Page 11 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 10

A fter her tears and the panic in her lovely eyes, Rochester’s heart twisted painfully.

His first thought when he witnessed her crawling out of her second-story window was a terrified memory of holding his mother when she passed away. He’d been all of five years old at the time, and yet the memory was as vivid as yesterday. He understood fear. Unlike the other notes Evelyn had sent, this one, spelling out help, held the sharp edge of desperation. That one word—just HELP—and he knew something had gone wrong. Memory kicked in like a well-worked muscle in a prize fight.

Although thankful he’d answered his gut instinct, he was not thankful it cost him two days to locate her.

Now seated across from him in the coach, he studied her closely, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, her teeth chattering against the cold. They still had awhile yet before they reached Mayfair, and as a result of the inclement weather, he expected a six-hour trip rather than the usual three to four. And they were both drenched.

The vision of her in that wet dress, molded to her skin, owned his mind. It was provocatively translucent in some rather indecent places.

The laces of her stays had shown through the thin apricot muslin, and the stays were the only thing that kept her breasts from bleeding through the fabric, but it hadn’t kept the crest of her nipples from view. Although he appeared unaffected, the sight of her had sent a rush of heat throughout his body. Her legs might as well have been bare for the thin veil and the color of the skirt plastered against her skin, wet and virtually transparent. His gaze had trailed up the line between her thighs, and he dared not look higher for fear her titillating nether curls would have been the next thing on display.

He shoved the erotic picture from his mind and wordlessly reached across the expanse, grabbed both sides of the coat, and shoved the damp cloth-covered buttons through the tight holes. Not an easy task with frozen fingers.

“I think I could wring out my dress,” she said absently.

“The coat, too. There should be a blanket somewhere in here.” He wedged himself into a kneeling position on the floorboards, taking a blow to his kneecap when they hit an uneven stretch of highway. In the storage where the lantern had been, there was a gray wool blanket. Not as thick as the coat, but at least it was dry.

He held it out. “You have two choices. Leave the coat and cover it over with the blanket. Or take off the coat and cover the wet dress. I’m not sure which is better.”

“Why don’t you use the blanket.”

“Because your teeth are chattering, and I’m not quite there yet.” Just a little lie. He was indeed chilled to the bone.

She nodded, the motion slow and lethargic. “Then we’ll share it.”

Despite the cold, he paused for one dangerous moment to contemplate the sanity of sitting next to her in that wet gown. The warmth of her smile alone could melt him, and he had no right to any of it. But the shiver shooting up his neck in a wave of spiking gooseflesh made the decision for him. He changed seats and pulled her against his side. He unfolded the blanket and tucked it around her and then himself.

By the time they reached his home, she was asleep, and her usual delicate petal pink lips had a bluish tint. If he hadn’t been checking for signs of extreme exposure to the cold, he might have been more worried. As it was, he was desperate to get her warm and in bed.

It was still dark out; the sun wouldn’t be up for another two hours. Evelyn’s head lay against his shoulder while he ushered her inside. The first person he saw was Lovie.

“Who do we have here?”

“I’ll explain later. Find the housekeeper and have a maid sent up. Tell them I need a warm bath. Not hot. She’s too cold for that.” He spoke of Evelyn but wasn’t ready to provide her name. “And then have a bath set up for me in the kitchen.”

“I’ll have it sent to Hudson’s room,” Lovie said.

“In the kitchen,” Rochester repeated. “Argue with me later. And don’t do anything past finding the housekeeper. You need your rest, too.”

The housekeeper, Mrs. Nithercott, came running, a white lace sleep cap on her head. “Holy fire, what is this?”

“A freezing woman.”

“Well, I can see that.”

Reluctantly, Rochester allowed Mrs. Nithercott and a maid to take over for him. From his room, he grabbed a change of clothes and his robe, then found the kitchen. He helped get the kettles going. He even took them upstairs, but he left them at the door for the servants to manage for modesty’s sake.

An hour later, he was warm, dry, and sitting in the drawing room with a brandy and a roaring fire. Mrs. Nithercott informed him that Evelyn had been bathed, warmed, dressed, and put to bed. He needed sleep. He’d plot and plan what to do with his little captivating goose later. He sent a note to Evelyn’s father as if it came from Winn’s staff, so Mr. Markham wouldn’t worry. Even if her father tried to recover her from Winn’s home, he would assume the roads had become impassable after Evelyn had arrived safely. That would buy them some time.

No doubt he was in over his head. He couldn’t ignore the pebble in his shoe any longer.

As he passed the note off to a footman, Rochester’s cousin strolled into the drawing room with his usual adornment—a planning ledger under his arm.

“How is she?” Hudson asked.

Rochester held his hand over the top of his brandy glass, turning it clockwise against his knee, watching the lamplight spark the amber liquid like twinkling glitter. “Who told you?”

“Lovie. She said you brought home a woman half-frozen and that you didn’t look much better.”

Rochester set his spirits down and spread his arms wide. “What do you think? Was your sister correct?”

“I think you look exhausted. Why don’t you take my room? I’ll sleep down here.”

Rochester shook his head. “I doubt I can sleep.” With his elbows propped on his knees and his head bent, Rochester looked up under his brow. “It’s Miss Markham. We were caught in the storm south of Caterham. I swear there were moments I thought we would have to spend the night in the coach, both of us soaked through, not a dry stitch between us.” He motioned for Hudson to take the opposite wingback chair.

“If you need to talk, you know I’m here.”

“I don’t know what I need, Hud. I was taking her to Horley to see her brother when the storm hit. One of the coach wheels hit a mud pit and sank. Thank God the horses missed it.”

Hudson went to the bar and poured himself a drink, his back to the room. “Why were you the one taking her?”

“That damn note, the one you threw in my lap two days ago. It was a plea. The note literally had one written word. Help. That’s it. But I knew who sent it. I just didn’t know where she was. Turns out she had gone to her family seat. So, I went there to see her. By the time I arrived, it was late evening, and she was in a predicament.”

“What kind?” Hudson threw a napkin on the tea table for his glass, then sat, elbows to knees and his fingers folded, knuckling his bottom lip. It reminded Rochester how much they looked alike and how Hud was more like a brother to him than his own brother was. They trusted one another. Better than family, joined by pain and survival.

“It doesn’t matter why I went. What matters is she needed help, and I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t think of another safe option.”

“Her father already hates you, so I suppose it can’t get much worse.”

Rochester laid his head back, his gaze pointed toward the ceiling. “He could call for a duel and shoot me. After all, my talent is billiards, not pistols.”

“Besides the household, who else knows she’s here? Her brother? Isn’t she close to her sister-in-law?”

“No one else knows. Not her brother or her friends. Just my staff. As small as it is, I can’t imagine it will be an issue.”

Hudson grabbed the ledger, spreading it open on his lap. He pulled a short pencil from his pocket and jotted a few notes. “I’ll speak to the staff and make certain they understand.”

“Hush, hush, and all that?”

Hud smiled. “A real mystery.”

“A bloody blunder.”

“You sorry you brought her here?”

Rochester shook his head, his fingers steepled. “No. But I need time to consider what to do with her.”

“If you be excusin’ me, sir,” the chambermaid tapped the open door. She was a pretty thing, with red hair, blue eyes, and a bit of an Irish temper. She looked nervously between Rochester and Hudson. Hud twisted to see her over his shoulder.

“You can speak freely. He already knows,” Rochester said.

“She’s sleepin’ and warm. I thought you’d like to know now.”

“Thank you, Miss Margaret. Would you mind accompanying me to check on her?”

“Not at all, sir.” She smiled shyly at Hudson. “Excuse me, Mr. Wright. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hudson stood. “Not a problem.” Then he turned his attention to Rochester. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Rochester wanted to take the stairs two at a time but held on to his reserve. Besides, there was every chance he’d trip and tumble straight to the bottom from pure exhaustion alone. He nodded for Miss Margaret to open the door, and he tentatively poked his head in like someone who might be unwelcome or as if he entered a sick room.

There on the bed, Evelyn lay deathly still with blankets pulled to her chin. She looked far too peaceful for comfort. He turned a worried gaze on the maid.

“She’s only restin’ like she ain’t gettin’ up again.”

He flinched, feeling the blood drain from his face. He nodded and smiled uneasily. “If you would stay by the door. And leave it open,” he added for propriety’s sake. “I want to check on her for myself and see that she’s all right. “

“O, course.”

As in most houses, the staff would see through the eyes of Miss Margaret, which is why he asked her to stay and to leave the door open. Thankfully, they were a trusted lot. Good people, as far as he’d met and spoken with them. Most households ran with a hundred servants, sometimes more. He made it work with a half dozen on the inside and another six for his team of horses and conveyances, not to mention one or two for the gardens. It wasn’t enough, and honestly, they all pitched in at some point, but until his and Darrington’s investments began paying by all accounts, he’d settle for the skeleton crew.

In slumber, Evelyn’s lips were back to their petal pink perfection and her complexion warm and rosy, but he felt her head for good measure despite hearing her soft, even breathing. Her hair, now mostly dry, felt soft against his palm, and she smelled of lavender soap, thanks to Lovie. He had to chuckle at that because Evelyn had thought Lovie was his mistress. Lovie and Hudson were his cousins, his friends, and his house companions most of the time.

Little did Evelyn know, but Lovie was married and early with child. Her husband had just inherited a manse and was busy making sure it was ready for his new family to occupy it. Lovie had stayed with Hudson and Rochester for the most part before she wed and so was quite comfortable with the arrangement now. Perhaps she’d be a nice ally for Evelyn.

He smoothed the royal-blue counterpane over her shoulders, tucked her in as if she needed it, then without caring what the maid thought, he placed a kiss on her warm brow, breathing in the scent of her at the same time. With a sigh, he straightened.

As expected, he slept very little, but at least he was warm. Lounging on the sofa, his knee bent, he watched the fire, trying his damnedest to conjure up a plan but finding none. His actions were unforgivable. They were grounds for a young lady’s ruination and grounds for a duel, a beating, or public flogging. Well, perhaps not the flogging, at least not in public. But he had little doubt her father would disagree with his actions. He would see it as ruination. Beyond Mr. Markham’s wrath, Rochester knew this little stunt might also cost him Winn’s friendship.

But how could he dismiss those tears? Real tears of relief, as if she had fought so hard for a morsel of sympathetic understanding and finally won. He knew those feelings well. They were the same ones he’d had when Hudson had taken him on as a gaming partner. Their mothers had been sisters, and with both of them gone now, he and Hudson shared the pain of loss. Hudson had lost both his parents, and Rochester had lost his mother. Their shared experience was the glue that bonded their friendship and trust.

Then there was Winn and Darrington, also like family, and he couldn’t be certain how Darrington would take the news either or if their partnering would survive a falling out between him and Winn Markham. So much of his life rode on this erratic decision all because he couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone else.

And Lord knew he had no right to think of her with himself.