“Last night?” He sounded like a blasted echo, repeating everything she said, but his own thoughts remained too scattered for him to trust them. “Where are we?”
Phoebe walked away from the bed, and he was tempted to shout after her. Just the very idea of raising his voice sent another throb of pain through him. He forced his eyes to remain open and looked to see where she had vanished to.
He was in a small bedchamber. The furniture was simple, but fitting for a room with stone walls and floors. Open rafters above had no sign of dust or birds, and he could see the crisscross pattern of the boards that supported the roof. A pair of windows, one in the wall on either side of the bed, were hidden behind thick drapes. Even so, a hint of starlight peered through, and he knew it must be approaching midnight.
At the clatter of glass, he turned his head the other way to see Phoebe had crossed the room to a table where a tray was waiting. She was pouring something into a glass, which she carried back to where he was lying.
“This is Thistlewood Cottage,” she said, handing him the glass.
Galen took a careful sip. Wine. It was just what he needed to rid himself of the disgusting flavor left in his mouth by … By what? He could not recall what had happened before he woke up here.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
He lifted his gaze from the wine to her. By Jove, he had let himself forget how beautiful she was. He had been concentrating so much on keeping her out of harm’s way that he had closed his eyes to how hers twinkled or how the color in her cheeks seemed to be brushed on by a mere zephyr.
“Should I be hungry?”
“You have not eaten since last night at the inn in Ledge-under-Water.” She smiled. “The doctor gave you some powders in wine while he tended to stitching the wound in your side. You slept all the day.”
He looked at his glass. “Does this glass have powders stirred into it?”
“Do you need something to ease your pain?”
“I would rather have the answers to some questions.”
She nodded, and he noticed her hand trembled as she lifted her own glass to take a sip. He wanted to take her fingers and offer her some silent comfort. When he started to shift to reach for it, pain lashed him. He groaned out a question.
“Tate and I managed to get you back into the carriage,” Phoebe replied, “and we drove here at top speed.”
“I owe you an apology, I fear.”
She waved aside his words. “You did nothing wrong. All your actions, even your unfortunate choice of a name for me, were aimed at protecting me. For that, I cannot fault you.”
“If I had had any idea that Miss Jane Tate was such a lusty wench, creating all sorts of trouble, I believe I would have selected another name.” He took another sip of the pungent wine. Its heat seemed to add strength to his wobbly limbs.
“I believe you would have.” She laughed and sat on the chair by the bed. Her expression grew somber. “However, I must assume that the hullabaloo you created at the inn when you and Tate raced off to my rescue gained much attention.”
“Yes, I am afraid so. To own the truth, Phoebe, I was not thinking of protecting your secret when I feared for your very life.”
She patted his hand. “I know.”
His fingers captured hers, not letting her draw them away. “You should know that if that cur had hurt you, I would have seen him dead.”
“That would have created even more of an unforgettable scene.”
Galen stared at her in disbelief, for he had not expected her to respond with a hint of humor in her voice. “By Jove, Phoebe, you make it difficult for a man to play your hero.”
“I do not want a hero.” Coming to her feet, she pulled her hand out of his. “I want to return to the work that I have pledged to do. I want to know if my household is unharmed. I want to learn if Jasper was able to escape from those chasing us.”
“Your household is unsettled, but fine. Your man is recovering at your country house.”
Phoebe whirled to face Galen. “How do you know this?”
“Alfred gave me the note you had written to your household.”
“But he promised it would be delivered.”
“I delivered it. To the flames, so it would not betray you.”
“You should not have done that. I needed to warn my household—”
“They were warned. I told Alfred to make inquiries as soon as he reached London, but to leave no sign of why,” he said quietly. “He sent word to me, which arrived at the inn last night just after you retired.”
“And you did not tell me?”
“When would I have had time? When I was teaching your erstwhile admirer a lesson in good manners?”
She rubbed her hands together uneasily. “I am sorry. This has been so distressing.”
He frowned. As his gaze settled on her soft lips, he saw two crystalline tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. Berating himself for thinking of her inviting mouth when she had been treated so cruelly, he could not keep from imagining the pleasure to be found in arousing the desires she kept so tightly restrained. He imagined as well that doing so would reward him with a slapped face.
“I did not want to have you fly off into a pelter when you learned that your message had not been delivered.”
“Flying off into a pelter is not something that I do.” She grasped the back of the chair, and he noticed she was not wearing the silver bracelet she had worn since she had entered his carriage near the Pool. “By all that’s blue, Galen, I have been able to rescue nearly tenscore people from being banished from England, but you think me incapable of common sense.”
“Common sense? I believe you have an abundance of that, but, Phoebe, for someone who is defying the law and has been labeled a traitor, you have too much trust. If anyone—anyone at all—had chanced to find a note from you in your house on Grosvenor Square, then this sojourn to Thistlewood Cottage would have been for naught.”
“As long as they are forewarned, I guess you have done no damage.”
“It was not my intention to cause me damage in your eyes. I had wanted only to help.” He took her left hand. “Where is your bracelet, Phoebe?”
“It was left behind, along with my bonnet, at the inn.”
“I can send a messenger to—”
“No need. I doubt if it is still there.” She rubbed her hands together. “If I had known that you had sent a message to my house, I would not have made the arrangements I did for tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” He pushed himself up to sit, then feared he would be sick in front of her. He pressed his hand to his stomach and groaned again. If there was any spot where he did not hurt, he had not found it yet.
“Yes. Vogel told me—”
“Vogel?”
“The butler here.”
“There is a butler here?” He frowned as he looked around the simple room again as she walked to the door and back. “I thought you said we were at Thistlewood Cottage. Where are we really?”
“We are at Thistlewood Cottage.” She stopped pacing and faced him.
“Really?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Lying to my only ally would be foolish, especially when it is something of such insignificance.”
“A butler does not fit with my image of a cottage.”
Putting her hand on the post at the foot of the bed, she laughed wearily. “Nothing about this place fits with my image of a cottage. We are on the edge of the city of Bath, not in some pastoral setting. This house must have been built when Good King Hal was a boy, and it has wings wandering in every direction as well as a full staff.”
“A full staff?” He swore under his breath.
When color rose up her face, she turned away to go to one of the windows. She drew back the drapes, letting moonlight flow onto the floor.
“Forgive me,” he said, “for speaking so.”
“I have heard much worse.”
“I am sure you have, but you should not expect t
o hear it from me.” He sighed, then downed the rest of the wine in his glass. “It is not easy to be inconspicuous when we are staying at a grand house in Bath instead of the small cottage I had anticipated.”
“I have often found that the best way to hide something is to keep it right in plain sight.”
“That makes no sense. Are you sure you are not the one who got a facer?”
She laughed. “My head is quite thick, or so I have been told on numerous occasions. It can tolerate quite a bit.” Again she grew serious as she added, “I hope yours can endure a lot as well, because we are having a gathering here tomorrow night.”
“You must have taken more than a knock in your head. Tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Just a few friends who will be arriving to play cards and share some conversation.” She raised her hands as he opened his mouth to retort. “Hear me out, Galen. As I said, it is often easiest to hide something in plain sight. If suspicion has chased us from London, we must counter it. No one with any common sense would host a gathering the day after traveling from London to Bath. They would rest up a bit first.”
“Anyone with common sense would.”
“So, my idea is that if we host a gathering tomorrow night, we can speak of how we have relaxed in the gardens here while we recovered from our trip from London.”
He continued to frown. “That may be so, but what reason do you give for you and me traveling alone from Town to this so-called cottage?”
“Why, I was only doing as a lady should when I encountered you on the Bath road after your carriage broke down.” She smiled. “As Alfred had to limp back to London in your carriage, it will give countenance to the whole story.”
“You are devious,” he said, his grin returning.
“Only if you think you can stand by my side tomorrow evening to welcome the guests I have invited.”
Galen sagged back into the pillows as he tried to give no mind to the ache scoring his forehead. “How many?”
“About twenty.” She refilled his glass. “You mentioned the names of some friends while we were riding here. I sent them invitations as well as an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle, who are friends of mine.”
“It seems you have this all set.”
Putting the bottle of wine back on the table, she said, “Only if you think you can do this.”
“How can I say no?”
“No is not difficult to say.”
He took her hand and held it beneath his on the covers. When she would have drawn it back, he curled his fingers around hers. “It is difficult for you to say.”
“I told that beast in the smithy no very easily.”
“And you have told me no, as well.” He stroked her soft skin. When she quivered at the chaste sensation, he thought of how delightfully she had trembled when he kissed her. A craving that eclipsed even the pain in his side surged through him. “But, my dear, you cannot say no to those you believe are in need.”
“Not now.”
He pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed. She cried out in dismay, but he kept her eyes even with his as he asked, “Does that mean you do not want to continue this work that endangers you?”
“Of course not.”
“Odd, for it sounds as if you just did.” Putting the glass on the chair by the bed, he met her gaze evenly.
“I have my obligations, Galen.” Her chin rose as she offered him her coolest smile. It was wasted because he could see the pain in her eyes.
His other hand brushed her cheek, and he winced when he stretched the wound in his side. The cur’s knife had only grazed him, but the pain suggested that the blade had sliced far into him. Swallowing that groan, he said, “Lady Midnight’s obligations?”
All color vanished from her face. “Did Mr. Dorrance say anything more about those tales?”
“Not enough to tell me if they truly could be connected with you.”
“You believe it is a coincidence?”
“I would like to believe that.”
She sighed. “I don’t believe that it is just a coincidence either. That is why I am asking you to risk your recovery with this gathering tomorrow evening.”
“If you will make it a conversazione, it will be easier for me. I can sit and complain about the injury I received yesterday when my horse dumped me as I was trying to take a fence. That will explain my sore ribs, although I will endure ribbing at my inability to keep my seat.”
“Good.”
“You realize what a blow this will be to my pride as a horseman, don’t you?”
“No.” Phoebe faltered, then said, “I really know very little about you.”
He regarded her with amazement. “That is true. We have not had much time for chitchat. I know little about you other than what on dits says and what takes you to the Pool.”
“I can say much the same of you.”
“Mayhap because there is little else to say.”
She laughed. “Come now, Galen. Surely you are not unaware of what is said about the dashing Lord Townsend who sweeps young misses off their feet and endangers their reputations.”
“I do not feel the least bit dashing at the moment.”
“Are you in great pain?” she asked, her smile vanishing.
He put his hand over his side. “I have been better, but you need not fret about me because of this injury. To own the truth, I have hurt myself far worse through my own unthinking behavior.” His eyes twinkled with the merriment that warned her that he was not exaggerating. “And ’tis far better to be wounded in the gallantry of protecting a fair lady from a blackguard than in trying to sneak out of the nursery and falling out of a tree when my nightshirt was caught on a limb.”
Phoebe laughed. She could not halt herself. The image of the customarily elegant Galen Townsend hanging from a tree branch by his nightshirt was wildly amusing. Wiping tears from her eyes, she met his gaze. Her breath snagged in her throat as she saw the naughty child he had been mirrored in his sparkling eyes. He was a man who delighted in a challenge and believed he could do anything he set his mind on. Even rescuing her from her own misstep on the docks.
He did not speak nor did he touch her, but she leaned toward him, wanting to be so close to him that she could savor his breath on her face and hear his heartbeat, which was so much steadier than hers. Slowly her fingers rose to stroke his cheek that was a strange shade beneath his tan.
“I should not,” she whispered, drawing back her hand.
“Because we are alone here on my bed?” he asked as softly.
“No, because I might hurt you worse.”
“These fingers could not hurt me.” He tilted his head and kissed her fingertips, one by one. His own hand brought her lips closer to his. “And a kiss would certainly make me feel better.”
A knock came at the door. Phoebe jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over the chair. She gripped it to keep it from falling to the floor.
“I have never seen a guiltier face,” Galen said with a chuckle.
Giving him an uneven smile, she went to the door. She opened it and let in a tall man.
She slipped out into the corridor as she heard Galen greet the man with “Roland, what in the blazes are you doing here?” A pause, then, “Phoebe, wait!”
Phoebe did not answer. Walking along the passage, she let her shoulders ease from their straight line. Roland had welcomed her on her arrival and introduced himself as “Lord Townsend’s man.” When Tate had brought the carriage from Townsend Hall, Roland had insisted on traveling to Thistlewood Cottage as well.
She would leave Galen’s valet to serve him while she tried to regain her composure. She should not have been in Galen’s room alone. Where was every iota of propriety that she once had taken such pride in? She was becoming as indifferent to the canons of Society as one of the high-skirts by the Pool.
Coming down the trio of steps to the next lower level of the house, which went up and down along the hill overlooking the river that split Bath in half, she d
id not look back. The walls here were constructed of stone, but old tapestries and portraits that were nearly as ancient added a graciousness to the rooms with the deep-set windows and bare rafters. She walked through the room to the terrace beyond the open doors.
The city of Bath was set between the hills below. She rested her hands on the iron railing and admired it. She had not been to Bath since she was a young girl, although her friend Mrs. Lyttle had asked her to pay a call often in the past five years.
The curve of the Crescent and the maze of the streets were marked by lamplight that reflected back the starlight overhead. A gentle breeze sifted through the branches nearby. Hearing the rattle of a wagon, she sighed. These sights and sounds had been so familiar both on Grosvenor Square and, oddly, by the Pool when she had made her way there in the depths of the night.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she smiled up at the sky. She loved this time of year and this time of night. Everything was so alive and yet so quiet.
“You look happy.”
She whirled. “Galen, what are you doing here? You should be resting.”
Taking cautious steps out onto the terrace, he walked to the railing. “I wanted to assure myself that you were all right.”
“Me? I was barely hurt.” She pulled up a chair for him. Sitting on a stone bench facing him, she added, “Galen Townsend, you are want-witted to leave your bed.”
“Mayhap, but I wish to be sure that you are fine. I was not sure if it was just Roland’s arrival that might have found you in a most indelicate position with me, or if something else was bothering you.” He held out his hand.
She took it and smiled. “I will be fine when I return to Town and what I should be doing.”
“You are going to be troublesome, I fear.”
“Troublesome?”
“I thought you understood that you must remain here until the furor is over.” He paused, then added, “Even after I go back to London.”
“When you go, I shall as well.”
“No.”
“But, Galen—”
“I will be returning to London the day after tomorrow.”
Phoebe stood. “Are you out of your mind? You were stabbed. You need to heal.”
His Lady Midnight Page 9
