by Regina Scott
The sound of slow, quiet, clapping came from the bed. Hannah whirled.
“Well done, my dear,” David said with a grin.
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah dashed across the space, and for a moment David thought she would throw herself into his arms. Part of him was decidedly pleased about the prospect, but his throbbing head quailed. She stopped at his side, however, and gazed down at him so adoringly that he felt himself blushing.
“Oh, David,” she cried, dark eyes luminous. “You’re awake. Do you know me?”
She was so serious that he couldn’t resist teasing her. “Do I know you? Let me see. Cleopatra? No, Joan of Arc? Wait, wait, I have it--Aphrodite, Goddess of Love?”
She stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed, then grimaced as his head protested. She immediately turned solicitous.
“Are you all right? Does it hurt much?”
“I feel like someone’s trying to carve a pattern on the inside of my head,” he told her truthfully. “And they’re not very good at it. How long have I been out?”
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Nearly fourteen hours.”
“Don’t go by that. I let it run down the first time I heard it strike midnight. It’s enough to wake the dead.”
“Then we should have wound it hours ago,” she quipped. Suddenly her lips started to tremble. “Oh, David, we were so worried!”
“So worried, in fact, that you took on the bully of the county in a bare knuckles brawl. You stood her down, Hannah. I’m proud of you.”
She blushed. “I had to. I couldn’t let her finish what she had begun. She’s been trying to kill you, David.”
“You’ve been talking with Asheram,” he replied, wishing the man hadn’t worried her. “You have to see that the idea is ridiculous.”
“Lady Emily doesn’t think so,” Hannah countered. “And neither does Ariadne and Daphne. Even Priscilla’s convinced of her aunt’s guilt.”
David tried to frown and gave it up as too painful. “But why?” He listened as she outlined their suspicions. Though the pain in his head made thinking difficult, he realized with dawning horror that the idea had merit. When Hannah finished, he reached out a hand and pulled her to sit beside him.
“Do you understand what you just did?” he demanded. Now that he realized it, it nearly unnerved him. “That’s a woman capable of murder, and you faced her down alone.”
“I had to do it,” she replied. “Do you really think I’d leave you at her mercy? Am I such a coward?”
He felt his mouth quirking into a grin. “No indeed, Miss Alexander. You are no coward. I am very grateful.” The grin faded as he thought again of the danger she had been in. If he had remained unconscious, the countess might have killed them both and called it a lovers’ quarrel.
He blamed himself. Asheram had tried to warn him, and he had laughed it off. His brash attitude had put Hannah in danger. In fact, his entire outlook on this estate had put them both in danger. Asheram kept telling him he had to take things more seriously. Perhaps it was time he started acting like the Earl of Brentfield. He tightened his grip on her hand.
To his surprise, she hung her head. “You’re wrong. I am a coward, David. I told you I loved you, but I was afraid to act on that love. I was wrong. If you still want to marry me . . .”
“If?” He laughed then sobered as his head protested. “Hannah, there is no ‘if’ as far as I’m concerned. I want you with me. I can’t imagine life without you. The only ‘if’ is whether you want to marry me. I must remain an earl, worse luck. Can you be a countess?”
Her fingers fretted at the comforter. “Perhaps not like most countesses. I couldn’t ever bring myself to hunt, and I’m not sure I’d be much good helping you manage the estate.”
“You just keep an eye on the art collection, and that will be enough,” he told her, hope rising. He was almost afraid to ask her about the other reservation she had mentioned, but he knew they needed to reach an understanding. “And Hannah, about children . . .”
“I’ll know what to look for in a nanny,” she replied readily. “And I’ll know how to love them. I’m learning that that’s what really matters.”
“Then that’s a yes? You’ll marry me?” He felt himself tense, and the pain in his head tightened like a vise.
She raised her head, and her gaze was so full of love that he caught his breath in wonder. “Oh, yes. God brought you back to me, and I’m not letting you go now!”
He found he didn’t care what kind of pain was resounding inside his head. He drew her down into his embrace. Her lips were tender against his, warm, gentle. They spoke of a shared love, a future. He felt himself relax. She offered a quick caress, and then she straightened.
“Where’s Asheram?” he asked with a shakiness that had nothing to do with his injury.
“He’s resting.” Her response came out breathless as well. “He’ll want to see you. I’ll send the footman.” She rose to speak to the footman, then hurried back to his side. “Can I get you anything? Water? Food? Laudanum?”
He started to shake his head, and the pain was so great the room darkened. He sucked in a breath. His anguish must have shown on his face for she cried out.
“David, what is it? Shall I send for Dr. Praxton?”
“Not a bad idea,” he gritted out against the pounding. “And perhaps I will try some laudanum. After I talk with Ash.”
She nodded, and he realized she was growing dim. Suddenly he was afraid. She had said God had brought him back. At the moment, he wasn’t too sure. Dear God, he prayed, please don’t take me now, not when I’ve only just found her. The pain intensified, and he closed his eyes against it.
“David?” she ventured, and he could hear the echo of his fear in her voice.
“I’m all right,” he lied. “Just tired. Talk to me, please? I wouldn’t want to fall asleep before Asheram gets here.”
She was quiet for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure what to say to him. “You called out my name when you were unconscious. Do you remember?”
Trying to remember was difficult. “I was dreaming, I think. It was dark, and there was a light. I think I somehow thought you were in the light, and I knew I had to reach you. You were my lighthouse, my guide. I followed you back, Hannah.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered, and he thought she might be crying. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet.
“Now, it’s nothing to be sad about,” he told her. “I’m going to be fine, just fine. Tell me something else.”
She was silent again, and he thought he heard the snick of the secret panel opening. Was she leaving him after all? Before he could open his eyes, he heard her sniff. “I started drawing you,” she confessed.
His eyes snapped open. She smiled tenderly at him, still right at his side. The pain abated.
“Did you, now?” he mused, absurdly pleased by the idea. Then he remembered how her other drawings had seemed to capture the essence of her subjects, and he wondered what he’d see if he looked at the drawing of him.
“You’ll need to pose later so I can finish it,” she told him.
He grinned at her. “You mean like those nude models we discussed?”
The color flamed to her cheeks, and she stammered. He broke out laughing, and the pain stabbed him anew. As he closed his eyes again, he thought he heard the door open.
“What is it, Miss Alexander?” he heard Asheram ask, voice drawing nearer. “Crosswell said you asked for me.”
“He’s awake,” Hannah proclaimed, and David did not need to look at her to know how she felt. The joy and relief throbbed in her voice. He forced his eyes open.
“Good evening, my lord,” Asheram greeted him.
“Good evening,” he managed. “We have to talk, and quickly because my head is pounding. I believe what you said about her ladyship. First take Hannah back to her room and post Weimers outside her door. If you explain our suspicions, I think he can be trusted to protect her.”
�
��I won’t leave you!” she protested.
“And I won’t leave you alone,” Asheram added. “I thought you understood. Lady Brentfield is dangerous.”
“Too dangerous to leave to chance,” David replied. “I want her confined in her room and a guard posted outside.”
“You have no proof,” Asheram pointed out. “You cannot condemn her without it.”
“It’s my house, isn’t it?” David countered. In truth, he hadn’t expected such opposition from the two of them. Having to deal with it only sapped his strength further. But deal with it he must if he was to protect Hannah. “She’s here on my sufferance. She can stay tonight, but I want her out tomorrow. We can put her in that house at the foot of the drive until she finds a new home, preferably one out of this country.”
“Do you really want Lady Brentfield out of your sight?” Asheram pressed. “She could easily hire assassins.”
Hannah sucked in a breath, and David grimaced. He had wanted her safely in bed before discussing the details with Asheram. Now it was too late.
“Not if we cut off her funds,” he explained impatiently. “Now will you get Hannah out of here?”
She stuck out her chin defiantly, but he could see the fear in her eyes. “I tell you, I won’t go. Not while you’re in danger.”
“And I can’t solve this problem while you’re in danger,” David argued. His frustration triggered the pain again, and he had no choice but to close his eyes and count off the seconds until it passed. When he opened his eyes again, Hannah and Asheram were regarding him solemnly.
“We’ll sent a groom for Dr. Praxton,” Asheram told him.
“Lie still,” Hannah urged, bending to arrange the bed clothes that he had apparently dislodged. “I’m sorry I upset you. I’m just worried for you. Must I go?”
Her tone pleaded with him to let her stay. He had to remain firm. “I’ll rest easier knowing you’re safe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She started to go, then whirled back to press a quick kiss against his mouth. His head screamed in protest; he smiled against the pain.
“I’ll only be gone a moment,” Asheram assured him.
As soon as he and Hannah were out of the door, David closed his eyes once again. So long as he lay perfectly still, the pain lingered at the back of his head, bearable, but annoying. To counter it, he focused his thoughts on Hannah.
She was in love with him. She had admitted it in the passageway, and her words and kiss just now had confirmed it. She had the strength to get past this fear of being his countess. Funny that she was so concerned about it. He certainly hadn’t had any idea how to be an earl; at least she had grown up around the aristocracy and had some idea of how to go on. They would learn and grow, together. He could hardly wait until morning when he could see her again.
He realized he was starting to doze and opened his eyes again. The room was in darkness. The fire must have burned down. Hannah had taken her candle, and his light, used so often in his passage explorations, must have gone out. He decided to wait and let Asheram light it.
There was a movement in the darkness, and suddenly a heaviness smashed against his injured face. Bright pain sparked across his mind. He struggled, pushing against the formless weight that blocked his nose, filled his mouth. His head exploded, and he felt himself slipping down into the darkness once again. This time, he wasn’t sure that even Hannah could save him.
Chapter Eighteen
Hannah closed the door to her room with great reluctance against Weimers’ apologetic smile. He would guard her as closely as another footman would soon be guarding Lady Brentfield, though for altogether different reasons. She turned to her room with a sigh and saw that she’d left the panel to the passage open.
Thank God, she had had the strength to follow that passage tonight. If she had not been there, she did not like to think what Lady Brentfield might have done. David had been spared, and Hannah had the chance to redeem herself. His injury still worried her, but surely the fact that he was awake and had his memory was a good sign. Mr. Asheram had promised to fetch her if Dr. Praxton had anything but good news. She should sleep.
She moved to close the panel and froze. Voices drifted out of the passage.
“Where do you think it goes?” The excited voice could only be Daphne’s.
“Probably to the attic, or some hermit’s cell.” The dire prognosis would have to be Lady Emily’s.
“It’s cold. We should go back for our wrappers before we catch the croup.” That would be Ariadne.
“I cannot believe the countess never told me about these,” Priscilla complained. “This is far more fun than following the regular corridors.”
“Girls!” Hannah called into the stairwell. “Come down at once.”
There were muffled cries of consternation, but they obeyed her, appearing out of the darkness in little circles of candlelight, looking abashed or annoyed as was their wont. Hannah motioned them into her room. When they were safely inside, she closed the panel soundly.
“You had no business going in there without his lordship’s permission,” she scolded them. “Those passages can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Priscilla squealed. “You knew about them?”
“Well, I like that,” Daphne grumbled. “It’s our house party, and you have all the fun.”
Hannah felt herself blushing. She took her candle and went to light the lamp on the mantel. Unfortunately, the lamp was missing. She supposed one of the girls had taken it for their exploring. She turned to them, composing her face. “Fun has nothing to do with it. Why did you come to my room in the first place?”
“We couldn’t sleep,” Ariadne explained. “We were too worried about Lord Brentfield.”
Hannah smiled at her. “That was sweet, my dear. He is awake, and Dr. Praxton has been called. He’s still in some pain, but his memory appears to be intact. We have every reason to expect he will recover fully.”
They crowded around her, hugging her and exclaiming their delight. It took a few minutes, but Hannah finally managed to herd them toward the door.
“Now that you know, you should be able to sleep,” she told them, although she doubted the truth of the words herself. “And would whichever one of you borrowed my lamp please return it? I will need it to go to bed myself.”
They exchanged baffled glances.
“None of us took your lamp, Miss Alexander,” Priscilla told her.
“It wasn’t there when we came for you,” Daphne volunteered. “I went to use it and couldn’t find it.”
Hannah frowned. She could not remember having moved it, but perhaps Clare had taken it during her tidying of the room. Still puzzling, she opened the door and ushered out the girls to the surprised Weimers. Glancing down the corridor, she saw Mr. Asheram and a footman coming out of Lady Brentfield’s room. Suddenly, Hannah felt cold.
“Do you have her?” she called. The girls jumped, looking her askance.
Asheram started as well. “No. She’s not abed. What is it?”
“No time!” Hannah cried, heart thudding in her ears. “Follow me!” She brushed past Weimers and ran for the east wing.
The dark passage had seemed endless, but somehow the lighted corridors of Brentfield seemed even longer. Hannah raised her skirts and pelted past the doorways and stairwells. A maid shrieked as Hannah flew by, and Hannah did not apologize. She hoped Mr. Asheram and the footmen were close behind her, but she did not turn to look.
She dashed down the east wing corridor and threw open the door of David’s bedchamber. The feeble light from the corridor disappeared a few feet into the room. The fire and the candle must have gone out.
“David!” she cried into the void. She stumbled forward, hands outstretched, hoping she was traveling in a line toward the bed. “David, answer me!”
There was a muffled moan and a creak from the bed, and fear pierced her heart. Her hands struck the foot board, and she traced around it, stubbing her toe on the
leg of the bed.
“David Tenant, if this is a joke, I will never forgive you! Now answer me!” Despite her best intentions, the last words came out as a sob.
Something brushed past her, and instinctively she slapped it away. Her hand struck flesh. Someone gasped. The next minute Hannah was hit from behind to fall sprawling across the bed, David’s body beneath her. She flung out an arm and felt a pillow go flying.
“Miss Alexander!” Daphne called from the doorway.
“Lord Brentfield!” Mr. Asheram shouted right behind her. “Get a lamp, Weimers, quickly.” Light flared.
Hannah struggled upright. David eyed her, panting. She knew her own chest was heaving just as rapidly. He quirked a smile.
“Thank you once again, my dear,” he said, sucking in a breath as if it had never tasted so sweet. “You can fall on me any time.”
Hannah wasn’t sure whether to sob her relief or laugh at his silliness. She climbed off the bed as Mr. Asheram and the footman hurried into the room.
“What happened?” Mr. Asheram demanded.
“It was dark,” David offered, “but unless I miss my guess, someone just tried to smother me.”
“Lady Brentfield,” his friend muttered, while the girls paled, and the footman bristled.
Hannah found herself staring at the open door of the passage. “Someone was here. I think I hit her. She certainly hit me.” She rubbed her shoulder. “She must have escaped into the passage.”
“After her,” Asheram commanded the footman, waving toward the passage.
“No.” David grimaced as if the effort of talking was too much. “They might fall through, Ash. I’m the only one who knows those passages well.”
Hannah swallowed. “No, I know them, too.”
“No,” he said again, and this time he didn’t flinch. “I won’t permit it. Ash, you can’t let her go in there.”
Asheram was clearly torn. “Neither can we let her ladyship wander about the house alone.”
“She can’t go far,” David reminded him. “We closed all the entrances except . . .”
