn’t wish to discuss with his client. “Um, is Thomas around?”
“Yes, I believe so.” She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly, and then, apparently having understood his unasked request, flushed a bright red. “Oh, yes, of course. I will send him up.” She excused herself and scurried from the room, leaving him with pain, and unpleasant thoughts.
What he was trying to remember before came at him full force, much like a punch to the gut, taking his breath from him. He had turned back to say something to Charlotte when the bullet had hit him. In his arm. Which meant if he hadn’t done that, most likely it would have gone right through his heart. Whoever shot him had intended for him to die.
A chilling thought.
Being here, under Charlotte’s roof was a blessing in disguise. He’d wanted to move into her home to be closer to where the problem was. It was a delicate issue, since, although a widow, she was still a single woman who held a prominent place in her community. Nasty talk would have surely commenced. Now he would remain, with word put about that he had been injured, and as a bachelor, was recovering in her home, with the help, and under the watchful eyes, of her staff.
Time and frustration had proved there was little to no chance of uncovering the culprit with what they’d been doing thus far. While he had certainly enjoyed the various events they’d attended together, as well as Charlotte’s company, he seemed no closer to discovering her torturer than when he’d started. He remained convinced her pursuer was among her circle of friends. However, only the vicar—who he had eliminated—Baron Von Braun, and Mr. Talbot had risen to the forefront as possibilities.
Which led him to believe either he was way off-course, or neither of the men had made a move that would clearly point a finger in his direction.
“Mr. Baker, Mrs. Pennyworth said you were in need of my assistance.” Thomas entered the room, friendly and helpful. She was certainly fortunate in her selection of help.
“Yes, if you will assist me, I would like to make use of the chamber pot. I believe I will have no problem walking, but I’m not sure where it is in this room, and since I’ve been weakened by a loss of blood, I prefer to not look for it myself and end up on the floor.”
“The house has indoor facilities, sir, but since it is located at the other end of the corridor, perhaps it would be better to make use of the chamber pot until you recover from your weakened state.”
Elliot nodded, eased off the bed, and stood, grabbing Thomas’s arm as he swayed, dizziness assailing him. He took a deep breath and smiled in the young man’s direction. “Yes, I agree. I do feel a bit drained, but I think I am all right now. Lead on.”
After taking care of his business, he had Thomas send for water and shaving equipment, which the young man assured him was quite available, since Mr. Pennyworth’s things were still packed away in a box and easily accessible.
A wash, a shave, and a clean nightshirt—apparently Mr. Pennyworth had been almost the same size as him—left him feeling immensely better. But there was no doubt he was beginning to suffer a fever. Once Thomas left the room, Elliot made his way back to the bed, chills racking his body.
“Are you up to some breakfast?” Charlotte entered the room, bringing radiant sunshine with her. What would it be like to have her happy countenance in his life every morning? He shook off the troubling thought, but somewhere deep inside he had begun to think seriously of a future with her. Or perhaps it was merely the encroaching fever scrambling his thoughts.
“Dr. Sanford recommended beef broth to strengthen you. Cook has some ready if you feel well enough.”
“Yes. I believe I do.” He closed his eyes as Charlotte left the room, and the walls began to spin.
He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke, he was covered in several blankets but continued to shake and shiver. A bowl of brown liquid sat on the table alongside him, and Charlotte rested in a chair near him, reading a book.
“How long have I been asleep?” Once again, his voice sounded raspy and dry.
She looked up and closed the book, giving him a warm smil
e. “About two hours. I brought the broth, but it’s cold by now. Should I send for some hot broth?”
“Please do, if you don’t mind. I’m terribly cold.” Cold didn’t begin to cover it. It was as if someone had dumped him into a freezing lake.
Charlotte laid her book aside and stood. “I will get Thomas to stoke the fire.” She leaned over him and rested her palm on his forehead. “You are growing warmer.” She lowered the blanket to his waist.
When the devil had his clothes been removed? Ladies were not supposed to be in a bedroom with a man to begin with, let alone with one half-dressed. Even with a fever and a painful injury, he still had a hard time controlling the urge to pull her down on top of him and feel the weight of her curves against his body.
As if she read where his thoughts had wandered, she flushed. “Thomas and I removed your nightshirt while you slept, so we could check your injury. We decided it was best to leave it off, since I will have to change the bandage, as well. Can you roll to your side?”
Slowly, he turned until his wounded arm faced her. “There is a bit of bleeding through the bandage, so it’ll have to be changed. But first I will get you some warm broth.” She pulled the blankets back up, tucking them in gently, then scooped up the bowl of broth to return it to the kitchen.
After studying her swaying backside as she made her way to the door, he closed his eyes and tried to push that wayward image from his mind. However, waking up twice to her face first thing had begun to strengthen the ideas he’d had regarding Charlotte as his wife.
To move his mind in a different direction, he forced himself to consider the investigation, and lack of progress. He deliberated on his injury that should have resulted in his death. He went over everything he had learned from the beginning, frustrated with facts that did not come together, like a puzzle with critical pieces missing.
“Here is some nice hot broth.” The woman he was trying to block from his mind returned to the room, once more challenging him to deny what he tried so desperately to ignore.
Like a smack over his head, he realized, despite his mistrustful heart, he was falling in love with Mrs. Pennyworth.
…
Charlotte set the bowl of broth on the table and placed a basket of cloths and a jar of healing cream on the floor. She glanced at Elliot and was pleased with what she saw. His eyes were glassy, but the shivering had stopped.
Carefully, she removed the bandage Dr. Sanford had wrapped his arm in the day before. The wound looked clean, so an infection was not worrisome. “It doesn’t look bad, clean, even.” She poked at the stitches gently with her finger. Elliot winced.
No puss, only a slight amount of clean-flowing blood. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t an infection festering underneath.”
She glanced at him, and her heart shuddered. This was very dangerous territory. Elliot lay in bed, staring up at her, with half-lidded eyes. Nothing covered his upper body, leaving her to appreciate his golden skin, muscular chest, and dark curly hair tapering down, then disappearing under the sheet. She sat alongside him, her hip touching his waist, the warmth from his fevered body raising her temperature, as well. Were fevers contagious?
“I am going to dab healing cream on your stitches, then cover it with a clean bandage. I’m thinking after you’ve had the broth, a little bit of laudanum might help you sleep.”
With his good arm, he raised his hand to slide his fingers in a lazy stroke down her cheek. “If you lie down beside me, that would help me sleep even better.” His voice was deep with passion, confirming he was not joking. When had their relationship changed from employer and employee to potential lovers?
Lovers?
Almost since she’d first met Elliot, she’d been forced to confront the attraction between them. The few kisses they’d shared had only added to the passion that sizzled like a living thing when they were together. She could engage in an affair, providing the proper protections were taken. She did not want a husband, but less than that, she did not want a bastard child.
A child. Now that would be the only reason she would consider marrying again. She had hoped to be a mother by now, but that was not meant to be. She’d been numb for most of her mourning period, pushing thoughts of motherhood firmly from her mind.
But now she wondered if she was prepared to give up the idea of motherhood completely. Perhaps it would be possible to marry again, but hold her heart close. Something told her that would not be possible with Elliot. He had already appropriated a small part of her heart, and an ever-increasing part of her existence.
She finished wrapping his arm. “Let me help you sit up, so you can drink the broth.”
With some shifting and maneuvering, and Charlotte trying her best not to touch his warm, sinewy, tempting flesh, they managed to get Elliot leaning up against the headboard, with a pillow behind his head.
“No.” He stopped her from spooning the liquid into his mouth. “I am a man grown, and in possession of at least one good arm to feed myself.”
“Very well.” She took her seat and picked up her book, but watched every bit of food that entered his mouth. How could a man get shot, go through having the bullet removed, and the hole stitched up, and still look good enough to keep her lady parts humming?
Elliot leaned over, flinching as he did, to place the bowl on the table. “Do you have that laudanum handy?”
“Yes.” Charlotte withdrew the small dark-brown bottle from her pocket.
“Make it half of what the doctor prescribed. I don’t like relying on that stuff, but my arm is burning like I’ve finally arrived at my final reward.” This time she held the spoon to his lips, daring him by her raised eyebrows to mention once more that he was a man grown, and able to administer to himself. She certainly knew he was a man, for a fact. But she’d noticed his hand shaking as he took the last of the broth.
“Why don’t you scoot down, and I’ll fix your pillow so you can sleep?”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you crawl in beside me, and I can use you for a pillow. Then I will sleep just fine.”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “Mr. Baker, you seem to forget you are my patient, and employee.” She tried her best to smother her smile, without success. She raised her chin in the air. “You must behave yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because. Well, just because.” To say she was flustered by his comments was an understatement. Yes, they’d shared a few kisses and perhaps a bit of inappropriate touching, but he’d never bantered with her like this. Is that what happened when a man was flat on his back and a woman hovered over him?
“I think your fever is rising, and you are speaking nonsense.” She sniffed and fussed with his blankets, tucking them in.
Elliot grabbed her hand, having a great deal of strength in his grip for a man recovering from a gunshot wound. He offered her a crooked smile as he ran his thumb over the skin on her inner wrist. “Kiss me good night?”
Whatever was wrong with the man? Maybe the gunshot had rattled his brains. “It is not nighttime, Mr. Baker. It is mid-afternoon, and you need your sleep. Not kisses.”
“Ah, so untrue, my dear Mrs. Pennyworth. One always needs kisses.” He continued to slide his finger over her skin, causing goose flesh to rise on her arms. “Are you afraid?”
“No. I am not afraid. I am trying to make you comfortable, so you can sleep. Dr. Sanford said sleep was the best cure-all for any type of injury or illness.” She tugged her hand free and backed away. “I will bring these things to the kitchen, and send Thomas in to put your nightshirt back on. I will check on you in a little while.”
“Coward.” That was the last thing she heard as she closed the door and fled down the stairs.
Charlotte awoke with a start. There had been a noise. She was sure of it. Her heart began to pound, and she sat up, turning up the wick on the oil lamp next to her bed. Licking her dry lips, she climbed out of bed and put on her dressing gown over her very proper nightgown.
/>
There it was, the noise again. She struck a match and lit the lantern she kept by her bedroom door. She picked it up, opened the door, raised the light, and looked up and down the corridor. Nothing.
That was when she heard the moaning.
Elliot!
She peeked in his room. In the shadowed darkness, she could barely make out his form. She moved closer, the circle of light from the lantern illuminating him. The blankets had twisted around his legs, and he thrashed around. If she didn’t stop him, he would pull out his stitches.
Placing the lantern on the floor next to his bed, she sat alongside him. “Elliot.” His face was hot and dry. The fever had risen. Reluctant to drag Thomas from his bed, and with her already awake, she moved to the dresser where a bowl of water and a stack of clean cloths had been left.
She carefully made her way across the room, then laid the bowl on the floor. “Shh. You must stop thrashing about. You’ll pull your stitches out.” She rested her hands on his chest, which seemed to calm him. Encouraged, she unbuttoned the front of his nightshirt, dipped the cloth in the water and ran it over his face, then down to his neck, then over his rib cage.
“Charlotte?” Even in his delirium, he remembered where he was.
“Yes. Lie still. You’re burning up. I’m trying to cool you off.” She continued with her ministrations, wiping, dipping the cloth in the cool water, wiping some more.
He settled a bit, then opened his eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“’Tis no matter. How does your arm feel?”
“As if I slammed it into the wall, then set it on fire.” Even with his pain, he managed to offer her a smile. “Of course, having such a pretty nurse makes it all bearable.”
“Once I finish wiping you down, I can give you more of the laudanum. You haven’t had much of it.” She watched her hand holding the cloth as it smoothed over his golden skin. With the darkness right outside the circle of light from the lantern, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 17
