The Dangerous Lord Darrington(5)

Nodding, Guy dismissed the servant. He removed his coat and draped it  over the back of a chair, glad to be free of the restriction about his  shoulders. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was not yet  midnight and, despite the excitement of the day, he did not feel sleepy.  He prowled around the room, inspecting the sporting prints upon the  walls and idly flicking through the few books that were stacked  carelessly on the mantelshelf. The room had a cluttered, lived-in look,  as if its master was expected to return at any time. The only exception  to this was the dressing table, which was bare of the brushes and combs  that one would expect to find in a gentleman's room. He supposed that  Simon Wakeford had taken these items with him when he went travelling  and they would have been lost at sea. He felt a sudden sympathy for Beth  Forrester. His own brother, Nick, was a sailor and Guy could well  imagine the pain of losing him. How much worse must it be for a widow,  left to shoulder the burdens of running this old house and at the same  time looking after her grandmother and her younger sister?

'Not that it is any of your business,' he told himself, coming back to  the fire and throwing himself down into the chair. 'She has made it very  plain that you are here on sufferance, so do not waste your sympathy  where it is not wanted.'

He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but stopped when he heard a faint  cry break the silence. Before he undressed he should look in on Davey  and make sure he was comfortable. Picking up his bedroom candle, he let  himself quietly out of the room. The borrowed shoes he had worn at  supper were too loose to walk without tapping noisily on the polished  boards of the corridor and he left them behind, padding silently through  the darkened house until he came to the door at the top of the stairs.                       
       
           



       

There was a faint line of light beneath the door and as he entered the  room he saw that a single lamp glowed on a side table, illuminating the  curtained bed, but leaving the corners of the room in deep shadow. A  movement beside the fire brought him to a stand.

'Mrs Forrester!' She rose as he whispered her name, the dim light  muting her fiery hair to a deep auburn. He continued, 'I heard someone  cry out and thought perhaps he might be … '

Guy waved towards the figure in the bed. She looked discomposed and  took a step as if she would leave the room, then thought better of it.

'Mr Davies has not moved,' she said quietly. 'It must have been a  peacock, or some night creature that you heard, my lord. The night time  is full of noises.'

He nodded. 'Of course. But why are you here, ma'am?'

'Doctor Compton suggested someone should sit with your friend tonight,' she said softly.

'But he did not mean you, ma'am.'

She spread her hands. 'I wanted to be sure he was comfortable. Besides,  the servants need to be fresh for their duties in the morning.'

'And you do not?' He placed his candle on the mantelshelf before turning his attention to the figure in the bed. 'How is he?'

'Still sleeping. He grows a little restless now and again, but nothing  serious.' She added with a thread of humour in her voice, 'It is very  tedious keeping watch over a sleeping man.'

'Then may I sit with you for a while?'

'Oh, no-that is, I did not mean to imply … ' Beth trailed off, disturbed  lest he should think she had been hinting for him to stay.

'Of course not, but surely a little company would be welcome to while away the long night hours.'

Beth could not deny it. With a little nod she resumed her seat beside  the fire and motioned him to a chair opposite, her eyes dwelling for a  while on his stockinged feet.

'Ah. I did not wish to wake the household by clumping along in those court shoes.'

'I did not hear you approach; that is unusual for this house-the  building is very old, you see. It is full of rattling doors and creaking  boards.'

'I was aware of that as I came along the landing earlier this evening. A  person with a more fevered imagination might well have thought there  were spirits abroad.'

'The wind does howl through the corridors and rattle the locks.' She  was glad of the opportunity to explain away any noises he might hear in  the night. 'Some guests think they hear voices, others declare the  Priory to be haunted. All nonsense, of course. I hope you will ignore  any strange sounds, my lord, and remain comfortably in your bed.'

'You may be sure I shall, madam.'

They lapsed into silence. After a few moments the earl said slowly, 'I  am glad of this opportunity to speak to you, Mrs Forrester. We have  given you a great deal of extra work, I fear.'

'Think nothing of it, my lord.'

'But you were very much against my remaining here overnight.'

'Oh, no! It was …  I mean-if I was ungracious, my lord, I beg your pardon.'

'There is no need. I quite understand, given the circumstances.'

Startled, Beth looked up. What did he know, what had he guessed?

'My lord?'

'To have me walk in, wearing your late husband's clothes. I should have realised how distressing my appearance must be to you.'

'Oh.' She breathed again, relieved. 'I have been a widow for nigh on  six years, sir. I barely remember that suit of clothes. Besides, you are  nothing like my husband.' Beth wished she had not spoken. Would he  think she was trying to flirt with him? She added hastily, 'I mean, sir,  that Mr Forrester was a very good man.'

'As I am not?'

'I have no idea!' she retorted, flustered.

He laughed at her. 'I beg your pardon, madam. I could not resist the opportunity to tease you.'

Beth pressed her lips together, determined not to respond, but she  could feel the heat in her cheeks and was aware that in other  circumstances she would quite enjoy his teasing.

She was thankful when a groan from the bed claimed their attention. Mr  Davies was stirring. He was muttering incoherently and Beth picked up a  cloth and dipped it into the small bowl on the bedside table.

'Lavender water,' she explained as she gently wiped the patient's brow. 'It is very soothing.'

However, on this occasion it did not calm Mr Davies, who continued to mutter and began to move restlessly in the bed.

'Perhaps you should leave him to me?' suggested Lord Darrington as the  injured man cried out and began to curse when the movement tore at his  cracked ribs.                       
       
           



       

'My dear sir, I am no schoolroom miss! I have heard much worse from my  husband and my brother, I assure you. We must give him some laudanum,'  she decided. 'Can you support his shoulders, my lord?'

The earl proved himself surprisingly useful in a sickroom, using his  strength to gently raise his friend while Beth administered the drug. He  continued to hold him up while Beth turned the pillows and straightened  the covers. Soon Mr Davies was growing calmer again as the laudanum  began to take effect and Beth could return to her seat. She wondered if  the earl might retire now, but instead he sat down again. Neither of  them spoke, yet the silence was not uncomfortable. It was surprisingly  companionable sitting together, listening to the steady, rhythmic  breathing of the man in the bed and Beth did not wish to break the  spell. Her eyelids drooped and she dozed.



It was some time later that Beth woke and noticed that the earl's  bedside candle had burned itself out and the fire was reduced to glowing  ash. She reached for the poker, but the earl forestalled her.

'Allow me.'

She sat back in her chair and watched him as he knelt before the fire,  stirring up the embers before building it up with small logs from the  basket. He was still wearing the embroidered waistcoat she had found for  him. The strings had been pulled tight across the back to make it fit  and the white sleeves of his shirt billowed out, accentuating the wide  shoulders that she knew lay beneath the soft linen. His movements were  quick and assured and he soon coaxed the fire into a blaze. Beth gazed  at his face as he sat back on his heels and regarded his handiwork. He  had a handsome profile, she decided. The straight nose and sculpted lips  would not have looked amiss on a Greek statue, although the heavy black  brows and the line of his jaw were a little too strong to be called  classical.

He turned his head at that moment and she found herself unable to look  away, her gaze locked with his rather hard grey eyes. A presentiment of  danger swept over her. She had become far too complacent; it was the  middle of the night and they were the only beings awake in this twilight  world. Her throat dried. There was a distant cock crow somewhere  outside the window.

'The servants will be stirring soon.' Her voice sounded strained.  'Perhaps you should retire, my lord.' His brows rose and she went on, 'I  know one should not listen to gossip, but I am well aware of your  reputation, my lord. We subscribe to the London Intelligencer … '