Page 13 of Tempting a Lonely Lord (The Rakes of Mayhem #6)

Cliffton Abbey

It was the wee hours of the morning when Franklin pulled the coach into the drive of Cliffton Abbey.

William was grateful to finally be home.

After discreetly following the earl’s coach home, to make certain he arrived safely, William had watched from a distance, glad to have remembered his spyglass, as two footmen retrieved Bridgewater from his carriage.

With practiced skill, they assisted him and escorted him into the manse.

It seemed Harlow had also been waiting up, for the door opened as William walked up the steps.

William felt he needed to respond to the earlier coded missive from the Home Office—if for no other reason than to detail what had been going on at the Winking Mariner.

He had heard about men being fleeced of their life savings in Dover and thought if tonight was any indication, one man stood out as the possible mastermind of that.

It was clear that Darkmoor held a substantial influence in town.

William would have to figure out what he was using for leverage.

Exhaling with real exhaustion, he decided to stay up until his missive was completed, going into detail about what he had witnessed in Dover.

Once the task was complete, he pressed his seal—a hawk, symbolic of his code name, the Hawk , during his service as an agent of the Crown—into the wax, leaving behind its unmistakable mark.

While he felt no closer to uncovering the identity of the Pied Piper, he had at least secured a convincing false identity—one he might need to use again without arousing suspicion.

More importantly, he had observed what could be the true source of Bridgewater’s unease—and the man behind it all.

Baron Darkmoor. A man who raised more questions than he answered.

Too tired to bother with a proper bath, William used the water in the basin in his bedchamber and quickly went through his ablutions.

He tugged off his clothes, leaving them in a heap for Patrick to deal with in the morning, and climbed beneath the covers of his bed.

It was an unspoken agreement they’d made years ago: unless William specifically asked him to wait up, Patrick was free to retire with the rest of the household staff.

Only the footmen and security guards assigned to patrol the estate and the manse worked through the night.

Finally, with a deep sigh, William closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

It didn’t last long.

He was awakened by a piercing cry. Realizing it was Michael, William threw on his breeches and his dressing gown and rushed up to the nursery.

Mrs. Randal gently dabbed the boy’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Sweetheart, it’s me, Mrs. Randal. I’m right here with you. You’re safe now—there’s nothing and no one here to harm you.”

Her pleas were having no effect. Michael continued to scream as loudly as he could as the night terror possessed him. “I want Mummy,” the boy wailed, tossing his head from side to side.

“His night terrors are back, Mrs. Randal,” William said. “I had hoped he was over them.”

Michael thrashed beneath the sheets, his small body tangled in the linens soaked with his perspiration. His face was contorted in the throes of his nightmare, and a low, panicked cry escaped his lips.

“Mrs. Randal,” William called softly, though his tone was edged with urgency. The older woman, already at the bedside, moved quickly to loosen the blankets twisted around the boy.

“We’ll need to change these sheets, Mr. William,” she said, as her hands worked to free Michael. “The poor child is drenched through.”

William nodded as he helped her, his focus fixed on Michael, who flinched and mumbled incoherently, still trapped in the dream’s grip.

Kneeling beside the bed, William placed a firm but gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, speaking low and steady.

“Michael, it’s William. You’re safe. Wake up, lad. I’m here.”

But the boy’s tremors didn’t abate. His small fists curled tightly into the sheets, and his breathing remained shallow and ragged.

“We’ll need to move him,” Mrs. Randal said briskly, her voice betraying a hint of worry. She had already retrieved fresh bedding, her movements efficient despite the lateness of the hour.

“I’ll take him,” William said. Carefully, he slipped his arms under Michael’s thin frame and lifted him, the boy’s head lolling against his shoulder. Michael whimpered, weakly clutching at William’s shirt as though he were reaching for something solid in the storm of his terror.

“Shh, it’s all right, Michael,” William murmured, cradling him close. “It’s me. I won’t let anything harm you.”

Mrs. Randal quickly stripped the soaked sheets, her swift motions accompanied by the faint rustle of linen and the snap of fresh fabric being laid in place.

All the while, William held the boy tightly, his hand smoothing over Michael’s damp hair.

The boy’s body remained tense, and William could feel the tremors still rippling through him.

“It’s over, Michael,” he said again. “You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

As Mrs. Randal finished remaking the bed, William settled Michael back onto the fresh sheets, keeping one hand on the boy’s chest to ground him. Michael’s breathing hitched, but slowly began to steady, the nightmare loosening its claws bit by bit.

Mrs. Randal tucked the blankets securely around him. “He’ll sleep easier now, sir,” she said, her tone more hopeful than certain.

William didn’t leave, pulling a chair close to the bedside. “I’ll stay with him,” he said, his gaze never leaving Michael’s face. “If the nightmare comes again, he won’t face it alone.”

The little boy opened his eyes and, looking at William, wailed for his mother. “Don’t let them take Mummy,” he said hoarsely in between big gulps of air.

“Michael, I’m here with you now. And I’m not going anywhere,” William insisted, pouring a cup of water and holding it to Michael’s lips.

“William?” the little boy said after taking a few sips. “Can I stay with you tonight?” He hiccupped.

“Yes, sprout. We will talk about your bad dream tomorrow. But for tonight, you can sleep in my bed.”

“My lord, is there anything I can do?” Patrick asked, rushing into the room a minute later, his face creased with concern.

“Just quickly prepare my room,” William said. “I’m going to let Michael sleep in there this once, so everyone can get some rest.”

Patrick hesitated a moment, his brows knitting in concern, but then gave a quick nod and hurried off to do as he was bidden.

By the time William carried Michael into his chamber, the valet had already worked his usual magic.

The discarded clothing and scattered shoes had been cleared away, and the bed was freshly made.

Patrick had even arranged a special area on the far side of the bed, piling extra pillows and blankets to create a comfortable, separate space for the boy.

“Very good, Patrick,” William said quietly as he settled Michael onto the prepared side of the bed.

Michael stirred faintly, his small fingers clinging briefly to William’s sleeve before relaxing again.

The boy’s exhaustion was palpable, though the occasional tremor from his nightmare still rippled through him.

“I’m right here, Michael,” William murmured, smoothing the blankets over the child. “You’ve nothing to fear now.”

Patrick stood to one side, attentive but unobtrusive. “Shall I bring anything else, my lord?”

“No, Patrick. That’ll be all for tonight,” William replied, glancing up. “Thank you.”

Patrick inclined his head and slipped out of the room, leaving William alone with his young charge. The room fell into a hushed stillness, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. William lowered himself onto the bed beside Michael, his presence offering a silent reassurance.

As the boy’s breathing evened out, William leaned back, letting his head rest against the headboard. He knew the day’s burdens wouldn’t allow him much sleep, but at least Michael was calm—and that was all that mattered tonight.

William hoped he’d have the same good fortune. This was the second time this week that Michael had sought comfort this way. He couldn’t sleep in here long term; William needed to find a way to help his brother face his fears and get through these episodes.

~*~

A few hours later, he was startled awake by the sharp sound of curtains being drawn back.

Bright sunlight flooded the room, eliciting a groan from William as he turned his face into the pillow.

After the long night he’d endured, his eyes felt gritty and irritated—almost as irritated as the rest of him.

All he wanted was an hour or two more of precious sleep.

“What is it, Patrick? This had better be good,” he grumbled, his voice thick with fatigue. He looked over where Michael had been just a few hours earlier, and the area was empty. “Wait. Where’s Michael?”

“He woke up earlier, and I happened by and took him back to the nursery for breakfast,” Patrick said. “My apologies, my lord, but you have another problem. Lady Bella Connolly has arrived. She told Harlow she wasn’t expected, but said she had something important to discuss with you.”

“Lady Bella… Here… Now?” William said, bolting upright so abruptly that he nearly tumbled out of bed. Scrambling to focus his bleary eyes, he fixed a questioning look on his valet. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon, my lord.”

“Damn,” William muttered. “Help me dress, will you?”

“I live to serve, my lord,” Patrick replied, his words carrying just enough sarcasm to earn him a raised brow. Nevertheless, he swiftly laid out William’s buckskin trousers, a crisp shirt, and a neatly folded neckcloth.

William shot his valet a pointed look but didn’t bother hiding his smirk. Cheeky fellow.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed and marginally more awake, William descended the stairs and made his way to the drawing room.