A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (26 page)

Still holding her, Hugh fell to his knees panting and coughing. He tore at the cloth to unwrap the bundle. From the center of the singed rags Ellie’s face emerged. Hugh untied the gag from her mouth. “My petticoats were wet from the fountain,” she sputtered. “I got them over my head for protection from the smoke.”

At first Hugh simply stared at her. Then he began to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell into a fit of coughing. He sat in the dirt and covered his face with bloody, burned hands.

Toby dragged Chase from the barn and laid him face up in the stable yard. “I would have been out to help sooner, but they had me tied in the paddock,” he said.

Hugh’s coughs quieted as Ellie’s soot-covered face wavered into view. He blinked the stinging smoke from his eyes.

“You’re all right,” he said. Scarcely conscious of his actions, but filled with a strange joy, he pulled her onto his lap. With the gentlest touch, he untied her and examined her wrists and ankles. There were raw, red marks circling them. A terrible hatred for Lank, for Chase, and Baron Wadsworth consumed him.
I will kill them if they dare come near her again
, he vowed.

The crimson glow of the burning barn flickered on her face. She trembled as she looked at the silhouette of Chase’s body, like distant hills against the backdrop of fire. “You’re all right now,” Hugh murmured into her hair as she sat wrapped in his arms. “You’re safe.”

A sigh shuddered through him, and he tightened his arms about her. The barn buckled with a heave of scorching breath, and a scream of sparks cascaded into the sky.

Ellie brought the lamp closer to the bed and studied the gash in Hugh’s chest. If only she could be sure she’d removed all the dirt and fibers that might have been caught in the wound. “It’s all right, sew it up,” he said, catching her hand.

She patted water from the edges of the raw opening then saw a bubble of soap. “Let me give it one more rinse.”

Hugh impatiently turned his head on the pillows. “It will only take a moment,” she assured him. Drenching a strip of cotton in an ewer of water, she squeezed it over the laceration. Rivulets found the valleys between his ribs and the indentation at the top of his sternum. One stray stream raced across his belly, threatening to leak below the waistband of his form-fitting pants. Before she could think, Ellie pressed a dry rag to his flesh to stop the flow. The skin was pliant, giving slightly beneath her hand and exposing a strip of fine hair that led down to the grotto of his manhood. The sight made her breath catch. Instantly, she withdrew.

A low chuckle flexed Hugh’s abdomen, but he ceased as pain shuddered through him. “Scared you, didn’t I?” he said, careful not to move much.

Ellie pressed her lips together. “Not at all.”

She daubed the dry cloth on his chest, feeling the plate of bone and cartilage , the heart beating under flesh made cool by the water. Her mind should be on what needed to be done to the wound, but she found herself studying his naked torso. Shadows etched the line beneath the mounds of his pectorals, his white skin heightened the darkness of his nipples, and the gash crossed the plane of his breast like a red and dangerous canyon.

The cut was clean with only a little blood still oozing from it. Now she had only to sew it closed, but the idea made Ellie queasy. No one stirred in the massive Tudor house, so the job fell to her. Lank had apparently given all of the servants the night off. “I’ve only seen Claire do this once or twice,” she said, fetching the sewing box.

“You’ll be fine.”

In the dim light on the opposite side of the room, Ellie felt safe. She longed to linger there. From this distance, Hugh seemed less like living flesh and more like a painting or porcelain figurine. Dark hair framing an aquiline nose, eyes closed, the expanse of his body rising and falling with each breath. Fear of what she had to do spread through her body as she watched him. She clutched the sewing box close and took a tentative step toward him.
Don’t be ridiculous, Ellie
, she told herself.
Be brave
. She forced her feet to move more quickly. “Let me know if I hurt you,” she said, trying to sound confident.

He let out a little sigh, but his face gave no hint of emotion. Ellie put beeswax on the needle then spread it on the thread as well. She wasn’t sure what Claire would use, but Ellie selected the finest silk thread they had — a pale blue left over from the decoration of one of her favorite dresses.

Clenching her teeth, she poked the needle into Hugh’s flesh. He winced with pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, yanking the needle back.

“It’s all right, just keep going.”

Hand trembling, Ellie pressed the point again to his flesh.

Voice tight with agony, Hugh said, “Push it through.” But it wasn’t so easy. Her fingers slipped on the beeswax. His skin was tough and resistant. Panic fluttered through her and she wished with all her being that Claire was there. But Claire wasn’t there. No one was. She and she alone had to get the stitches in or the wound might never heal properly. Gritting her teeth, Ellie pushed hard and the tip of the needle popped through the other side of the skin. She fought back tears and pulled the blue thread through. Determined not to give in to terror, Ellie jammed the needle into the other side of the cut. “Ahh!” Hugh cried.

“That was too hard. I’m sorry.” Gently, she pulled the two sides of the wound together and tied off the stitch.

Ellie stepped back, needing a moment to gather her emotions. “I’m so inexperienced, I’m sure I’m hurting you more than necessary.”

Hugh gave her a weak smile. “Where’s the bottle?”

She handed him a flagon of brandy and helped him take a swig. She poured a little into a glass for herself and let the sweet burn trickle down her throat.

“Make the second stitch,” Hugh said, lying back on the pillows.

“Take another swallow,” she urged him. “I think the brandy is numbing you.”

He took several large gulps, and she went back in with the needle.

By the eleventh suture the brandy was nearly gone and Hugh had relaxed considerably. “Funny thing, you of all people stitching my heart,” he said.

She completed another loop. “Why so?”

A long silence was the only answer she got. Ellie stopped stitching. His eyes were closed and his breathing had become deep and steady. “Are you asleep, Hugh?” Not a sound.

As she cleaned up the wet cloths and sewing materials, she studied him. Was it her imagination or did his face look sunken with a hurt beyond physical pain. Guilt contracted her stomach. Gently, she touched his shoulder and whispered, “I hope someday you can forgive me.”

• • •

Chase was ensconced on a chaise in the front parlor of the Albright home. He seemed weak and Ellie feared the worst. He had not opened his eyes all night, his brow was hot, and his skin a deep gray. Between Hugh and Chase, she’d spent the entire night rushing up and down the stairs trying to make the two injured men comfortable. Hugh drank so much brandy he finally fell asleep, but Chase had been restless, groaning, unable to rest peacefully. As angry as she was with the captain, she didn’t want him to die.

Toby had done his best to help her, but had to leave at first light, bound for the home of the local constable, then on to Cowick Hill with news of the catastrophe. All that Ellie could think to do was pray for Claire’s swift arrival. She was exhausted, yet so certain there were things she should have done or should be doing right now for the two patients that even when the servants returned, she couldn’t rest.

Placing a compress on Chase’s forehead, she recalled his suffering as Toby and Hugh lifted him into a knacker’s wagon. He opened his eyes when the cart hit a rut, and agony turned his face white. “I should die,” he whispered.

His words filled Ellie first with rage and then dread. “You’ll not die before you see the inside of a cell,” she told him.

• • •

The moment the Davenport coach stopped in the driveway at Fairland, Ellie raced to meet its occupants. A postilion threw the coach door open and Lady Davenport appeared. She was about to exit when Snap squeezed past her and disappeared into the excited circle of hounds greeting the newcomers. To Ellie’s great relief, Claire was behind Lady Davenport, and her parents and Peggity appeared shortly behind her ladyship.

“Let me see him,” Snap said, bolting through the front door.

By the time Ellie and company arrived in the parlor, Snap was at Chase’s side. “He’s very pretty, isn’t he?” the little girl said.

“In looks only,” Ellie answered.

“My darling!” shrieked Lady Davenport. “What have you done?” She took Chase’s hand in a fervent grip and sat beside him to brush the matted hair from his brow.

Chase groaned and stirred beneath the bedclothes. “Forgive me, Aurelia,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Lady Davenport threw herself over her lover’s body. A sob shook her.

“Ellie,” Claire said, bumping Snap out of the way to feel Chase’s forehead, “tell Cook to brew some white willow bark tea, and bring me a bucket of ice chips. You’ve been putting cold compresses on him, I see. Good work. You may have kept his fever from going too high.”

Ellie gave the bell pull a good yank, and moments later Alonso, their butler, arrived.

Claire patted Lady Davenport’s back and drew her away from the patient.

“But are you all right?” Ellie’s father said, holding her hands and studying her face. Mist fogged his glasses.

“I’m fine, Papa, but the barn is gone and we’re not sure if we’ll ever find the mares again.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does … ”

“I didn’t mean that. I apologize.” Her father fumbled in his waistcoat for a handkerchief. Missing it in his emotional state, he wiped the lenses of his spectacles on his cravat. “Never again will I say the horses aren’t important. I just meant they’re not nearly as important as your safety.”

“And my son, is he all right, too?” Lady Davenport said, pulling Ellie from her father’s embrace.

“He was cut on the chest but not badly, and his hands are burned. He’s asleep upstairs, if you’d like to go to him.”

“Yes, thank you,” the older woman replied.

“Alonso, could you take Lady Davenport to her son, and then tell Cook to brew willow bark tea?” asked Ellie.

“Of course, my lady,” Alonso bowed and left.

“Snap, you need to leave the room now, too,” Claire told her little sister. “Captain Hart needs air.”

“Let me put the compress on him,” Snap said, grabbing the cloth from Claire.

“Little one, you may not. You’re too young.” Claire tried to take the cloth back, but the moment she placed the damp cloth on Chase’s face he shrank from it, tossing as if he were in extreme pain.

“He doesn’t like it when you do it,” Snap announced. “He likes me best.”

“But you’ve only just met,” Ellie told her.

Snap grabbed the patient’s limp hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain Hart,” she said, shaking the appendage.

Laughing, Claire took the cloth, rinsed it in a bowl of clean, cool water and reapplied it. Again, Chase groaned. His hand fluttered toward his face, but fell back at his side in exhaustion.

“He only wants me,” Snap insisted. She dipped the hem of her dress in the bowl, and before anyone could stop her, draped it over Chase’s eyes. Amazingly, he stayed calm. A slight smile flitted about his lips.

Claire shrugged her shoulders. “Bested by a child. You shall have to be a very careful nursemaid.”

“I will, won’t I?” the little girl said, addressing Chase.

The man lay still. A look of peace softened his features.

When the tray arrived, Snap helped Claire administer white willow tea, spooning it into Chase’s closed lips, careful not to spill. The little girl wrapped ice chips in a cloth and held them to his palms, his neck, and ashen face.

Confident in Snap’s nursing skills, Ellie and Claire retired to a cluster of chairs and a couch at the far end of the parlor.

Ellie closed her eyes and smiled as she listened to her little sister sing nursery rhymes and tell Chase the story of how she caught her rat, Napoleon.

“Is your collar too tight?” Ellie heard Snap ask. And then the child gasped. “Oh, did Ellie put that on you for good luck?”

A moment later a finger tapped Ellie’s shoulder.

“What is it, little one?” she said.

“Did you put Mama’s necklace on Captain Hart?”

“What?”

“Mama’s necklace, because I think it’s making him uncomfortable and I want to take it off.”

Ellie scrambled from her chair, went to the bedside, and looked down at the captain’s bared neckline. The Fitzcarry pearls lay in a magnificent tangle at the base of his throat.

“They’re not lucky for him anymore,” Snap explained. “He doesn’t need them now that he has me.”

“Yes,” Ellie said, fighting tears of relief. She gripped the bed and sat down hard, landing in Snap’s lap.

“You’re too big. Get off!” Snap squealed.

Ellie’s head was spinning. “You move, Snap. I need to sit to take the necklace from him.”

The little girl squirmed and struggled, squeezing out from under her sister.

With immense care, Ellie undid the clasp and pulled the strand from Chase’s neck. When the pearls were free, she put them to her forehead, closed her eyes, and thanked God for their safe return.

• • •

“He’s badly hurt — leave him be,” Ellie heard Lady Davenport say, as a door shut and the heavy tread of a man’s boots sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Hugh appeared in the parlor doorway. His hair was tousled, his clothes bloodied, blackened, and torn. Ellie smiled at him, but his lips formed a stiff line. He fixed a glare at Chase that sent shivers down her.

“Tell me where he is, Hart,” Hugh growled. But Chase lay motionless on the bed. In a few quick strides, Hugh was at the patient’s side. He pushed hard on Chase’s shoulder, driving the man into the chaise.

“Ugh,” Chase moaned.

“Wake up, man. Tell me where Lank has gone.” Hugh slapped the captain’s face. The bedridden man’s eyelids flew open.

“Naughty, naughty!” cried Snap. The little girl threw herself at Hugh, punching him in the thigh with all her might.