“Nor I, you.” Her eyes appeared glazed as she cupped his jaw with her hands.
“I truly wish to marry you.” His words had slurred slightly, but Anna did not appear to notice.
She coughed again as she threw her arms around him. Lane grunted through ground teeth at the pain. His vision distorted, and he struggled to catch his footing.
Anna quickly pulled back in concern. “Oh, Lane!” Her gaze travelled over his person then stopped at his shoulder, her eyes growing wide. “You have been shot! We must get you home and summon Dr. Claridge directly.” She turned from him and shouted at Charles, who was directing the other men in taking the half-conscious Frenchie and the red-haired man away. It appeared that he also sent two men to search for where Billy had hidden.
Lane’s eyes rolled in his skull, and he briefly wondered why Anna’s voice sounded so far away. He watched the scene through blurred vision that he tried to blink away.
He felt himself waver before everything went black.
Chapter 41
Charles sat at the desk in his study, attempting to concentrate on the letter before him. He had assumed that after the interrogation and trial, his plight would cease to haunt him, but he was sadly mistaken. He had failed to find Billy in the days since the fire at the hunting cabin. He sorely wished that he had shot the man while he’d had the chance. The red-haired man, whose name they had discovered, was Samuel Aspil, and Frenchie had managed to stay alive long enough for questioning. Aspil, however, had died from his dagger wound shortly after the interrogation, and Frenchie, two days following.
He raked his fingers distractedly through his already dishevelled hair. “Damn, but this is tiresome,” he grumbled to himself.
Anna had been confined to her bed, as ordered by Dr. Claridge. Apparently, more damage had been done to her than Charles had originally assumed. According to the doctor, in addition to her cuts and bruises, Anna had inhaled enough of the smoke for it to be a potential danger to her and, quite possibly, the baby. She also suffered from dehydration and malnourishment during the time that she had been in their clutches. The combination had created a rather serious affliction.
Lane had been in and out of consciousness for four days. Dr. Claridge had been there to see the three of them every day.
Despite having agreed upon a truce with Lane, Charles had disagreed with the notion of Lane remaining as a guest in one of their spare bedchambers. Upon returning from Canterbury, however, Anna had insisted that they be hospitable, and, damn it, in her condition, Charles was not inclined to begin an argument. The man was injured, and as much as Charles wished to deny it, it was simpler for the doctor to pay calls on them when they all resided under one roof.
Lane’s words had haunted him since they had recovered Anna. The man was entirely correct in his assertion that Charles had changed into a “damnable bugger” since his return from war roughly seven months ago. He had wished that he would not have to behave in such a way, but… Damn it, he would behave in any manner to keep his loved ones safe.
He raked his hand through his hair once more.
To Charles’ everlasting annoyance, Bridget had seen fit to visit Lane in his unconscious state, and to sit in with Anna to share news, exchange gossip, and discuss the newest books at Hatchard’s. Lane’s other sisters, Emaline and Katherine, and his mother, the Dowager Countess of Devon, had also been by to call. Those, however, did not concern him as much as the company of the statuesque, white-blonde-haired, green-eyed beauty, who posed a danger to herself and her family just by visiting.
A soft knock sounded at his door, and Charles looked up, grateful for the distraction from his wayward thoughts.
“Come.”
The door opened, and Dr. Claridge entered.
They exchanged greetings as the doctor closed the door behind him.
“Please, have a seat.” Charles gestured to the armchair opposite his desk and waited while the man lowered himself into it. “How fares my sister?”
The doctor took a deep breath and placed his large black doctoring bag on the floor beside him. “I believe that she is improving. It will likely be a slow recovery, but she has regained her colour, and her appetite is returning. The baby appears to be fine, but we will only be able to tell as her pregnancy progresses. She continues to cough, but I suspect that it is only temporary and no long-lasting ill effects will come of it. The weight she has lost will likely return with the babe, as well. I strongly suggest that she remain in bed for one more week and maintain a full diet to feed that baby. I shall return and inform you of any changes, should they occur.”
Charles nodded. “I see. I am glad.” He cleared his throat. “And has she made any comment or given any indication that would lead you to believe that her abductors…abused her at all?” His stomach knotted as he awaited an answer.
“No.” He shook his head. “She has not made any allusions to suggest anything of the sort. Nor have I seen any evidence to support your assumption.”
Charles let out the breath he’d been holding. “Very good. Now, I wish to inquire after Lord Devon. How is his condition?” He was rather eager to have the man out of his home.
“Lane’s fever has broken, but at this point in his recovery, the only thing we can do is wait.”
“And what of his regaining consciousness? Now that his fever has broken, should he not—”
Dr. Claridge interrupted him with a shake of his head. “The lack of a fever, while fortunate, does not guarantee that he will awaken.”
Charles inclined his head. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Dr. Claridge.”
“It is my pleasure to be of assistance.” He stood, picking up his doctoring bag and straightening his coat. “Are you well, Major Bradley? You appear fatigued and, dare I say, wan.”
Charles shook his head. “My health is of no concern. I merely require a good night of sleep.”
“It is nearly nine of the clock in the morning, Major; did you not sleep last night?”
He raised a sardonic brow at the doctor, then forced it to clear. “Have no worry for me, doctor. I will sleep.”
“As you wish. But as your physician, however, my recommendation is plenty of rest and full repasts. No skipping meals, Major.”
Charles waved a hand at the man. “Yes, yes. I understand.”
Dr. Claridge gave him a nod and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Charles sat back in his chair as he heard the click of the latch. What the devil am I to do?
* * *
Anna sat up in her bed, enjoying her morning hot chocolate. The last four days had been trying ones, but Anna had begun to feel more the thing. Her coughing fits came less frequently, and they no longer made her become ill.
She did, however, feel constantly concerned over Lane’s wellbeing. She had not been allowed to see or visit with him since Dr. Claridge had confined her to bed. Unbeknownst to them, however, Anna had waited until everyone was asleep before she snuck out of bed and stole into Lane’s bedchamber undetected. She spent several hours with him each night, curled up beside him, shushing him when he became restless.
This morning she had awoken feeling refreshed and pleased. Lane had not felt feverish last night, nor had he shifted agitatedly in the few hours she had spent with him. She had managed to return to her bedchamber before Marie had come to check on her.
Anna took a bite of a lemon teacake, worry still clutching her heart. Would Lane awaken?
A soft knock echoed through her bedchamber, and she looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Bridget strode through.
“Bridget! What a pleasure it is to see you this morning.” Anna smiled up at her.
“Good morning, Annabel.” She placed her gloves and bonnet on a table beside the door, her white-blonde hair catching the sun from Anna’s window. She appeared ethereal in this light—delicate and pale.
“How is he faring?” Anna
questioned, eyeing Bridget intently.
“According to his nurse, the fever broke early in the afternoon yesterday. He should begin his recovery now…as long as he regains consciousness.”
Anna pressed her lips together and twisted her engagement ring around on her finger, nervous anxiety lodging itself within her.
“I must say, Anna, I am very pleased that you are engaged to be married. I confess, I am very much looking forward to having you as a sister.”
Anna grinned sadly. “I am, as well.” As long as Lane awakens. She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “My apologies.”
“Not at all. Would you prefer I leave you to rest?”
“Thank you, but no. I feel I have spent far too much time resting; I would much prefer the company.”
Bridget pulled an armchair to Anna’s bedside and sat. “I am certain Mama and the girls will be inordinately pleased once you announce your engagement to my family. I must warn you, however, that Kat will likely beg you the opportunity to make your wedding gown.”
“My wedding gown?” Anna had known Katherine to enjoy embroidery and materials, but she hadn’t the slightest notion that she enjoyed sewing gowns.
Bridget sighed. “Yes, did you not know? Kat has taken it into her head that she would like to become a modiste. She has been sewing since Mama first taught her to pick up a needle and thread. She has created all of the frocks that she wears, most of mine, Emaline’s, and Mama’s, and, truth be told, several of Lane’s suits of clothing.”
Anna’s eyebrows rose in surprise and fascination. “She does tailoring, as well?”
Her friend nodded. “Indeed she does. I am not certain that Mama approves, but she has yet to scold Kat for it. Though we all know that it cannot go on for much longer, as soon Katherine will wish to marry, and no London gentleman will take a wife with such diversions.” She glanced at her own clasped hands, and Anna wondered if she was still talking about Kat.
She pushed past the moment and allowed her excitement to bubble through. “I would love for Katherine to create my wedding gown! What fun that would be!” She would not have to explain her expanding waistline to a gossipy modiste!
“Truly?”
“Of course. I shall send a letter to her once our engagement is announced, formally requesting it of her.”
“Oh, Anna, Katherine will be so pleased.”
“As will I.” Anna took a sip of her chocolate. “Would you care for some chocolate or tea, Bridget?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I will not stay long. I have a luncheon engagement with a new acquaintance.”
“New acquaintance” meant a new project. Anna admired that about Bridget; she did her utmost to improve upon certain members of society, simply by being their friend. “As you wish.” Anna took another sip of her chocolate. “Tell me, Bridget, how have you been doing?”
Bridget watched her fingers as they fidgeted with the fabric of her gown. “I am well, Anna. Thank you.”
Once again, Bridget hid her true feelings. Anna would have pried, but the moment she did, Bridget would flee. And Anna enjoyed Bridget’s company far too much to jeopardize it.
“I am glad to hear it,” she said instead. “Now, do tell me about the newest books at Hatchard’s. I must begin a list of books to read, as I shall be secreted away to Hertfordshire after the season is through, and I do not wish to be bored.”
They spoke for some time, and had tea. While Anna was grateful for the distraction, she could not help but worry over Lane’s wellbeing.
Chapter 42
Anna watched from her propped position in bed as Marie ushered their footmen out, carrying the empty bathing tub. She wished her maid a good night before lifting her book from her lap and opening it to her bookmarked page.
“Why was she here again?” Charles’ dark form stepped out from the shadow of the hallway.
Anna gasped and suffered a fit of coughing. Her throat honked, and her lungs burned, but finally she regained her wheezy breath. “Good heavens, Charles!”
“Apologies, Anna.” He came to her bedside and rubbed her back in circles, waiting until she had finished. “Are you well?”
She inhaled deeply, sending Charles a wry grin. “Well enough for someone whose brother insists on spooking her.”
His lips twitched before turning down in a frown. “I will ask you again, Annabel. Why was she here?”
“I assume you mean Bridget. She was here to visit Lane, then she came to my bedchamber to keep me company.”
“Lane is not yet conscious; how would he know that she has come if he is not awake to see her? She does not need to come every day, and I would prefer if she didn’t.” Her heart constricted at the reminder of Lane’s condition.
Anna frowned at her elder brother, dear though he might be. “That is uncalled for, Charles. Shame on you.”
He stepped closer, his spine impossibly stiff. “This is much more serious than you could know. She must not come here.”
Charles might not fully approve of her association and pending marriage with Lane, but Anna did not see that as an excuse to be so ill tempered.
“If her presence bothers you, brother, then I would suggest you vacate the house when she arrives. I have invited her to join me here again on the morrow. She is bringing a new book from Hatchard’s that we shall begin reading together.”
Charles groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Listen, Anna, there are only three weeks left in the season, at which time we will return to the estate in Hertfordshire. There, you will be wed. I do not request, I demand that you listen to me on this matter.”
Anna’s good humour dissolved. “You demand it of me? Demand, Charles? Not only are you not my father, and therefore not the head of this household, but you have no just cause to demand any such thing! She is a dear friend; you shall not order me to be otherwise.” She succumbed to a short fit of coughing. Lord but it was irksome!
Charles leaned into rub her back once more, but she batted his hand away. She waited until she had regained her breath before she spoke. “I would appreciate it if you left.” She sent a pointed look at the door. “Good night, brother.”
His jaw tight, Charles sketched a short bow and stiffly left the room.
Anna picked up her book only to gaze sightlessly at its pages. Goodness, but Charles was in a foul mood. Anna wondered once more what had caused such a strain on his and Bridget’s friendship.
* * *
The first thought that entered Lane’s head upon awakening was that he was in overwhelming pain. He carefully brought his right hand up to his forehead, where a damp compress rested. He lifted it off and cracked open his eyelids, but immediately regretted it.
Blazes, the room was bright. Sunlight shone through the opened window. He blinked, staring at the dust motes that danced along the air.
Where the devil am I? The ceiling was most decidedly not his; it was far too elegant and…delicate. He turned his gaze about the room. It was small but well appointed, with bright, cheerful colours and floral patterns.
A soft sigh reached his right ear, and he turned his gaze toward the sound. Anna. She lay curled up at his side, sleeping peacefully. She appeared drawn, but was a beautiful and welcome sight. She had stayed by my side. The realization warmed him immeasurably.
He moved to reach for her but cursed as searing pain shot through his shoulder. He hissed a breath and flattened himself against the mattress. Holy hell, but he felt awful.
“Lane!” she breathed, awakening. “Oh Lane, you’re awake! This is wonderful news.” Despite her exhausted countenance, she beamed at him, her eyes misting over. “How do you feel?”
The sun from the window gave Anna’s head the illusion of a halo, her sleep-tangled hair appearing nearly translucent. He had the urge to kiss her. If he could have moved, he would have. “I hurt,” he croaked. “And I am rather confused. Why am I not in my own bed? What happened?”
Anna straightened he
rself to a seated position on the bed beside him, her legs tucked to one side. “You are in one of the guest bedchambers in my home. You lost consciousness at the hunting cabin and have been sleeping since then. We brought you here to get the attention you required, and the doctor feared the repercussions should we have moved you.”
The hunting cabin… Hell and blazes! “Are you well, Anna?”
She smiled damply. “I am. Just so pleased that you are well.” Tears abruptly spilled over her lashes. “I had begun to fear that you might not awaken.”
Cringing through the pain, Lane reached a hand up to stroke a tear from her cheek and slide a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I am well, Anna,” he murmured. “A mite sore, but I shall recover.”
His wound itched him, but he settled for placing his hand over it. Then a thought arrested him. “Whose night shirt am I wearing?”
Anna grinned, swiping at her reddened eyes. “It is one of Charles’.”
“Hell,” he grumbled. As grateful as he was for the sleeping attire while he was abed, he was markedly uncomfortable borrowing another man’s clothes. He cleared his throat over his discomfiture. “You say that Dr. Claridge has seen to me?”
“Yes.” She nodded her adorably rumpled head. “He has been remarkable.”
The good doctor, it seems, had been rather busy during Lane’s unconsciousness. “How long have I been abed?”
“You have been fading in and out for five days. Your fever broke the day before yesterday.”
“Five days! You’re bamming me.”
She shook her head. “I assure you, I am not.” She put a stray hair behind her ear, and Lane followed the movement with his eyes.
A sparkle caught his gaze, and he watched her put her hand back on her lap. She was wearing her engagement ring! Elation and pride pumped through him as he reached his hand out to clasp hers.
Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1) Page 27
