A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  Couples began to whirl about them.

  “I shall guide you.” He placed a hand at her waist.

  She gasped at the intimate hold. “That cannot be right.”

  “You doubt me, Rose?” His smile was openly flirtatious and did nothing to gain her trust.

  A check on others showed that this was indeed how this dance was conducted. Dancing it in the privacy of her breakfast parlor was vastly different than performing it in public. No wonder it had been termed wicked.

  “Follow my steps.” He guided her about the room.

  Rose stumbled and stepped on his toes. “Sorry.”

  There was a burst of laughter nearby. A couple sent them smiling glances and whirled by. Rose was ready to quit the field, but Phillip’s grip tightened.

  “Do not leave me,” he breathed in her ear.

  She gave him a startled glance, but did as he bid. Those whispered words seemed to come from deep in his soul. Lost in what else he could have meant by that, she stopped being aware of her mistakes. The lilting music and his softly voiced instructions lulled her into following his lead.

  The candlelight blazed in the background. Other dancers and avid watchers blurred until only she and Phillip existed in a dance that moved slower than time. The music soared and faded, and far too soon, the dance was over. People crowded close, clapping and congratulating her on her first waltz.

  Phillip thanked everyone.

  Mrs. Rochester and Miss Warwick were on the sidelines, and neither seemed pleased at her success. They whispered to the young women in their group.

  Rose pointed them out to Phillip.

  His expression turned stony and he guided her toward their hostess. “Mrs. Lockhart, Lady Roselyn is feeling unwell and wishes to return home.”

  “Oh dear,” the lady said. “These balls can be wearying on the nerves. I hope you enjoyed some part of the festivities, my dear. You were a swan on the dance floor just now.”

  “I did indeed, Mrs. Lockhart,” Rose said. “Thank you.”

  “Since we do not wish to end Mrs. Rochester’s and Miss Warwick’s enjoyment,” Phillip said, “would you be able to supply a maid to act as chaperone for Lady Roselyn?”

  Mrs. Lockhart, though all sympathy, was concerned about finding someone to release. “It is such a crush tonight, but I shall see what can be arranged.”

  Phillip led Rose down the stairs to the entryway in silence. This abrupt end of the evening brought a pall to her mood. The excitement of being swirled about the ballroom in his arms had given her a hint of his expertise, and it was a shame she would have to skip the rest of his seduction arsenal. “I am sorry to ruin your evening, Phillip.”

  “There will be other evenings, Rose.” He squeezed her hand as if that were a pledge. At the entryway, he gestured to the butler to attend her. “A maid should be along shortly to accompany Lady Roselyn home. Make sure that this lady is not left alone while I see to her carriage.”

  “I can send someone to fetch it, sir.”

  “Not necessary. I must speak to someone outside. Rose, I shall be right back. Will you be all right, Rose?”

  “Yes, go. I shall be fine in this gentleman’s care.”

  Phillip nodded and headed out the door.

  The butler fetched her cape.

  Despite the heavy cloth covering her shoulders, Rose felt cold and bereft without Phillip. It would only be for a few moments more, she consoled herself. He would be back soon.

  It would be worse when he left her for the night. Daniel was right. She was inordinately attached to a man she was supposed to hate. Except, she did not hate Phillip. A sigh of surrender slipped out. She loved him. She had never stopped loving him.

  When he remained absent, worries set in. What if Mrs. Rochester or Miss Warwick came by and insisted on unveiling her?

  Rose was on the verge of running out the door after Phillip when a footman approached them. “Mr. Jackson. My lady.”

  “What is it?” the butler said.

  “There was a theft in the kitchen, sir. The cook asks that you come right away.”

  “I shall be there shortly.”

  “The cook said it was urgent, sir.”

  “The footman can stay with me while you see to the trouble,” Rose said.

  “If you are sure, my lady?”

  She nodded and glanced at the front door. Where was Phillip? She had half a mind to go in search of him.

  The butler gave the footman strict instructions not to leave her side, and then he hurried off.

  Rose turned from her fixed stare at the closed door to the young man at her side. “What was stolen?”

  The footman slumped beside her onto the marble floor. Before she could cry out, something sharp struck her head. Pain streaked across the back of her skull and her knees gave way. Arms caught her and dragged her backward.

  PHILLIP SPRINTED along the long driveway in search of Ben. He wanted to tell the lad that his services would no longer be necessary, and that he could go home.

  Not finding him by the line of carriages, he debated returning to the house. He chafed at being away from Rose too long. Where could Ben be? He questioned a few grooms, but all denied seeing anyone who fit Ben’s description. So he gave up. It would be a nuisance, but he would have to return for Ben after he dropped Rose off.

  His coachman had maneuvered Phillip’s carriage to the front of the circular drive. Phillip sprinted inside the house. The empty entryway made his neck hair stand on end. “Rose?”

  Chatter and laughter from the lively party filtered down. He heard the scraping of a chair nearby. The sound came from a room to the left. He tried to open the door, but it stuck. Something must have been jammed against it on the other side, resisting his push. Pulse pounding, he put his weight behind it.

  Light from the entryway outlined the legs of a liveried servant sprawled on the floor. Farther in, a masked woman held French doors open while a stout man carried a body toward her. Rose? “Get away from her!”

  The woman turned, a dagger raised, bringing back memories of that dreadful night in Wapping when he had discovered Mrs. Beaumont’s lifeless body. In the darkness, this time she was no more than a black silhouette. Terror for Rose’s life made Phillip charge in. The man dropped his burden and grappled with Phillip, toppling them both, and they rolled on the ground. He pinned the large scoundrel to the ground and held him in place.

  The female with the dagger vanished through the open doorway. Pulling a shawl left on a nearby chair, Phillip bound his captive and ran to the woman lying so still on the floor. It was Rose!

  He brushed her forehead. It was damp. Could that be blood? His heart skidded in terror. “Rose, can you hear me?”

  She groaned.

  Alive, thank God. He picked her up and carried her into the entryway. He opened one of her eyelids and under the light of candlelit entry, her eye rolled upward. Bad sign.

  The butler hurried toward him. “Sir Phillip, what has happened?”

  “You were supposed to watch her!”

  “There was an altercation in the kitchen, sir. My footman was to stay with her.”

  “Then he would be the one in that room, unconscious I hope and not dead. Do not approach. There might be a woman with a dagger in the vicinity. And another man, bound. Get help.”

  The butler ran to do as ordered. He returned with several sturdy men and they cautiously approached the room.

  Phillip ordered the servants crowding the entryway to watch over Rose, and followed the butler to the side chamber.

  The fallen footman groaned, but the man Phillip captured and the woman were gone, likely through the French doors that were swung wide open. If Ben had circled around the house, he might have seen them leaving. Hopefully, he was wise enough to stay away from that dea
dly pair. But there was no time to worry about Ben now.

  He returned with the butler to the settee where Rose was lying. “I cannot wait any longer for the maid. The lady’s wound needs attention. Call the constabulary and have the grounds and the house searched. The woman who attacked this lady wore a mask, which suggests she might have been a guest.”

  “Yes, sir,” the butler said. “I shall inform Mrs. Lockhart of what has taken place.”

  Phillip nodded, picked Rose up, and sped out the front doors. He had to take her someplace where her attackers would not expect to find her while he tended to her wounds.

  As the carriage clattered away into the night, he sat back and cradled Rose, his thoughts swinging between Rose and Ben. Where could the lad be? Was he lying unconscious in the bushes somewhere? If the pair who attacked Rose knew Ben had been watching the house, they might have assaulted him too.

  Still, Phillip could do nothing about the lad until he saw to Rose’s safety. But once he had Rose cared for, he intended to go back to look for his young friend.

  Chapter Nine

  THE GENTLE SHAKE of the carriage and the horses jingling their leather traces brought Rose awake. Her head ached abominably. The only good feeling was the warmth emanating from the body she rested against. She caught Phillip’s scent of violets and wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You are awake.” He kissed her forehead. “We go someplace safe.”

  Resting against Phillip, she gazed out the carriage window at the passing scenery. A lamp post highlighted the street, and then darkness descended until they passed the next lamp post.

  Inside, both her golden neck ornament and Phillip’s breastplate had been carelessly tossed onto the opposite seat. No wonder his warmth came through so strong. There was only his linen shirt separating them. She should sit back, but it felt too good to be held close.

  Her head pounded and a tentative probe with her fingers told her a cloth had been wrapped around her head.

  “We will clean that wound properly once we reach our destination,” Phillip said, lowering her hand.

  She wriggled free of his hold to play with a seam on his shirt. “I never wanted you to leave. I hoped you would come back. But you never did.”

  “I am sorry I was delayed, Rose. I was searching for a friend, Ben Turner. He should have been outside the Lockharts, watching the house. I do not know what could have happened to him.”

  She had not been referring to this evening, but the news that Phillip had been searching for Ben made her shiver. What if he had run across Daniel loitering outside? He might have suspected the shifter of being there to harm her. And where was Daniel? Why had he not come to her rescue?

  “In any case, I shall not leave you again, Rose,” Phillip said.

  “Another promise,” she murmured. “You make them so easily.”

  “Anything you want of me, I will give you.”

  Rose had told Eve that on the night she died. That if she asked Phillip to help her sister, he would do so. Her faith in him had been unshakable back then. Yet, Phillip had not considered her wishes when he went after Eve. “I wanted you to leave my sister be.”

  His hand that had been absently rubbing her arm stilled.

  She waited for him to push her aside and declare that her sister had been a traitor.

  After a long silence, he gave a loud sigh and began to stroke her again. “I wish I had.”

  She sat up, and had to wait for her head to stop spinning, before she could speak succinctly. “Do you mean that, Phillip? Truly?”

  “If I had it to do over, I would let her go. For you.”

  They passed another lamp post and it flashed across his face. His eyes were entrenched with pain more than resolve before darkness hid his secrets. But she had seen enough. If he had let her sister go, it would have killed his spirit. Phillip lived to see justice done. To protect England.

  “Phillip, why is justice so important to you?”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “What does it matter?”

  She wanted him to speak to her as honestly as he had with Ben the other night when he revealed he had seen a woman who looked like her running from that warehouse. “Please tell me.”

  “I suppose it all began the day my cousin Rufus took the blame for something I did.”

  As he spilled the story of the snuffbox, Rose listened, hearing behind his words his devastation that someone else had paid a dire price for something he had done. At the end, she realized that making the guilty party pay for their crime was Phillip’s way of ensuring justice was never again perverted. It was a journey that would never end for him, because his uncle was dead, and Phillip could never take back the pain his cousin had suffered on Phillip’s behalf.

  Telling him that his cousin’s decision to falsely confess to his father had been his choice to make or that his uncle choosing to disbelieve Phillip’s confession to that petty crime was not Phillip’s fault, would all be a waste of breath. Phillip’s character had firmed around his past beliefs and there would be no changing him.

  Yet, in order to pacify Rose, he now seemed ready to betray all he believed in. And because he had refused to let Eve go in the past, she had denied them both the satisfaction of loving each other and relegated them to years of hell. Three years alone was enough. She could not face another night in an empty house.

  “I do not wish to go home, Phillip.” She closed her eyes and laid her aching head on his shoulder. The constant pain was making her woozy.

  His held her tight. “I am not taking you home, Rose. With no one to guard you there, it would be unsafe. It was foolish of you to have discharged all your servants.”

  “I have Hannah.”

  “Does she stay the night?”

  “No.”

  “As I surmised. I am taking you to my mother’s townhouse.”

  “Is that any different? Your mother, too, has closed her home.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Of course. Ben knew that information, but she should not. “Hannah said something to that effect. She had heard of your cousin’s upcoming wedding, and that your mother stays with him to assist with the preparations.”

  “Young Hannah would make a good spy. Yes, my mother’s house is closed, which is why no one will expect to find you there. I had thought to take you to Rufus’s residence, but if you can be attacked in a ball, then his home is unlikely to be any safer. It is best if no one knows your whereabouts. At least until I solve this case. I might be getting close to the answer. I have recently uncovered a new avenue I wish to explore.”

  “What avenue?” He had only spoken to Ben about seducing her, no other possibilities.

  “I need to think it through before I can speak of what I suspect. It is too unbelievable a concept yet for public discourse. And you will not be alone tonight, Rose. I intend to stay to ensure no harm comes to you.” He was silent a moment and then asked, “Rose, did you see who attacked you?”

  “No, but I smelled a scent. Jasmine.” She huddled into Phillip. “My head pains just thinking of that scent.”

  “We will talk of this later. We are almost at my mother’s home. You will feel better once I have had a chance to properly tend you head wound.”

  She lay still listening to his steady heartbeat drum against the rapid tattoo of hers. He planned to stay with her, alone in his mother’s house. Earlier today, he had told Ben, “Thoughts of seducing the lady are what soothe me to sleep each night.”

  Though Ben had been vehemently opposed to that plan, Rose no longer wished to protest. But what if someone found out? Gossip this juicy spread like wildfire. What would Miss Warwick say when she heard? What would his mother do?

  By the time Phillip led her inside his mother’s home, the bash to the side of her hea
d was bleeding again. Trickles of blood oozed wetly over her earlobe.

  Phillip flung his Roman shield and her gold neckpiece onto the floor. The metal pieces clanged, echoing along the empty corridors, a stark reminder that she and Phillip were alone in this dark house. For the second time in as many days, he barred the front doors, the lock clicking into place with the finality of prison doors being shut.

  She leaned against the wall, missing his supporting arm. Everything was pitch-black. She stared at the emptiness, wondering how this evening could have gone so very wrong, so quickly.

  “I will be back with light. Do not move.” He took a few steps and then rushed back. “Will you be all right, Rose?”

  The second time he asked that question tonight. “Yes.” It was a lie, now as it had been then. Her knees were quivering. She would likely be flat on the floor before he reached the drawing room door.

  She refused to follow him like a lost puppy, as Ben had last night. Odd how her personality altered with her identity. She tore off the itchy wig and then muffled a cry as it tore at dried bits of her bloody hair. That hateful thick wig had probably saved her life, acting as another barrier between whatever her attacker had used to whack her with and her tender scalp. She tentatively sought her bloody bump and pain shot across her forehead. She quickly withdrew her hand.

  The whole top of her head tingled. That thought gave birth to an intriguing idea. Could she readjust her scalp back to what it should be?

  Rose imagined that part of her skull returning to its normal state. Her skin immediately contracted, and beneath it, the harder plates clicked and shifted. Sharp pain shot across her head and her knees collapsed. With a gasp of anguish, she reached out and landed on her palms. She slumped gently onto the floor, resting her hot cheek against the cool marble.

  Blood was draining from the wounded area, thumping like a rapid pulse against the side of her head, then reactivated nerve endings thrummed, but not in pain as much as pleasure. What was misaligned had been righted and her body signaled its approval. Once her head stopped spinning, she sat back on her heels and again probed the wounded area. Her hair was still damp, but there was no longer any jagged edge, no open gash and, most astonishingly, no more pain.