Page 26 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

T he throbbing in Geneva’s head really did feel as if she’d taken a dive off the cliffs. But what the devil had she been doing outside the castle? Her mind was a blank slate. Mr. Oshea—Noah—was white as alabaster. She peered at the large hand enfolding hers, and a sense of utter safety seeped through her.

Oddly, she remembered threatening Docia if she didn’t return with Geneva to Stonemare. She remembered Abra, Pasha, and her taking the train to Alnmouth. Lord Pender’s funeral services. Running after Julius and tripping over—

Wait… “ Your fault?” She smiled at that. “I take it you pushed me?” But the pounding in her head increased, attempting representation of crashing cymbals at a concerto.

He withdrew his hand and the warmth along with it and scrubbed a palm over his face. “Miss Wimbley.”

“Geneva,” she whispered with closed eyes, willing away the pulsating throb. “I give you leave to call me ‘Geneva.’” She opened her eyes and lifted her hand to touch his hair…

He raised his head, meeting her gaze with his haunted one. A small smile curved his lips, turning her insides to mush.

She lowered her hand to the coverlet.

“Geneva. I like that. It seems to roll off my tongue.”

“You’re in my bedchamber. You’re willing me back to life. Seems only fitting…” She spoke softly, sinking into the notion of how right it felt.

He smiled too. Then he frowned. “I couldn’t reach you in time. I nearly got you killed.”

“What utter rot. That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Whatever I was doing out there was through no fault of yours. Such asinine chivalry is quite irritating.” But her fingers gripped and twisted within the coverlet as each question in her head pounded with the force of a hammer. Why couldn’t she recall going outside or being there? What had driven her to such stupidity? And why did fear grip her throat with the impact of a ballista?

Pasha reentered the chamber in a breathless rush.

Noah turned quickly to relieve her of the tray she carried.

“I’m sorry it took so long. Everyone was asleep. But one of the scullery maids helped me pull together a pot of tea.”

Steam rising from the bowl and teapot hit Geneva’s nose and dove straight for her stomach, which sent a noisy message. Noah set the tray on the bed and poured out a cup of tea, dropping in more sugar than she’d consumed in her lifetime. “Please, that’s enough.”

“It will help with the aching head.” He held it out then pulled back. “Are you certain you can hold it?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to lash out regarding her abilities to do that much, but the concern in his eye stopped her, and instead, she held up her hands to see if they still shook as badly. “I think I shall manage.” A husky tonality seeped out of her she didn’t recognize.

He set the cup in her hands. The touch of his fingers brushing hers sparked through her. Her hands jerked, but he averted disaster, making things worse by cupping his fingers about hers. The slosh of the hot tea braised his fingers, not hers. “All right now?” The gravel, gritted sound raised bumps over her skin.

She wanted to rail at him to move back. He was too close, the sandalwood scent going up her nose. The utter masculine essence that stole the oxygen from the suffocating room. She closed her eyes, avoiding his penetrating perception. She guided the cup to her lips, her hands steadying, while inside, her body was all chaos.

A long moment went by before Noah released her hands and leaned back, finally allowing her to breathe.

He folded his arms over his chest with his head tilted to one side. She tried not to watch him, but of course, it was an impossible feat, his every move caught by the corner of her eye. “Don’t forget your broth. Though don’t overdo it. You don’t wish to cast up your accounts. Very messy.”

“This is an entirely inappropriate conversation when one is attempting to enjoy a bracing cup of tea.”

“Perhaps I should take over, sir,” Pasha said.

Noah glanced over his shoulder. “No need. Pasha.” He turned back to Geneva, meeting her eyes, yet still addressed the maid. “I shall remain with Miss Wimbley.” A devilish smile crooked his lip. “Back to bed, Pasha. You shall likely need your strength on the morrow. I bid you good night.”

To the maid’s credit, she didn’t immediately leave. “Miss?”

“It’s all right, Pasha. I’m confident enough Mr. Oshea will not ravish me, as I’m so infirm.”

Pasha’s eyes narrowed and her lips firmed. “If you’re sure…”

Geneva nodded because what else could she do? Then she watched, helplessly from the bed, Pasha depart, the woman determinedly leaving the door open.

Another long pause ensued. Pasha’s footfalls could not be heard for the thick carpet. Nor the sound of her door latching, which drew a quick grin from Geneva she hid behind her cup.

Noah met her eyes and smiled too. The moment was poignant and drowned the pounding from her head with another sort of rush. One of heat, and an overwhelming desire to move over and invite him to join her.

She struggled for something, anything, to say to sever the hold he had on her. She cleared her throat. “Um, how old were you when Julius came to Stonemare?”

“I was ten. My father showed up on one stormy night—so commonplace, I know—handed him to me and said I could keep him.”

“Where was your mother?” she asked softly.

“Having another baby. Father told me he wanted people to believe she bore Julius and the other at the same time.” He shook his head. “As children, we are told little of the process.”

“True. I remember my mother being so ill, yet no one explained her ‘symptoms’ were normal. Our neighbor who lived below us told me she was on her deathbed.”

“Good God,” he breathed.

“Yes. I was five. That’s when I saw that man… saw… your father.”

A hush infiltrated the space that was… peaceful. “What of the other child?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. As I said, Father wished all to believe she’d had twins. I suppose the midwife would have known. But a high percentage of children and the mothers never make it past childbirth. I don’t even know if the child she had was male or female. It was never discussed.”

She shuddered. Such a dire thought had one wondering whether the purpose of going through such an ordeal was worth one’s life.

“Have your broth, Geneva. You require nourishment, but mind what I said about too much. There isn’t a great deal known about head injuries. But nausea is common.”

Geneva didn’t respond. She picked up the bowl of broth and dipped a spoon into it. “This was made fairly quickly.”

“It’s been simmering on the stove in the event you woke hungry,” he told her.

Stunned, Geneva stared at him, a suspicious sting that had her dropping her eyes and quickly blinking. “Are you certain?”

“Everyone’s been on tenterhooks worrying for you since… well, since you were brought in like a drowned kitten. Even Docia.” He gave a grim smile. “The storm broke before I could reach shelter. In fact, you’ve not been alone for a moment since. Isabelle, then Julius, absolutely refused to leave your side until I returned…”

“Returned?” she said faintly, the spoon poised midair.

The intensity of his gaze pierced her to an uncomfortable degree. “Volunteers have been out combing the woods for the man who tried to kill you.”

“A-A man… tried t-to kill me?” A vision of the black, swirling greatcoat surged in her mind and the throb in her head turned into a pointed anvil, sending a swarm of blinding waves through her. The bowl slipped from her fingers, spilling broth over her night rail and the coverlets.

The nausea hit with a vengeance.

*

In seconds, Noah had Geneva from the bed and was holding silken, ebony hair back while the contents of her stomach—which was almost nil—quickly turned into dry heaves. “I have you,” he murmured.

“Oh, this is so mortifying,” she croaked out.

“I’m going to carry you to the settee. Let me know when you are ready.”

“I-I’m ready.”

Noah lifted her gently, being especially mindful of sudden moves, and carried her to the fire. He tucked a blanket about her then frowned. Perspiration lined her forehead and her upper lip. He blotted the dampness away with his sleeve, then retrieved a glass of water for her. “I’ll return shortly with a maid to change the linens,” he said, studying her closely.

Her head dropped in a single palm. “Oh, God.”

With nothing more to say, he cupped her head with his hand, hoping to reassure her. It was warm, not feverish, to the touch. “I’ll be quick.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead then reluctantly released her and strode through the sitting room to Pasha’s chamber. She hadn’t taken to bed yet and was pacing, likely believing—worrying—he would ravish her charge to ruin. “Miss Wimbley is ill. She requires assistance in changing her… her…” Heat crawled up his neck.

“Of course.”

“I’m going for Mrs. Knagg. I’ll be back momentarily.” He didn’t bother ringing. The late hour assured everyone was abed. He took the closest stairwell below stairs and found Mrs. Knagg reading by lamplight. “She’s awake, I take it.”

“Yes, and, er, she’s ill. We must change the linens, I fear.”

“All right. I’ll be right there with a couple o’ the maids.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Knagg.” Noah hurried back to the Blue Suite, where a crowd had gathered in their nightclothes. Isabelle, Julius, and Verda all huddled outside Geneva’s door. “What the devil?”

“Noah, please,” Verda chastised him with a pointed look.

“Apologies, Aunt. What are all of you doing here?”

“We were worried,” Isabelle said.

Julius’s fists clenched, even the one in the sling, and that must have hurt. “You promised to wake me the moment she came to.”

“It’s barely been twenty minutes—”

Mrs. Knagg’s entrance with two maids also in their nightclothes carrying a stack of clean linen interrupted his slightly less-than-fiery defense. She marched her troops through without pause, disappearing into Geneva’s chamber. The door slammed pointedly in their faces.

“What happened?” Julius demanded.

“She’s ill.”

“Has she taken a chill? A fever?”

“A fever? Um, I don’t believe so.”

“It’s the concussion. I’ve read about such things,” Isabelle said. “There’s often nausea and vomiting involved.” Her gaze moved to the closed door of the chamber. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Noah confirmed. “It was quite sudden.”

“You shouldn’t have let her eat anything,” she returned. “She should be kept under close observation. Did you ask her if she was seeing stars? Or if she was experiencing dizziness?” Isabelle sounded nothing of her fourteen years. Her diatribe gave him the time he needed to gather his wit.

“I didn’t, my dear. Unfortunately, when I mentioned the man who accosted her… well, events ensued.”

“Did she lose consciousness?”

Noah took a minute to mull that over. “I believe she almost did. She dropped the bowl of broth she was holding and swayed.”

Isabelle nodded. “She shouldn’t be left alone for several days. Did she remember anything?”

“It doesn’t appear so. Nothing regarding her fall that I could tell. She remembered other things, from when she was a child.”

Isabelle limped over to him and touched his arm. “I think that’s quite common for such an injury, Noah. I should like to visit with her. She may require laudanum to sleep.”

Noah had his doubts Geneva would consent to dosing herself with an opiate. She would likely rather face the gates of purgatory. He paced the sitting room, stopping just short of storming Geneva’s chamber. Instead, he went to the windows, where he couldn’t see a blasted thing through the sheets of slashing rain.

“Sit down, Noah. You’re making everyone agitated.” Verda’s pragmatic tone pulled him back to his senses.

Isabelle was right; he should have inquired after her health, or at the least, observed her for signs of danger. Hell, he’d been the one who’d instructed Isabelle on such matters.

Isabelle clutched her wrap at her neck, glancing toward the closed door. “I don’t believe she should be left alone. I’d better stay the rest of the night with her.”

Verda grinned, casting Noah with a sly look. “An excellent notion, dear.”

The chamber door opened and the maids filed out, carrying the pile of soiled linen. Mrs. Knagg trailed. “She needs food. I’ll send somethin’ up. Gel’s thin as a lizard, she is.”

“I’ll wait with Isabelle,” Noah said. “She must be careful eating too much too soon after sustaining a head injury.”

“ I’ll stay with Isabelle,” Verda said firmly. “You shall retire to your own chamber, my dear.”

Noah hesitated.

“I’ll make sure Miss Wimbley does not overdo things,” Verda insisted. “Take Julius with you.”

Julius’s spine jolted straight. “But—”

“But nothing, Julius. You’ll both do as I say or I shall wake Sander. And he is most exhausted after all that combing through the woods. You know he doesn’t bear weariness all that gracefully.”

Noah draped an arm over Julius’s shoulder and guided his grumbling brother out. “Come on, Jules. We’ll pick up our vigil in the morning. I suspect Miss Wimbley will survive Verda’s and Isabelle’s ministrations.” Once in the corridor, though, exhaustion hit him hard.

Julius scowled. “We should be able to stay with her.”

Noah’s time would come, he vowed. “She needs her rest too. Verda and Isabelle will make certain all is well.”

“I suppose.”

“Isabelle was right about one thing,” Noah said. “She’s not out of the woods yet. Very little is known regarding head injuries.” Noah had heard horror stories but decided expounding on the subject would lead to unnecessary nightmares. “She shall need lots of care.”

“You think the same person who threw the dagger at me pushed Geneva over the cliff?”

“Yes.” But another inkling sludged his blood with ice. What if the man hadn’t been after Julius? What if it was Geneva he’d been after all along?

They reached Julius’s chamber in silence and in a moment of impulse, Noah hugged his brother.

“Noah?”

Noah shook his head, finding his throat too obstructed to speak. “We’ll find the bastard,” he choked out.