Dark Before the Rising Sun (22 page)

* * *

Dante awoke to a steady pounding in his temple. Groaning softly, he raised a hand to the aching spot and was surprised to encounter a soft bandage wrapped around his forehead. Opening a wary eye, he glanced around at his surroundings and was surprised yet again. He was not lying in the road but in a very comfortable four-poster bed with embroidered hangings and a matching quilted comforter which someone had carefully placed around his bare shoulders. The tall, mullioned windows were draped in sea green Italian silk damask hangings, drawn against the cool evening air. A cheerful fire was burning in the hearth, and while firelight danced on a woman he had never seen before, a clock on the pilastered mantel chimed the hour. The woman sleeping was in a high-backed wing chair upholstered in rose silk brocatelle, and even though she was sleeping, she had a watchdog look about her.

Keeping a watchful eye on her, Dante looked for the door, but it was on the far side of the room, and he would have to pass right in front of the woman in order to reach it, though why he should feel threatened in so lovely a room, he wasn't certain. He was being treated well: a bouquet of fragrant flowers was scenting the room from its china vase on a mahogany dressing table, while a silver tea tray sat on a small table just out of reach of his bed. As Dante glanced curiously around the room, he noticed for the first time the crystal goblet of brandy sitting on the bedside table within easy reach of his outstretched arm. With an appreciative sigh, he reached out and captured it, drinking all of it without hesitation.

Caught unawares, he choked, then coughed, a comical look of disbelief forming on his face as he eyed the evil-tasting brew that looked so much like brandy. “What the devil?” he exclaimed.

“I see ye've come to your senses at last,” the woman commented from her place by the hearth, apparently unimpressed by the angry glint in Dante's pale gray eyes. “Best thing for clearin' your head of fog.”

“Good Lord, woman. You could have killed me with this poison,” Dante accused her. Sniffing the dregs, he questioned, “It
isn't
poison, is it?”

“Well, some think 'tis as bad as that when they're swallowing it, but later, when the roses come back to their cheeks, they aren't complainin'.” The woman crinkled her wrinkled face with amusement.

“Madam, I have never desired to have roses in my cheeks,” Dante informed the complacent busybody.

“Might d'ye some good, m'lord, if ye did. Never seen such a pale face, especially seein' how dark-skinned ye be from the sun. Mrs. Taylor's Special Treat will have ye back on your feet in no time,” she said with the full irritating knowing air of someone who never had to take the medicine herself. “Ain't seein' double, are ye? Nor feelin' woozy?”

“Well, if I wasn't woozy before, then I certainly am now,” Dante said, thinking how well she and his at times infuriating steward would get along. “And if I may be so bold as to inquire,” Dante asked silkily, glaring at the unsympathetic woman, “just who the devil are you? And where is Kirby? And Conny Brady? And where the devil am I?”

“Ooooh, feelin' better, we are. Told ye, didn't I?” the woman said with a sniff, reminding Dante even more of his irritating little steward. “Well, now,
I
am Rawley. And
your
Mr. Kirby has gone down to the kitchens to prepare ye a meal. A more insufferable and bossy little man I've not had the pleasure of meeting.
Your
young Master Brady has finally been settled in another chamber, and a more ill-mannered and noisy young lad I've not had the pleasure of meeting either,” Rawley informed him, leaving him in no doubt that she disapproved of all three of them. “Ye be a guest at Camareigh.”

Dante was surprised, for although he had thought the room too elegantly furnished to be an inn, he could not believe that he had actually made it through the gates of Camareigh. His sudden chuckle startled Rawley. As she came closer with the tea table, she watched the gentleman carefully out of the corner of her eye and wondered if the stories were true. Had Lady Rhea Claire married herself a pirate? He certainly looked and acted the devil despite being a marquis.

“I am curious, Rawley,” Dante asked politely, his sudden smile halting Rawley in her tracks and warming her heart as no other smile had ever done. “Why do you consider Conny Brady ill-mannered? I can well understand your feelings about Kirby, for he is set in his ways, but Conny?”

Rawley sniffed, placing her hands on her hips. As she eyed the relaxed man in the bed, she realized that all the tension had left him as soon as he'd learned he was at Camareigh. He seemed to feel in control of the situation, which was surprising for a man lying on his back in bed.

“Well, seein' how ye was unconscious at the time,” Rawley began, and as she faced the pale eyes of the captain of the
Sea Dragon
, she felt uneasy. The man had a way of staring at you, as if daring you to lie to him. “Ye missed what happened after ye fell from yer horse.”

“If I remember correctly, I was knocked from my mount after he bolted because of a shot fired directly in front of him.” Dante's gaze narrowed as he saw her fidget nervously. “I take it you are familiar with my two would-be assassins?” he inquired smoothly.

“Oh, m'lord,” Rawley said quickly, lest more damage be done, “they didn't mean any harm. Certainly not what happened. They only meant to frighten ye away from Camareigh. That was all,” Rawley reassured him, hoping he was a reasonable gentleman. “'Twas just a childish prank.”

“
They?
”

Rawley swallowed, wondering how it was she was having to explain all of the misunderstandings to this Dante Leighton. “'Twas young Lord Robin and his cousin, James Fletcher. They only thought to help,” she explained, thinking it wisest to clear the air right then. Besides, it would save His Grace the embarrassment of having to explain and apologize to the man.

“Help me into a grave, that is,” Dante said coldly. “Lord Robin? Ah, I do remember. Rhea's young brother. She warned me that he was usually up to mischief of some kind or another,” Dante said reflectively, “but I had no idea how dangerous a youngster he was. I shall have to be on my guard in the future.”

Rawley bit her lip. “Ye needn't worry, m'lord. Lord Robin was soundly disciplined by His Grace. I fear he'll not be sittin' down for a week of Sundays, nor will Master James. The general threatened to send him to his old sergeant major for some proper disciplining. Scared the poor lad half out of his mind, it did. Never heard such pleadin' that he'd never do anythin' bad again. Of course, we all knew that young James has been in love with Lady Rhea Claire since he's been out of swaddlin', so he couldn't help himself, really he couldn't.”

“I s'pose Conny was quite vocal in his defense of me?” Dante guessed.

“A bit more than vocal, m'lord,” Rawley admitted. “He and Lord Robin came to fisticuffs on the road, and that was when His Grace came along and broke them apart. Don't know which one fared worse. Both have blackened eyes and swollen lips, not to mention teeth marks that'll most likely become infected. His Grace, well, never seen him so angry as when he stormed into the house and had ye settled in here.”

Dante seemed genuinely startled. “Lucien Dominick
personally
saw that I was brought to Camareigh?” he asked in disbelief.

“Aye, says I'm to see t'yer every need, and that nothin' was to 'appen t'ye while ye was a guest under his roof. He says that there has already been enough bloodshed and unhappiness caused by people tryin' to take matters into their own hands, and just because a person isn't likin' the way things are, that doesn't give them the right to try to change them—especially by foul means. Heard him sayin' this to Her Grace and to the rest of the family, which included the Fletchers and Lord Robin. Madder'n some hornet, he was,” Rawley said with a shake of her grizzled head as she remembered all she had overheard.

Dante was astonished. Never had he thought to find an ally in the Duke of Camareigh. As he thought about it, he saw that he just might have to thank young Lord Robin for inadvertently assisting him in gaining access to Camareigh. And to his wife.

As though reading his thoughts, Rawley said, “Her ladyship's been in here all night long. She's been sittin' by yer side since ye was brought in here, but His Grace ordered her to get some rest, to think of her child. He says not to worry, that ye would be safe here. He promised her.”

Dante smiled slightly. “That was one thing I always respected about Lucien Dominick. He was a gentleman, no matter what. Maybe I am not so unlucky in my choice of father-in-law?” he speculated, thinking that if he'd managed to gain some small support from the duke, then the duchess would be no problem at all.

“Aye, ye could do worse, m'lord. Of course, there is the duchess still,” Rawley said, once again reading his mind. That was a meeting she would like to witness!

“How is Rhea Claire? The journey from London was not too tiring for her?” Dante asked, wishing morning would come and he could hold her in his arms again.

“Oh, fine. Especially now that she is back home again. Reckon ye'll both be stayin' here awhile, now,” Rawley predicted slyly.

Dante raised a questioning brow. “Indeed? That is something we shall have to decide.”

“Well, unless I'm mistaken, m'lord, ye ain't goin' nowhere fast on that broken ankle of yours.”

For the first time since he had recovered consciousness, Dante became aware of the throbbing in his ankle. Frowning with disbelief, he started to throw off the comforter and swing his feet to the floor.

“I wouldn't be doin' that if I was ye, m'lord,” Rawley warned, thinking this Dante Leighton was a headstrong one for sure. “Seein' how ye ain't got no breeches on. Oh, don't be mindin' me, for I've seen just about everythin' a man has to offer. Worked in a London brothel for a while, till I got bored, that is. But I was thinkin' about your modesty, m'lord,” she warned him in that insultingly offhand fashion that left him feeling about as masculine as a lad still in the nursery. Dante, who over the years had come to heed good advice, hesitated long enough to feel the cool draft sneaking beneath the bedcovers and over his bare skin. Resettling himself against the pillows, he eyed the smug-looking Rawley with suspicion.

“You
are
certain it is broken?” he asked doubtfully, thinking the woman had yet to prove her worth to him.

“Aye. Seen enough broken bones in my day to know what I'm talkin' about. Even that short, sour-faced man of yours, who hasn't enough meat on his bones to feed a bird, agrees with me. Reckon he's seen enough swollen and bruised flesh to know what he's talkin' about too,” Rawley grudgingly admitted, as if holding Dante personally responsible for the actions of Houston Kirby.

And at that precise moment, as if he'd been standing just outside listening for his cue, Kirby bustled into the room. Looking for all the world like a bird with ruffled feathers, the little steward cast an uneasy glance at the gaunt-faced woman who seemed to know so much and wasn't in the least bit shy about letting a person know that she did.

Kirby sniffed in annoyance as he noted the empty goblet beside the captain's bed, but he was too pleased to see the captain awake to question him about the noxious brew that this Rawley woman had prepared with such vigor, and had succeeded in getting the captain to down.

“How ye feelin', m'lord?” he asked, thinking it best to be using the captain's proper title now that they were among decent folk. His master would get better service that way, for one thing.

“Like hell,” Dante answered while he rubbed the back of his head.

“Not surprised, for ye took a fair crack to your head from that bough,” the little steward agreed.

“And apparently to my ankle as well.”

“Oh, already tried to get out of bed, did ye?” Kirby said, not at all surprised by his captain's reckless actions, and having personally removed his captain's breeches, he now eyed the stiff-backed Rawley with renewed interest.

“He didn't get far,” Rawley felt obliged to declare, and despite her claims to the contrary, a pale pink was staining her thin cheeks.

“Well, glad to know that all of the sense wasn't knocked out of ye, m'lord,” Kirby said with a chuckle as he placed his tray on the table beside the bed. “Brought ye some broth, me
own
special recipe,” Kirby informed him, feeling much better now that he was back in charge of the captain's convalescence. “We'll have ye back on your feet in no time at all.”

“Aye, that
we
will, m'lord. Now, if ye gentlemen will be excusin' me, I'll be about my usual duties,” Rawley said with a sniff that bettered any Kirby could have summoned. “Got to be tellin' Lady Rhea Claire that ye've awakened.”

“Don't disturb her,” Dante said sharply, halting the woman in her tracks as easily as if she'd been a member of his crew.

Rawley hesitated. She worked for the Dominicks, but this gentleman sounded so authoritative. And he was, after all, Lady Rhea Claire's husband. His wishes would have to be followed. Besides which, he was right. Seeing how concerned he was about her ladyship, her opinion of Dante Leighton rose considerably. Just maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd first thought.

“Very well, m'lord. Was thinkin', myself, that it'd be better to let the young lady rest,” Rawley agreed.

“Interferin', know-it-all woman,” Kirby grumbled as he watched Rawley leave the room.

“Have you seen Rhea Claire?” Dante asked.

“Aye, lookin' as pretty as ever, even though worried half out of her mind about ye,” Kirby informed Dante as he handed the captain the steaming bowl of broth.

“Am I correct in understanding that His Grace saw that I arrived at Camareigh safely?” Dante asked, still doubting his good fortune.