Page 3

Chapter

Three

A ngelica woke sometime late into the night to the sounds of a man groaning just a few doors up from her room. She sat up, a little muddled, before she remembered their unannounced injured guest.

She threw the bedding off, reached for her dressing gown and ran from the room. The floor beneath her bare feet was cold, the scent of beeswax and lavender lingering faintly in the air, the only sounds her muffled footsteps on the Aubusson rug and the muffled groans ahead.

Several steps from the injured man’s door—whom they now knew to be Lord Benedict Deverell, Lord Whitmore’s younger brother—his distress and pain-filled moans increased.

Angelica pushed the door open, thankful to find it lit with several candles, but his tossing and turning did not bode well for his comfort or recovery.

The sheets were tangled about his legs, his skin pale and clammy with sweat. The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows across his face. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, and his lips were dry and cracked.

She pulled up a chair beside the bed and poured a little laudanum into a small glass cup and reached for him. "Lord Benedict, here, take this. It will make you feel better, I promise."

He shook his head as if to say no, before his eyes slowly opened and he focused on her. "My angel," he rasped yet again.

Angelica smiled, although she was far from angelic, and if this man was indeed intended for the priesthood, he certainly would keep his distance once he was better. Even so, her pulse quickened at his words, a blush heating her cheeks, but she forced herself to remain composed.

He attempted to sit up, and she helped him drink down the laudanum before he flopped back on to the bedding. "Water, please," he rasped.

"Of course, here, there is ample beside your bed if you're capable." She reached for the jug and poured him a glass before helping him to drink down as much water as he needed. His hand brushed against hers as she steadied the glass. The contact sent a strange, unwelcome shiver down her spine.

He sighed and lay back onto the pillow, and she stood, walking over to the washbowl and wetting a cloth to place over his forehead. With care, she gently smoothed it across his brow, noting the faint scent of soap and sweat clinging to his skin.

"Where am I?" he asked, the laudanum having not yet taken effect, placing him into another deep sleep.

She sat beside him and left the cool cloth on his forehead. "You're at the Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere's estate in Hampshire, Ebonmere Abbey. I'm Lady Angelica Ravensmere, the duchess's sister."

He frowned and studied her a moment. "But how can you also be a Ravensmere if you're the duchess's sister…"

Angelica moved a little closer and reached up to feel his cheek, glad to notice that it wasn't overly warm.

His skin was rough beneath her fingertips, a day's stubble darkening his jawline.

"The duke inherited my father’s title. My eldest sister married the new Duke Ravensmere, and so we all hold the same name. "

"Ah, I see." He moved and winced, and Angelica reached for the blanket covering his leg.

"You were shot, my lord, by a highwayman, your driver says.

You were brought here, and we called the doctor.

He's removed the bullet and stitched up your wound, but you must try to keep still and help your leg heal.

It was quite a mess when we carried you upstairs.

" Her voice softened as she spoke, an odd protectiveness rising in her chest, as though she alone could keep this man from the clutches of death.

"I'm Lord Benedict Deverell. My brother is the Marquess of Whitmore. Could you please send word to him that I'm here and injured? He's expecting me and will be worried."

She ignored the fact that he’d not noticed she already knew who he was and simply agreed to his request. "Of course, Lord Benedict. I shall have a missive posted first thing tomorrow by express courier."

So he was indeed a lord…a marquess’s younger brother, and a handsome one at that.

The confirmation stirred a flicker of interest deep within her—a spark she quickly tried to extinguish.

She could not start romanticizing the injured gentleman simply because up until meeting him she’d never been so close to a man in her life, not one who was not a relation.

"We were curious about your black cravat and shirt and thought that perhaps you were intended for the church."

He instinctively reached for his neck and felt the black cravat tied loosely there.

"I have not yet taken my orders, but I’m currently studying to do so.

As a second son, you understand, either the church or the army.

" His voice was hoarse, yet there was a note of weariness there, as if the weight of duty and expectation pressed upon him as surely as his wound.

She smiled, understanding perfectly what the second and third sons of titled gentlemen had to choose for professions.

Not that she, as a woman, had a choice. Her only one was to marry well to ensure the family was free of scandal and increased their connections within good society.

Her heart ached for the unfairness of it all—his choices confined to service, hers to matrimony.

They were both prisoners of birth, in their own ways.

Her father would not approve of her marrying a reverend or second son of anyone, even a marquess. Thankfully, he was no longer around to tell any of them what to do, or whom to love.

"Are you hungry, Lord Benedict? I can have a plate of sandwiches brought up or a cup of tea. I know it's late, but it's no trouble, not if you're hungry. We know you must not have eaten in quite a few hours."

"No food, thank you," he said, his eyes drooping and showing signs that the laudanum was working. "I do not want to be any trouble, and as soon as my leg is healed, I shall get out of the duke's way."

"You're not in any way at all." Angelica settled his bedding about him and sat back on her chair. "Nothing of interest ever happens here, so your arrival is quite the boon. Even though we do, of course, wish it were under different circumstances."

"Of course," he said, his lips twisting into a small smile for the first time since his arrival.

For a moment, Angelica was rendered speechless by the two dimples that settled on his cheeks.

The dimples transformed his face entirely, softening the sharp planes of his jaw and making him appear almost boyish, despite the lines of pain around his eyes.

The man was deadly handsome when he smiled.

What a shame he was so determined to marry the church.

Again she chastised herself for her ungodly thoughts. But at two and twenty it was any wonder her mind had started to wonder what it would be like to be married, to have a husband, and what that relationship would involve.

Of course, she'd stolen down to her father's library a time or two and read as many books as she could on the matter, and it had only left her with more questions than answers.

Certainly, her married sisters were closed-lipped and had not enlightened her on the matter, but after seeing several sketches, she could not work out what a couple did when alone.

The images were all very confusing, even if they were intriguing.

A blush warmed her cheeks, and she shook her head, willing herself to banish such improper musings, especially before a man of God.

Whatever would the Almighty think of her?

"I think I shall sleep for a little while now. I'm finding it awfully hard to keep my eyes open, even if the view is quite pleasant."

Angelica could not stop her lips from twisting into a smile. Was the man trying to give her a compliment, or did he merely think the room was acceptable and comfortable for an invalid?

Angelica decided to believe it was the latter.

She'd never been a vain girl and wouldn't start to be one now. Instead, she sat there for several more minutes until his breathing evened out and she knew him to be asleep. She poured a fresh glass of water before standing and leaving Benedict to rest.

"Sister, I was just coming to check on our guest. How is he?" Rosalind asked as they met in the passageway and walked with her as she returned to her room. Her sister's figure had begun to show the soft swell of her first pregnancy, and Angelica could not wait to meet her first niece or nephew.

"He seems a little better, although still in pain. I administered some more laudanum, and he's resting now. I do hope, however, that he doesn't start to show any signs of a fever. The doctor was worried most about this, I believe."

Her sister frowned and placed a comforting hand over her growing stomach. "Yes, that would place him in much danger. Was he able to confirm that he is, indeed, Lord Benedict Deverell as the driver stated?"

"Oh yes, of course. I almost forgot. He's the second son of the late Marquess Whitmore, Lord Benedict Deverell. He was heading to his brother's country estate when he was attacked. He asked if we could send word to his lordship, and I stated that we would."

"Of course, we shall send one post haste in the morning." Rosalind frowned. "I think we shall invite the marquess to stay while his brother is recuperating, and then he shall be able to take Lord Benedict home."

The thought of their guest leaving—though she could not truly call Lord Benedict a guest, more an invalid under house arrest, really—did leave her a little melancholy.

Not much happened in the country, certainly not at a ducal estate where everything was orderly and kept just as it should be under her brother-in-law's guidance.

"I must admit, having Lord Benedict arrive here has been exciting, if not scary for his lordship. It makes me eager to travel to town and have my Season. I so want my life to begin. I feel like I've been waiting an age to have my time."

"You'll have a splendid Season in town, my love, and with Evangeline stepping in as chaperone for you since I'm indisposed, it works perfectly.

In fact, I only received a letter from her today.

" Rosalind linked their arms as they walked back toward her room.

"And she has your suite ready at the London house and expects you in four weeks.

That is not long now to wait. Your time in London will be upon you before you know it. "

"And now that I'm busy looking after Lord Benedict, that time will pass even more quickly."

"Yes, but not that I think poor Lord Benedict wished to be a distraction for anyone, and certainly not shot by the highwayman, but he could have ended up in a far worse a location than the Ravensmere ducal estate."

"Yes, that is true. He could have ended in the ground in the churchyard he's so very fond of."