by Meara Platt
Laurel nodded, for she hadn’t the heart to fight with him any longer. That two lords had come to blows over her was already too much of a scandal to tolerate. She nodded again and was turning to walk away when she noticed Daisy standing behind her, concern mirrored in her eyes.
How long had her sister been standing there?
How much had she overheard?
“Laurel, I was worried about you. Are you all right?” Daisy put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Laurel laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t think so. I’ve ruined Mother’s party, Uncle George has a busted lip because of me, and Dev and Graelem almost killed each other.”
Daisy grimaced. “Look on the bright side—you’ll make me look brilliant compared to you when I come out next year.”
Laurel shook her head and laughed in true merriment this time. “Of course you’ll be brilliant. You’re the good daughter. What can possibly happen to you?”
They shared a brief, sisterly hug before Daisy drew back and pursed her lips. “You’re trembling. I think you need a breath of air. Go on into the garden and I’ll look after Dev. He looks awfully wretched.”
They both glanced at him.
He was looking downward and gazing at his feet. Everything about him spoke of dejection. Laurel couldn’t bear it and rushed off toward the open doors leading into the garden, needing the privacy of the dark outdoors where she could give in to her own distraught feelings and cry.
However, if she thought the gentle breeze and scent of roses or the clear, starry night and full, silvery moon would help to calm her, she was sadly mistaken. Graelem was seated alone on a garden bench in a distant corner of the garden, his broad shoulders outlined in the moonlight. Anne must have been seated beside him only moments earlier, for she suddenly stormed by Laurel with a look of murder in her eyes.
Oh, dear. What now?
“Anne.” She reached for her friend’s hand to stop her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Ask your Scottish lout.” She tossed back her perfect curls and marched inside.
Were it not for the disappointment her dear mother had to be feeling, Laurel would no longer be thinking of crying but of laughing aloud and not stopping until her sides ached. The evening that was to be so special and delightful was fast turning into a waking nightmare.
She’d spoken to Dev and left him in Daisy’s care.
It was time to speak to Graelem.
“How’s your leg?” she asked, sinking onto the hard, stone bench and scooting next to him. Her body, once cold and shivering, instantly warmed as she nestled beside him.
“I think your uncle had better have a look at it,” he said quietly.
Laurel gasped and regarded him in alarm. She knew Graelem well enough by now to realize he was in agony. Devlin must have broken the bone again when he kicked Graelem, and it must have been a vicious kick to cause that much damage to bones that were well on their way to mending. “I’ll go find him.”
“No, lass. Not necessary.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He knows to look for me once he’s attended to everyone else who needs to be calmed. Your mother. Your father. Your Aunt Hortensia.”
Laurel quirked her head to stare at him. “What happened to Hortensia?”
He laughed softly. “I have no idea.”
She threw back her head and laughed along with him, her anger fading as she sat beside him and commiserated on the disastrous evening. The breeze felt gentle, and there was a softer silver glow to the stars and moon because she was beside Graelem. “We Farthingales are known to be a bit theatrical when displaying our feelings. I’m sure Aunt Hortensia was afflicted by nothing more than a feigned bout of the vapors.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Your family a bit theatrical? That’s rather an understatement.”
“I know.” She took a gulp of fresh air, trying to remain calm even though she caught the scent of lilac against Graelem’s throat and chest, and knew that Anne must have been all over him only moments ago. Then why did Anne rush off in a huff? “You’ll have no protest from me. I know we Farthingales are a menace to society. But… but… but…”
“What, lass?”
She took another gulp of air. “Anne ran past me as I walked into the garden.”
“Ah.” He gave a knowing nod.
“She wasn’t too pleased with you. What happened?” She placed her hand lightly on his arm and felt his shrug.
“It’s what didn’t happen that has her madder than a wounded boar.”
Laurel’s heart began to beat faster. “What didn’t happen?”
“The kiss she wanted, for starters.” He clutched his leg as it began to twinge. “And everything else she wanted that I refused to give.”
“And if I asked you why you refused her, what would you say to me?” She knew that she had no right to cheer, for she was the one who’d purposely introduced them. She had wanted to be free of the betrothal until the moment she realized it might actually come to pass. Then, she’d felt nothing but remorse and jealousy.
He muttered a curse as the twinges grew more intense. “I’d say… better fetch your uncle. I think my damn leg is about to fall off.”
* * *
“Uncle George, he’s burning up with fever.”
Laurel was in Graelem’s bedchamber at Eloise’s house with her hands clasped in worry. She had been seated beside Graelem for the past three hours, watching him grow progressively worse. The party was still going on next door, at her home, and strains of enchanted music wafted in through the open window.
She and her uncle, with the help of Amos, the young Farthingale groom who was big as an ox and twice as strong, had quietly assisted Graelem from their garden into Eloise’s townhouse, where Eloise’s footmen had taken over the duty of carrying him upstairs.
“There’s nothing more we can do but sit and watch him,” her uncle said gently. “I’ll order an ice bath prepared in case his fever spikes higher.”
“What can I do to help?” Laurel hadn’t changed out of her pale rose silk gown, but gave it no further thought. She had several gowns in this same hue, for Madame de Bressard, her modiste, had declared pink was her color. She loved this gown and had been dreaming of the moment she would wear it to the party, but now she didn’t care if it was ruined. Graelem’s recovery was the only thing that mattered.
“Just sitting beside him and holding his hand is doing wonders for him. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He patted her shoulder. “But shout for me at once if he goes into convulsions.”
Convulsions!
“I will.” Her heart began to pound through her chest and all she could think of was Graelem and how she couldn’t bear to lose him.
As little as an hour ago he’d been alert and grinning as they’d listened to the discordant strains of harp and pianoforte filtering in through his open window. The twins had stunned the Farthingale guests with their recital, and Lily’s harp playing could only be described as dreadful. Dillie was splendid, as always. No one understood why she refused to cut Lily from the recital and shine on her own. Perhaps because they were bound to each other, two identical hearts beating as one.
Could she ever have such a connection with Graelem?
Her parents had it, always quietly showing concern and affection for each other. Symbolic of their love, together they had regained control of their party, and everyone now seemed to be having a jolly good time, unaware that Graelem was fighting for his life.
What of Devlin?
She hadn’t given him much thought over the past few hours. No doubt he had stomped off to pout, for he used to do just that when they were children and he didn’t get his way. Goodness, she hoped the petulant boy hadn’t turned into a petulant man. Kicking Graelem in his broken leg had been a cruel thing to do.
She couldn’t blame Graelem for fighting back. He’d only done so after Devlin had struck her uncle and then kicked him. One restrained punch from Graelem was all it took to flatten Devlin, her uncle had sai
d.
She knew Graelem had held back, otherwise Dev’s jaw would have been broken or worse, he would have been dead.
She couldn’t worry about him now. Graelem was foremost on her mind. His leg was swollen and purple, revealing another possible break to one of the same bones first broken, and she feared this time it was much worse than Brutus’ trampling.
He was in so much agony not even a healthy dose of laudanum had helped.
She couldn’t bear to watch him suffer, but neither would she leave his side until he was on the mend again. All her fault. What was wrong with her? She had a penchant for getting into trouble, but the punishment usually fell on her. This was different. This felt awful, for Graelem was the one bearing the brunt of her misdeeds.
She wouldn’t blame him if he begged out of the betrothal the moment he awoke. How ironic, for now the last thing she wanted was to be apart from him. Why couldn’t she get this marriage business right?
She’d only spent a lifetime training for this moment. Apparently, she’d learned nothing in all those years.
“Lass,” Graelem said, his voice a whispered rasp, gaining her attention as he awoke from his laudanum-induced stupor. “What are you still doing here?”
She sniffled. “Trying to look after you, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.”
“You’re doing an excellent job. You’re the only vision I wished to see when I opened my eyes… and here you are.” He shook his head slowly and swallowed hard. “Though I don’t suppose you’ll be permitted to stay much longer.”
“Since when have I done what I’m told?” she teased and heard him softly chuckle in response. “I’m not leaving your side until your fever breaks and you’re strong enough to get out of bed.” She sniffled again.
“Laurel, are you crying?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But she sniffled yet again because he reached out to stroke his thumb along her cheek to wipe away the tears that must have been shining upon it. “I’m the hot-tempered, disobedient Farthingale, remember? I think of no one but myself and wind up hurting my loved ones in the process.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Her eyes clouded with more tears and she struggled to suppress the sob yearning to break free. “I can’t help it. Look what I’ve done to you.”
“Damnation. You’re the oddest mix of tough and soft. I’ve never… lass, you are crying. Blessed Scottish saints, no one has ever cried over me before.”
No one? Now she was desperately struggling not to burst into wailing sobs.
She turned away to dip her handkerchief in the basin of cold water on his night stand, busying herself with the task while she fought to regain her composure. She wrung out some of the moisture and then ran the now cold cloth across his hot brow to cool him down. “Your lips must be dry and throat parched. Here, let me squeeze a little of the water into your mouth.”
He surprised her with another chuckle. “Lass, this one time I could do with your dumping the entire contents of that basin over my head.”
“I will if the need arises, especially since I now have your blessing.” She smiled at him as she dipped the handkerchief into the water again and ran the cold cloth along his neck and chest. Her breaths were still shaky, she was still sniffling, and she was completely unraveling on the inside. She was so distraught and worried, struggling not to bawl like an infant with colic. “I’ve been a fool, Graelem. Can you ever forgive me?”
He caught her hand in his and shook his head. “I’ve been the fool, love. I should be the one asking for your forgiveness. I—” He shuddered as a blinding pain suddenly tore through him. She realized his leg had begun to spasm, each flex and pull of bruised muscle obviously agonizing for him.
Laurel gripped his hand and held it tightly as she drew it against her pounding heart. “Graelem, what should I do?”
He didn’t immediately answer.
“Graelem?”
“Love me, Laurel,” he said in a whisper and lost consciousness as pain and laudanum overcame him once again.
Had he meant it? Did he realize that he’d spoken the sentiment aloud? She used the back of her hand to wipe at the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks like rivers overflowing their beds. “I do,” she said in a whisper. “I love you so much.”
Chapter 12
LAUREL REMAINED BY Graelem’s bedside, holding his hand.
She understood what would happen if she stayed here until dawn, something she fully intended to do despite the consequences. There would be no ending their betrothal. No doubt it was already too late to end it, for even though nothing improper had happened over these past few hours, or could happen with Uncle George, Eloise, and a dozen servants slipping in and out of the room all night long, the news sure to spread throughout the ton was that she had spent the night with Graelem.
In his bedchamber.
She had, of course. But only to help save his life.
Rose’s husband had come by earlier, having taken it upon himself to report Graelem’s progress to the Farthingale family. Her parents were worried, but as host and hostess, they couldn’t possibly leave their party.
She was glad Julian was the one chosen to report the news to them, for he was as steady as Uncle George and could be counted upon to use his good judgement. He wouldn’t embellish nor would he minimize the danger, but explain it in a manner that did not alarm her entire family. Didn’t they have enough to worry about with Uncle Harrison still missing and the ministry still having no news about him?
What the… She blinked as a glimmer of light caught her eye. And then another glimmer. She shook her head and groaned softly. The twins, in their inimitable way, were using a mirror to catch the glow of moonlight and send her signals through their window. The sweethearts wanted to let her know they were still awake and concerned. I love you, too.
She eased away from Graelem’s side long enough to cross to the window and wave at them. In return, she received three quick flashes of light which she knew signified their wishes for his quick recovery.
She returned to Graelem’s side and stared down at him, unable to remove her gaze from his big, handsome body. She’d been an obstinate fool to wait so long to admit that she loved him. What had Graelem meant by the words he’d uttered before slipping back into his stupor?
Love me, Laurel.
Did he want her to love him because he loved her? If so, those words sounded so sweet to her ears because Graelem had uttered them. She wouldn’t have felt the same euphoric joy had anyone else expressed those sentiments. Devlin had declared his love for her tonight, but it wasn’t at all the same thing. She cringed, recalling their conversation. “Dev, what am I going to do about you?” she muttered to herself.
He’d behaved abominably, but otherwise had been a good and loyal friend to her over the years. His outrageous conduct could be explained as jealousy and probably forgiven in time, for he was angry and bitterly disappointed by the thought of losing her.
Indeed, the more she considered it, the more she realized that her betrothal must have come as a terrible shock to him. She owed him an apology and would speak to him, but only after she was certain Graelem was on the mend.
She refused to leave his side until then.
Graelem hadn’t made a sound since falling into unconsciousness, no doubt because of all the laudanum he’d taken, a dosage strong enough to fell a horse. But shortly before dawn, he began to moan and blink open his eyes. She felt him looking at her, his forest green eyes dark and glistening with fever.
She gasped. “Are you awake?” She couldn’t be certain, for the drug was known to induce eye movements that mimicked wakefulness.
“What?” He sounded groggy and confused.
“I was so worried about you.” She kept her voice low in order not to wake her uncle, who was stretched out across the three red silk chairs set in a row by the window and softly snoring. He’d been up most of the night along with her and was finally getting some much-needed
rest.
Graelem tried to sit up in bed, groaning as he strained his big body in the hope of finding a position that wasn’t agonizingly uncomfortable.
He wasn’t having much success.
She wanted to help, but was afraid to touch him. Not afraid for him, but for herself. Watching the magnificent flex and pull of his hard muscles was doing shocking things to her insides, sending hot tingles shooting through her body and making her want to hop into bed beside him so that she could feel the flex and strain of his big, handsome body against hers, feel his weight as he wrapped her in his arms and brought her up against his hot, bronzed skin.
Graelem’s eyes were now alert and fully open, but still slightly glazed, which meant he was feverish. He studied her for an endless moment and smiled. “Feeling warm? Me too, lass.”
A fiery heat suffused her cheeks. How could he know what she’d been thinking? Was she that obvious? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fortunately, he decided not to pursue the embarrassing matter. Instead, he glanced around the room and then toward the window. “What time is it?”
“Almost morning.” When she checked his forehead, he felt much cooler than he had been as little as an hour ago. She rested her palm against his cheek and caressed him. “You gave me a terrible scare, you big oaf.”
He frowned lightly. “Did you stay by my side all night?”
She nodded. “I was afraid you were going to die.” The words caught in her throat as she spoke. “So I stayed, determined to fight heaven and earth to keep you here and safely on the mend.”
He grinned. “No wonder I survived. There’s no force stronger than a determined Laurel.” He noticed that she was still wearing her evening gown. “You look beautiful, lass. Did I mention it to you last night? I meant to. You stole my breath away when I first walked into your home, the party under way and already a crush. But everyone else seemed to melt away and all I saw was you in that gown. There isn’t a prettier debutante in all of London.”
