Her Mad Baron (8 page)

“Perhaps I’m finally growing up,” she muttered. “It’s time I learned how to balance properly in the middle.”

“What happened in there?”

She pushed her head under a pillow and feigned sleep.

Eventually she sank back into real sleep. Instead of nightmares, she dreamed of breath-stealing kisses and Nathaniel’s warm body covering hers, filling her. She moved with him, drawing him deeper into her...

She heard pounding at the door. “You must pack,” her brother bellowed. “It’s a long journey back to London, and it’ll take nearly an hour to get to the station. You awake?” The door handle rattled.

“Yes, yes, all right. I’ll be ready soon.”

She stared up at the ceiling and recalled the dream, which in turn brought back the nagging question. Why had she allowed a strange man to take her virginity? No. To be truthful, she’d begged him to take her.

But perhaps she needn’t understand the incident. Florrie could go on as she always had, as if nothing had taken place. Certainly it must be a once in a lifetime experience.

That was a reason, of course: one ought to find out what the fuss was about. She blushed when she vaguely recalled using such an argument with Nathaniel.

Now she knew and now she’d return to the real world. Eventually her cheeks would stop burning red every time she thought of him. Perhaps someday she might even stop thinking of him, though it was hard to imagine that possibility.

She climbed from the bed stopping to notice the thick ache between her legs before dragging up her portmanteau bag. Really, she should be happy to  shake the dust of Derbyshire from her skirts, but her heart, and other parts of her body, felt sorely heavy as she folded her dressing gown.

His friends had actually instituted a search for him. When Nathaniel appeared barefoot and wrapped in a sheet at the vicar’s back door, he was astonished to discover Peter Johnston had contacted the vicar several days earlier. Johnston and his three companions arrived that very day.

Reverend Carter, a widower with grown children, welcomed them all to take up residence in the large rambling vicarage. Johnston announced that this was an ideal plan, and the five young men settled in for two weeks.

Nathaniel, surrounded by his delighted friends, realized they would have eventually found him, although they might have only stumbled across his corpse. No doubt Grub would have murdered him rather than allow him to perhaps reveal the truth. And Florrie? Grub would have murdered her without a moment’s hesitation.

When he was alone, the horror could creep back, along with the symptoms of the illness created by the appalling muck he’d been drinking and eating.

His companions wouldn’t leave him alone.

The horror quickly turned to irritation.

A few days after his escape, the shaking, the sweating and his unnaturally quick temper showed he was still prisoner to the poison that had been fed to him.

“I assure you, Johnston, I am much improved,” he snapped when Peter found him wandering the halls of the rector’s house at two a.m. and insisted on accompanying Nathaniel back to his room.

“I heard you snarling at your valet this evening,” Peter said. “Not your style.”

“I gave the man a week off, and when he returned, he didn’t bother to alert anyone to my absence.”

“He assumed you were off ‘doing some jollification.’ That’s the phrase Short used.”

Nathaniel pushed his mouth into a smile because he knew Peter was watching him too carefully and Short’s words would once have amused them both.

They walked into Nathaniel’s shabby, comfortable bedroom. Peter shoved a glass of green liquid at him. “Take it. You had that strange fit of convulsions just two days ago. If you really want to convince the lawyers tomorrow that you’re sane and competent, you’ll have to take Dr. Marsh’s concoction. Just until you’re settled again.”

“You sound as coaxing and condescending as the doctor.” Nathaniel took the glass containing the morphine-based substance. He eyed the dark green liquid with loathing but swallowed half of it down. If it gave him the semblance of sanity, he’d drink it. For now.

Peter sniffed at the remaining inch of foul muck in the medicine glass, but he said nothing. He plunked it down on the tray on the bureau. A bottle of wine stood there as well, and Peter poured them both a glass and padded over to the overstuffed armchair next to the bed.

“You tremble and start at noises. You haven’t smiled yet, not really. Your usually calm, steady mind is disordered. But you will improve, my friend.”

“This mix won’t make me better, I know that much. I’ll take enough to stop the fits. No more.” Nathaniel drank some of the wine. His teeth clattered against the glass.

“You aren’t having hallucinations,” Peter said.

“The bloody stuff made me into a sniveling fool and now I crave it.”

“You’ll improve.” Peter’s yawn and casual remark wasn’t convincing. Nathaniel’s friends would attempt to hide the truth—that he might have the alarming symptoms for the rest of his life.

In the night, before the medicine began its calming effect, Nathaniel could speak his worst fears aloud. “If Dr. Marsh is to be believed there might be permanent mental unbalance.”

Peter made a snuffling sound but didn’t bother to deny the point. “Just do your best to smile more, eh? Be ready for tomorrow.”

Someone had notified the lawyers who held the barony’s interests at heart that the new baron might be
non compos mentis
, and it was up to Nathaniel to show he could function.

Nathaniel reasoned that as long as he could learn to hide his lingering symptoms, he’d be safe.

Peter slid deeper into his chair and propped his slippered feet onto a corner of the bed. He’d put a candle on the table, no doubt so he could keep an eye on his possibly insane friend. “Just go to sleep, will you? Then you won’t know I’m here.”

Nathaniel rolled onto his side. “Or you could turn into a young woman with brown eyes. I wouldn’t mind your presence then. I’d even offer to share the bed with you.”

“You have someone in mind.”

“Someone other than you.”

Peter chuckled. “You should be grateful to me. Your mother was quite agitated when we started asking her of your whereabouts. And Lord Bessette was angry that we would suggest anything out of the ordinary could happen to a relative of his. He told us to mind our own business.”

Naturally. Lady Margaret would worry that her son was embroiled in a scandal that might be made public, and her brother would be apoplectic.

“I am grateful. Thank you, Johnston,” Nathaniel said again. It wouldn’t hurt to repeat his thanks, considering how patiently his friends bore his uneven temper. “I should have known you’d come rescue me.”

“I didn’t get the chance. You rescued yourself.”

“Not really. I had help.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. Sure enough, the bed shook and the chair squeaked as Peter sat up straight. “Oh? Who helped you?”

“I don’t know if she wishes anyone to know she’d assisted me.”

“Interesting. A female? Care to share the story without naming na
mes?” Peter and the others pressed for details at every opportunity. It wasn’t surprising that they were a prying lot; they investigated and wrote about scientific and social phenomena for their bread and butter.

“No.” Nathaniel drew a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken enough of the green sludge and the prickles of sweat were starting up again and the long night would drag on. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t want to think about any of the experience just now. I shall have to dredge it up for the lawyers tomorrow. Feel free to listen and take notes when I talk.”

“That’s the lad,” Peter said approvingly. “Sarcasm is a good sign.”

Nathaniel remained silent. Soon the room sank into the quiet middle of the night, and Nathaniel tried to force his mind away from its clamoring for more of the vile green liquid. He wondered what Peter would think of Florrie.

Hell, what did Nathaniel think of her now that his right mind perhaps slowly returned—between bouts of shivering and sweating out the poison.

He suspected that he’d have clung to any woman, any human, who’d shared that room with him. But Florrie had been utterly desirable. God, yes—unless his imagination had changed vital facts about her. Perhaps it had?

No.

Those last few hours he’d been as close to free of the horrible stuff as he ever had been in that room.

But what sort of a woman was she, truly? She’d spread her legs to him without demanding any commitment. She must have the brains of a peahen.

He pummeled the pillow, pretending that he was trying to get comfortable.

She’d saved him. Swung the plank like a champion. She was plucky, strong and kissed like an angel. And had no interest in seeing him again.

He’d search her out. When he had his strength back, he had to make certain she was well. Whore or bedlamite or both, she deserved his consideration.

From the chair nearby, Peter spoke. “You’re restless. What are you thinking about?”

Finding Florrie,
he didn’t say. “Discovering who did this to me.”

Peter groaned. “Gad, not this again. Let the experts do their job, Nate. Don’t you get obsessed with a conspiracy.” His friend was quiet for a moment. In an unusually serious manner, he added, “It doesn’t look...good. They didn’t find the evidence of the poisons, and you would keep insisting that you’d poured it out onto the ground.”

Nathaniel ground his teeth but didn’t answer.

“If you don’t want any of your beastly relations to take advantage of this situation, you’d best look as if you’re leaving the incident behind.”

By beastly relations, Peter meant Bessette of course. Nathaniel grunted. He wasn’t in the mood to argue for once and perhaps Peter was right. He should to avoid any possible appearances of lunacy if he was going to remain free.

His mind drifted to Florrie again. He’d forgotten much of what had gone on early in her “visit,” but he did remember that she’d brought him back to his body and sanity. She bit his shoulder.

The doctor who’d examined him at the vicar’s house hadn’t commented on the wound. Perhaps it didn’t look like a bite or perhaps he thought Nathaniel managed to bite himself? He grinned at that impossible idea.

“Good Lord,” Peter said. “Did you just smile? It looked genuine.”

“Damn you. Stop watching me like an overzealous nanny.”

“Go to hell,” Peter said without heat. “I know you’d do the same for me if some lunatic stuffed me into a room and fed me bizarre chemical concoctions.”

“Not if, Peter.
When
someone stuffs you into a room.”

Peter removed his feet from the bed, stood, and gave a mock bow. He picked up the candle. “Very well. Wake me if you feel the need to put a period to your own existence, otherwise I’ll assume you’re well enough to be left alone.”

“Are you serious? I have been begging you for days to stop your coddling. Why are you listening to me at last?”

“That smile convinced me.” He left the room, yawning.

Florrie had saved Nathaniel again. Once from his jailors, this time from his best friend.

The next day, after speaking to the lawyers and police inspectors, Nathaniel managed to convince his friends he would survive. Everyone rode away, no doubt to accidentally spread the fantastic story of the baron in the attic they solemnly swore to keep quiet.

He should not allow speculation to go on too long. He would poke his face back out into the world. He’d seize the life that was interrupted and go up to London. Florrie was probably there. Perhaps a visit to the city would be the stimulation he needed.

Back in London, Florrie carried her bag to her room and ignored her brother’s bright cheery chatter. Her neighbor, Virginia Pikler, came to visit before Florrie had a chance to sit down and relax with a cup of tea—or gather her confused thoughts.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” Virgie said breathlessly. Thin and dressed in a red and blue striped pelisse and matching bonnet, she reminded Florrie of a stick of sweet and gaudy penny candy.

Virgie firmly pulled her out the door. “We’ll
go for a stroll, shall we? And you’ll tell me all about your adventures in the north.”

Florrie gave her a sharp look, but no, Virgie wasn’t smirking. She wouldn’t guess that her friend was a housebreaker, because Virgie rarely asked questions.

“It was a dull trip,” she said, and talked about the pleasant inn and the countryside before asking. “How have your wedding plans been proceeding?”

Virgie stopped walking and looked around. She even waited until a grocer pushing a cart passed before she spoke in a low voice. “All’s well, except there is a problem with Ben. He’s been importuning me.”

“Pardon? What’s he been doing?”

Virginia played with the beaded fringe of her reticule. “Pressuring me. For my, ah, affections.”

“And you don’t want to-to allow him to do whatever it is he wants.”