Chapter Nineteen
WHEN BROOKE OPENED HER eyes in the large, darkened room, she didn’t know where she was. She sat up, startled, and looked around, then lay back down on the soft pillows, remembering she was in Yorkshire at the home of the angry, churlish, handsome man who was going to be her husband. She reached for her pocket watch on the night table to see that it was eight thirty. She’d overslept.
When she’d got back to her room last night, she’d taken a sip of that sleeping draft the wolf had refused, and when it didn’t work quickly enough, she’d taken another sip. She was afraid she was going to have trouble sleeping in this room every night. Because of the door that connected her room to his. Because while she couldn’t open it, he could from the other side.
She saw that Alfreda had already been here. On the washstand was fresh water, still slightly warm, though the drapes were still closed. Brooke opened those now and smiled down on the park below. It was quite lovely with the morning sun shining on it. She might read a book today, if she could find one, on one of the many benches.
The tall bookshelf in her room was empty, as had been all of the other furniture before she’d unpacked. The room’s decor made it obvious that a woman was the previous occupant. The large four-poster bed was covered with a thick white spread that was dotted with pink flowers and edged with a set of ruffles.
The carpet was a darker shade of pink, mixed with yellow and maroon, while the wallpaper on the walls was lavender and pink in yet another floral design. The sitting area by the two windows had a love seat and a comfortable-looking chair next to it, both thickly upholstered in silver-threaded lavender brocade. A low, intricately carved table was centered between them.
Brooke had put her toiletries and jewelry box on the vanity. A small desk was still empty and would remain so, since she didn’t own any stationery, though perhaps she should try to buy some in Rothdale village. She had a mind to let her mother know she was having so much fun here.
She made quick work of dressing, which was quite easy to do with the current Empire fashion. She merely tied back her hair with a white ribbon to match her frock. She was more used to wearing her hair this way than the way it had been styled last night and for the trip to Yorkshire.
While the wolf might be expecting her, she was so not looking forward to entering that room again that she went downstairs first. Passing through the kitchen on her way to the stable, she grabbed two sausages, one for herself and one for Raston, and two carrots, just in case Dominic’s stallion got curious again.
Raston came down from the rafters when she waved the sausage at him and followed her out the back door. After he devoured his treat, she picked him up for some petting while she waited for Rebel to notice her standing at the fence that separated the two pastures.
Dominic’s stallion trotted toward her again and didn’t hesitate to take a carrot from her hand. She found it hard to believe that he was as vicious as Gabriel claimed. But when Rebel arrived, the mare didn’t even glance at the carrot Brooke offered her; she was too busy lifting her tail and swatting it toward the stallion barely a foot away.
Oh, dear, Brook thought. Rebel was definitely making her preference in stallions known. While Brooke would love to have her bred while they were at Rothdale, she had a feeling Dominic would object to his horse being the stud, just as he was objecting to everything else she suggested. Besides, it was much too delicate a subject to broach with him before they were married. But afterward, if there was going to be an afterward . . .
There might not be. He might still give in to his rage and kick her out of his house. But it would have to happen in a moment of blind rage. He wouldn’t give up everything that mattered to him just to be rid of her when he was rational. That was why he was so angry and was doing his best to force her to leave.
How much time did he have to win their battle? Was there a time limit on when they had to marry or forfeit? Her family had certainly wasted no time in sending her here. She ought to ask him, and maybe she shouldn’t keep him waiting when he was expecting her.
With that thought she hurried back to the house and straight upstairs. Dominic’s dog was sitting outside his door waiting to get back in. She was surprised no scratch marks were on the door if he wasn’t always allowed immediate access. The animal apparently had more patience than she did! She knocked smartly on the door. The dog growled at her.
She glanced down and saw him sniffing near her hand and grinned. “Smell Raston, do you? You might want to get used to his scent if you and I are going to keep running into each other.”
The door opened, Gabriel holding it wide and giving her a quick grin. “Might I say you look divine today, Lady Whitworth?”
She didn’t answer. The effusive compliment embarrassed her because she wasn’t used to receiving compliments of any sort. The room was crowded again with Dominic’s servants. Even the valet poked his head around the corner to bid her a cheery morning.
She offered her own smile as she neared the bed. Dominic was still wearing a nightshirt, and at least both his legs were under the sheet this time.
“Do you always have such an entourage in here?”
His golden eyes had been on her from the second she appeared, and he was already frowning. Yet he deigned to answer, “One is here to assist and fetch, one won’t leave my clothes alone, and one has arrived to be a bloody annoyance.”
Her cheerful smile disappeared, though her resolve remained. “If you mean me—”
“I mean Gabriel, but you can definitely be added as an annoyance.”
“Some things don’t require repeating. I’m quite aware of your feelings, as you are of mine. A truce might be in order.”
“Promise me you’ll leave before the wedding and you’ll have a quick truce.”
She wondered if she should pretend to agree to that just to see what he was like when he wasn’t growling and scowling. No, she didn’t dare give him hope, then snatch it away.
She reached the side of the bed and pulled the small scissors from her pocket. “Shall we see if the inflammation has receded?”
“I feel better,” he mumbled.
“Do you? But the salve still needs to be applied—unless you’ve been miraculously healed?”
Throwing back at him those words he’d used yesterday to chase her away wasn’t the wisest thing she could have done. She curbed the bit of anger that had snuck up on her because of his annoyance remark and dredged up another smile, though she was sure he could see how fake it was.
But he wasn’t looking at her. He raised the sheet covering his left leg high enough to unwrap the bandage himself before she could get her scissors near him. So he did sense her anger? So be it. Hiding it every time she was around him was a recipe for an explosion.
“Your wound drained well,” she said as the last of the bandage fell away. “Three more applications today and—”
“Three?” he balked. “You can tell me how to make the salve and I will apply it m’self.”
“I could, but too much of the herb could draw out the poisons too quickly and enlarge your wound, while too little will do nothing.”
That was an absurd lie. She ought to tell him it was. No, she wouldn’t. He might want to see her as little as possible, but nothing would get resolved if they just counted the days down in separate rooms until they were standing at the altar. Besides, for her tactic to work instead of his, she had to keep helping him. And she had to stop being so sensitive to his insults.
“Is there hot water for a brief compress?” she asked.
“The water has been kept hot for two hours. When you request something, be on hand to receive it.”
She ignored the surliness as she headed to the bathing room to find the water, tossing back, “The room is a little warm from that fire, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t really. She guessed the window in the bathing room had been left open to draw out the heat from the fireplace and she found that she was right. She dipped a small towel in the bucket of simmering water, then dropped it in a clean bowl to take back to his bed. She wrung out the towel and placed it over his wound. It was no longer hot enough to burn, but he must have thought it was. He roared. She raised a brow at him and got a nasty look for it.
To distract him she mentioned what was on her mind. “How soon do we need to marry?”
“Too soon.”
“Would an engagement do instead?”
“No. The Prince is fickle. He has a tendency to change his mind so he sets specific time limits on important matters he wants to see done. He wants money out of this absurd arrangement to pay off his debts, wants one of us to refuse to go along with it so he can dip his hands into fresh coffers. He wants that immediately, so if we don’t marry in the time he has prescribed, he will get what he really wants out of this absurdity. The first of the three banns was read yesterday at Sunday mass. The emissary saw to that before he left.”
She felt a little queasy hearing that news. “So in only two more weeks? I’m surprised he didn’t bring a special license with him to shorten the time.”
“He did. I got the delay only because of the severity of my wound, which he could clearly see since I had to receive him in bed. It was his stipulation that you remain here for the duration. If you leave . . .”
“Yes, yes, we already know your sentiments. Mine are the same as yours. Believe me, I wish none of this had happened. As I told you, I was looking forward to having a Season in London, but instead I was thrown to the wolves, or wolf as it were. Oh, I beg pardon. I suppose you don’t like that nickname.”
“You shouldn’t try to provoke me,” he warned darkly.
Her heart skipped a beat. When he got all feral like that, he really was frightening. She had to remind herself that she didn’t know what he was capable of. Then again, maybe she should try to find out.
So she steeled herself to say drily, “Only you are allowed to be provocative? Oh, wait, that assumes I’ll still be here to see what happens if I don’t heed your advice? Which means you won’t say the words to end this, will you? Which suggests a truce is still the best path forward for both of us.”
She grabbed the herb pouch and headed back to the bathing room to mix another batch of salve. She was surprised he didn’t retaliate with another resounding no.
When she was back at his bedside, she risked raising his ire once more by asking, “Will we marry here or in London?”
“I refuse to plan for an event I don’t believe will happen,” he said darkly.
His ire didn’t rise because it hadn’t subsided! So she quickly spread the salve around his stitches, then handed him a fresh bandage, saying, “I will return again after lunch. Take heart that I won’t suggest we share all three meals each day. But I will be back to have dinner with you again.”
“Be precisely on time, vixen, or I will fire my cook.”
Her eyes flared. Her mouth opened to revile him for that threat, but she snapped it shut. She didn’t doubt he would do exactly that, even though his cook was his friend’s mother. How despicable!
In answer she wriggled her nose. “You stink. The fever has made you sweat quite heavily. You can’t take a bath yet, but that doesn’t mean your manservant can’t bathe you.”
“You dare—”
“An unclean body can affect—”
“If you’re not out of my sight in two seconds, I will share this unclean body with you!”
She hurried out of the room, trying to suppress a grin. She hadn’t really insulted him. He did stink and probably knew it. He just didn’t like being told about it.