Eighteen

Emma stepped out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind her. She walked down the corridor in soft slippers, careful not to scuff her feet on the floor. She slunk up the stairwell she had seen Dare ascend, wondering how she would find his bedchamber.

She wandered down a corridor of doors. She guessed one of them held the Earl of Darington, but which one? With sudden inspiration, she blew out her candle and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Light shone from under two of the doors. She had even odds of picking the right one.

She took a breath and knocked on the first door.

“Enter,” said a muffled male voice from behind the door.

She opened the door and found Lord Wynbrook in a dressing gown and nightcap, sitting in bed, reading a book. His eyebrows shot up to see Emma standing there in her nightclothes, and he hastily attempted to hide his book, but not before she noted it was the Captain’s Curse, one of those gripping novels young women were warned against…and she had hidden in her trunk.

“I do apologize. I am looking for Lord Darington. It is time for his medicine,” Emma attempted to explain. Of course she would pick the wrong door.

Wynbrook gave her a slow smile. “I see.”

She was not sure what exactly Wynbrook saw, but it was not good whatever it was. Closing Wynbrook’s door, she hurried to the next lit door and rapped lightly.

She was bade to enter and this time Darington was on the other side.

“Oh, good, it is you this time,” said Emma, entering quickly.

“This time?” Dare was also in bed wearing a nightshirt. He wore no cap though, and instead, his dark-brown hair, which she had only seen pulled back in a queue, hung loose around his shoulders.

“Yes, I…” For some reason, seeing him with his hair untied felt strangely intimate, which was odd since she had seen much more of him than his undone hair. “I found Wynbrook’s room first.”

“You went to Wynbrook’s room?” he asked in a dark tone.

“Not on purpose,” she explained, but he did not look appeased. Heaven help her, it did nothing to dispel the strange attraction she felt toward him. He may have been wounded, but he still held an aura of danger. “I came to give you some medicine and check to make sure your stitches held.”

Dare acknowledged her with a nod. “Thank you.”

She knew he must have been hurting if he accepted the laudanum without a fight. She walked to the bed and poured out a dose, which he took with a grimace.

“Has the wound bled during travel?” she asked.

“Some,” he admitted.

“I had best take a look at the stitches. It will be a wonder if they are not all pulled out.”

Dare gave her a quick nod and pulled down the covers to his waist and sat up farther. He was dressed much more appropriately than before in a voluminous nightshirt. No doubt it kept him warm, but she missed seeing his bare chest in all its naked glory.

She blinked at the sudden turn her thoughts had gone. When had she become a wanton? She was here to help this man, not ogle him.

“Would you mind pulling up the nightshirt so I may inspect the wound?” she asked briskly.

He paused a minute, then complied. Though now his top half was covered, his careful movements made her realize that unlike when they were in the inn, he was wearing nothing from the waist down. The mere thought brought heat to her cheeks.

He moved carefully and slowly, possibly due to the pain and possibly due to the need to pull up the nightshirt while keeping the blankets in place.

“I will be looking for any redness, heat, or swelling that might be a sign of infection,” she babbled, focused on his slow, deliberate movements.

Finally, the dressings came into view, stained in dark-red blood. “I am glad I brought more bandages. That is more than a little blood.”

She went to work removing the old dressing and inspecting the wound. As she did so, she could not help but notice his pronounced muscles, taut and tempting. One prominent muscle formed a ridge from his lower hip going down toward his core. What might she see if the blanket slipped down a few more inches?

“Well now, let’s see how those stitches are holding,” said Emma as if she did this all the time. She examined the entry wound and was relieved to see that it looked as well as she could hope.

“Could you roll over so I can examine your back?”

Dare nodded and rolled onto his side, away from her. She had begun to examine the larger wound on his back when the blanket slipped a bit and she could see the top part of his derriere. She forgot to move, forgot to breathe. Surely he was the perfect form of a man.

“Did I rip out stitches?” asked the man whose backside had captured her entire interest.

“I…err…” The stitches. Look at the stitches. She forced herself to look at the wound and was pleased to see no sign of infection.

“Does it look good?” he asked.

Very, very good. She cleared her throat more easily than she did her mind. “There has been some slight tearing, which probably accounted for the bleeding, but it has stopped now. I think it will heal well.” She was pleased she sounded reasonable despite the flight of her unruly emotions.

He rolled onto his back and met her eyes. “Emma.” He said her name with such sincerity it made her heart pound. “Thank you. I am greatly sorry for embroiling you in this escapade. You deserve better.”

“No, indeed, I have found our adventure excessively diverting, especially now that we are safe. I would not change one second of it.” Her words were true.

She dressed the wound, her pulse increasing every time she touched his skin. She must get herself under better control. She needed to leave the man’s bedroom before she did anything untoward. She found the Earl of Darington more attractive than was good for her. “Sleep now. I shall come again in the morning.”

Dare’s eyelids grew heavy. “Thank you, Emma.”

Emma crept back to her bedroom, knowing who would be featured prominently in her dreams.

* * *

Dare listened as she crept away from his room, down the hall. Truly, he owed Emma more than he could repay. Even if she was promised to another in marriage—an engagement that seemed rather suspect to him—an offer of marriage from him was due. Though the proposal might be obligatory, his intentions were decidedly sincere. He was determined to change her mind and secure her hand in marriage. The thought of her marrying another set his teeth on edge.

He would ask her tomorrow. He just wanted to be fully dressed and on his own feet when he did so.

* * *

“What do you mean they have gone?” Eustace Ludlow ground out, trying unsuccessfully to conceal the anger in his tone.

“I’m sorry, sir. They didn’t tell me they was leaving. When the maid went to check on them to see if they done with the dinner tray, they were gone.” The landlord stood at the door of Eustace’s room wringing his hands on a dirty apron.

“I am very concerned for my friends. I thought I requested you to let me know when they emerged.”

“Well now, that’s the thing. I’m not sure when they left. I don’t stand at the door all the time, you know, but one o’ the lads said he seen them get into a coach with two others.”

“And where did they go?”

“I don’t rightly know.”

“You don’t rightly know?” Eustace repeated at a shout. He was too angry to keep a level tone. He could not have come all this way only to have her slip away in the presence of some strange man…if it was her.

“I am sorry, sir. But…but this came for you.” The landlord held out a missive with a shaky hand.

Eustace snatched the letter and slammed the door in the man’s face. The letter was from his mother, sent express. He ripped it open and scanned the contents.

Eustace took a breath, allowing himself to smile for the first time since he had learned of Emma’s flight. His mother had intercepted a letter for Emma from the secretary for Lord Langley. Within was a revelation of all his stepsister’s conniving plans.

Eustace took a flask from his coat pocket and took a generous swig, welcoming the burn as the liquor poured down his throat. He had to hand it to his stepsister; she certainly had plotted her escape quite nicely. She had accepted an arranged marriage with an American and planned to meet her chaperone in Portsmouth in three days’ time.

He reclined on the bed and made himself comfortable. Mrs. Anders must not be the person he sought. He did not know where Emma was now, but that didn’t matter, because he knew where she was going to be. When she arrived in Portsmouth, he would be waiting.

The only place she was going was the asylum.