The Charmer (29 page)

Hell. She'd not covered the
orange trees for the night. With all the events of the day, she'd forgotten
them. Hell and damn.

Cook waddled in, wringing her
hands in her apron. "Supper's ready. Shall I bring it in here?"

"Go into the kitchen,"
Susanna told them gently. "All of you. It's warmer there."

"You come too, my dear girl,"
Bessie said, putting an arm around Susanna's shoulders. "Come now, you
need to eat and get warm."

She shook her head. "I'll
stay here." Where it was cold, but dry at least.

There was a thin silence while
the servants all exchanged glances in the semi-darkness.

"What about him?" Cook
asked quietly.

"What
about
him?" Hendricks snapped.

"Shall I give him some
broth?"

"He doesn't deserve your
pity. He's no better than a rat and that's how he should be treated."

"Stop it," Susanna
said, weary. "Give him some broth, Cook. If he's still there."
Perhaps he'd gone into the stables, or finally left altogether.

"He's still there,"
Cook said gravely. "Poked my head out a window before to see. He's just
sitting and watching the house."

"He'll catch his death in
this weather," Bessie said.

Oh God
. Susanna put her face in her
hands and tried to shut out the image of him lying cold and dead on her
doorstep in the morning. "Give him a blanket too."

"M'lady," Hendricks
said, "is that wise? Once you feed a stray dog and offer it comfort, it
never leaves."

"He is not a dog, Mr.
Hendricks, or a rat. Get him a blanket."

"Perhaps I should speak to
the master."

"No! Leave Father in
peace."

He blanched. She'd never spoken
to him with such harshness, and the poor man looked completely taken aback.

So be it. She would not have
Orlando becoming ill because of her. Besides, the longer he remained out there,
the more she suspected it was too late for Hendricks's warning anyway. Orlando
had received too much comfort from Stoneleigh already. He was no longer a
stray.

The three servants reluctantly
left and Susanna was relieved to be alone again with her bleak thoughts.
Instead of trying to chase them away, she embraced them. In a strange way, they
were a solace.

***

The kitchen door opened and Cook
appeared, holding a bowl. Steam spiraled off it in a seductive dance. Orlando's
stomach growled.

"This is for you." She
thrust the bowl out further. "Hendricks is fetching a blanket."

"Thank you." Orlando's
bones groaned in protest as he stood. He angled his hat over his eyes but it
did little to keep out the sleety needles of rain slicing his already frozen
skin. The wind had picked up as darkness fell and the cold he'd felt before was
nothing to what he felt now. His jaw ached with the effort to stop his teeth
chattering, and his body hurt all over. He was certain he would shatter into thousands
of pieces if he were struck.

Soon he wouldn't be able to feel
his toes or fingers. He needed the broth then he had to move if he was to
survive the night.

Cook gasped when he drew nearer
under the small porch. "Look at you!" Deep lines scored her thick
brow and if he didn't know better, he would have thought she was in pain too.
"Get this into you." She shoved the broth at him. The wooden bowl was
hot in his hands and he almost spilled it.

He set it down near his feet.
"I'll let it cool a little first. Thank you, Cook."

"If she could see you now,
she'd not let you suffer like this." Tears filled her eyes and she sniffed.
"Poor thing." She took his hand in between her big ones and rubbed
hard. It helped and he smiled his thanks.

"Why did she lock me out?"
he asked.

She switched hands. "There
was a note telling us...well, saying what you were. An assassin."

"A note? From whom?"

She shrugged. "It didn't
say. There now...better?"

"Yes. This note...did she
recognize the hand?"

"No, but it was a childish
scrawl, so the writer could've been trying to hide themselves."

"And Susanna believed
it?"

Another shrug. "Why wouldn't
she? You
are
an assassin, aren't you?" Her gaze held no sympathy
anymore. It was direct and accusing. "And someone
did
hire you to
kill her, didn't they?"

He didn't answer and Cook grunted
and dropped his hand.

"Go now. Leave Stoneleigh
tonight. Your presence upsets her, and you're not doing yourself any good
turning into an icicle out here."

Hendricks's long face appeared
over Cook's round one. He tossed a blanket at Orlando. "Cook's right. You must
leave."

The door widened and Bessie
appeared. She cringed as she took in his appearance. "Oh dear lord, this
isn't right. Look at him! He's wet through. He'll catch his death."

"Good riddance,"
Hendricks muttered.

"Mr. Hendricks, where's your
Christian charity?"

"Where's
his
? And
don't either of you tell me he deserves my sympathy. He doesn't. He's a killer.
Get out, Mr. Holt, and don't come back."

Orlando bent and picked up the
bowl. It was a little cooler, but its warmth still burned his frozen fingers.
He relished the pain almost as much as he'd welcomed the coldness.

"No. I can't. She's in
danger." His gaze locked with Hendricks's and the servant shut his mouth.
"Not from me, from the person who wants her dead. I can protect her better
inside the house, but if that's not possible, I must remain outside."

"Oh, Mr. Holt." Bessie
wiped away a tear. "Please find somewhere dry to go. I can't bear to think
of you out here. Nor can she."

"Hush," Hendricks
hissed.

But Orlando's heart kicked inside
his chest and began beating with a strong, steady rhythm. Perhaps, despite
everything, she did care.

But it was almost too much for
his weary soul to hope for.

***

Orlando stood on a path in the
center of Stoneleigh's neglected formal garden and didn't move. From her
bedchamber window, Susanna could just make out his blond head in the pathetic
moonlight. He must have removed his hat, or perhaps it had fallen off when he
last circled the house. He'd been around dozens of times since she'd retreated to
her room, each time his pace slowing, his shoulders hunching further. He must
be extremely cold, yet he didn't use the blanket she'd ordered Hendricks to
give him.

Fool. Madman. Utter, utter,
stupid bloody
fool
!

She pulled the edges of her
housecoat tighter at her throat. With no fire burning in the hearth, the
chamber was freezing. What must it be like out there in wet clothes, driving
rain, and a wintry wind?

He was quite still except for the
ends of his damp hair fluttering in the wind. The collapsed borders and overgrown
hedges of the once beautiful formal garden surrounded him. She couldn't see
them but she knew the weeds outnumbered the decorative plants. It was difficult
to tell if he was looking up at her window, but even if he was, he couldn't
possibly see her, half-hidden in the dark as she was.

He suddenly set off again and she
counted to one hundred and seven slowly, the time it had taken him to circuit
Stoneleigh last time. One hundred and seven passed. One hundred and ten, one
hundred and fifty. Two hundred.

Where was he?

She peered out her window, but
there was no sign of him. She went out to her parlor and looked through the
windows there, then the other windows on the first floor all around the house.
The only ones she left alone were in her father's rooms. He was blessedly
unaware of the drama that had unfolded at Stoneleigh and that was exactly how she
wanted it.

With her heart in her throat, she
returned to her bedchamber. Another check out the window proved he had not
returned. Perhaps he had finally gone into the stables and found some dry
straw. Or perhaps he had succumbed to the cold.

Oh God, oh God.

She could no longer bear it. She
threw off her housecoat and quickly dressed in her gardening men's clothes and
her warmest cloak. She ran down the stairs to the empty kitchen. Cook and the
others had long ago gone to bed. Susanna would not wake them. It was her choice
to lock Orlando out, just as it was her choice to let him back in.

If this was a trick to get her
outside where she would be vulnerable, then so be it. It was a risk she was
willing to take because if he was telling the truth and he didn't intend to
harm her, the thought of him freezing to death was too horrible to think about.

She threw open the door. Wind and
rain lashed her face like sharp talons and the cold stung her eyes. Oh lord, he
was out there somewhere in this?

"Orlando?" she called.
"Orlando, where are you?"

No answer. The blanket Hendricks
had given him lay in a wet crumpled heap on the porch. She flipped up her hood
to cover her head then ventured out through the kitchen garden.

She checked the outbuildings
first, but there was no sign of him. She circled the house but couldn't find
him. At least he wasn't lying in any obvious places in a frozen heap. She
called him, but the wind stripped his name from her mouth before it was barely
out and carried it away. After her second circuit round the house, it was hard
to distinguish the tears on her cheeks from the rain.

She was about to go around again
when a movement in the walled garden caught her eye. She ran to the arched
entrance. He was there, tying the corner of one of the canvases to the newly
built frame.

"Orlando," she choked
out.

"Susanna!" A gust of
wind dragged the untied edge of the canvas out of his hands.

"Leave it," she said as
he caught it. "Come inside."

He shook his head. "There's
no point now. I'm already wet."

"Orlando, please."

"Nearly finished." But
he fumbled with the twine and she realized his fingers must be terribly numb.

She took the canvas from him. It
was the last corner to be secured. He'd covered all the trees, somehow managing
the canvases on his own despite the wind and his wretchedness.

"Come inside," she shouted
into the gale. But when she reached the arch and looked back, he hadn't moved.
He stared at her.

"Orlando, come on! You need
to get warm and dry."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and if he noticed her
hesitation, he didn't show it. He followed her. She bent her head against the
rain but he didn't bother.

They crept back into the house
and up the stairs, leaving puddles behind on every step. Worry dogged her as
she watched his painfully slow pace, but not doubt. In her heart, she knew she
was doing the right thing.

She only wished her head agreed
with her.

CHAPTER 15

Susanna opened the door to her
bedchamber and was surprised to find a fire crackling in the hearth. Bessie
knelt and applied another log.

"Thank you," Susanna
said. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already awake and
heard you go out. Thought I'd better get this ready for when you both came
back.

Both? She'd known Susanna would
bring Orlando back to her room? Susanna wanted to hug her.

"Thank you," she said
again. "You may go."

Bessie hesitated. "Are you
sure?"

Orlando laughed softly.
"Bessie, I'm so cold. I'm not capable of doing anything to Lady Lynden
tonight unless it's to fall asleep on her."

"It will be all right,"
Susanna said gently.

"If you need anything, I'll
be in the guest chamber nearby," Bessie said. "Just for
tonight." She bid them good night.

Susanna shut the door. The fire's
warmth embraced her, made her fingers and nose tingle. Bessie had left a jug
and cups on a table and blankets piled on the rushes near the fire. Her
mother's fur-lined coat was laid across the foot of the bed.

Orlando still stood by the door,
as if he was unsure where to go or what to do. It was the first good look she'd
got of him since seeing him in the walled garden. His hair hung damp and limp
around his face, his eyelashes were clumped together and his lips had gone
blue.

"You're getting the rushes
wet," she said. "Come by the fire and take off your clothes."

He began to remove his cloak, but
his movements were stiff and awkward and his fingers shook. "I can't."

She helped him out of his cloak,
jerkin and doublet, then peeled off boots, netherstocks, and hose and finally
his shirt until he was gloriously naked. And shivering violently.

"Oh Orlando," she whispered.
"Look at you, you big fool."

He managed a one-shoulder shrug.
"I'm not the one who locked the doors."

"But you were the one who
refused to seek shelter in the outbuildings." She wrapped a blanket around
him and directed him to sit on another she set out in front of the fire.
"You would have been perfectly warm snuggling up to Silver."

"She smells of horse."
He sat and drew up his knees beneath the blanket. Susanna placed two more blankets
around his shoulders but he caught her hand. "Forget about me, you need to
get out of your clothes too."

"I will, but you're still
cold."

"I'll warm up faster when I
see you naked."

"That won't stop you
catching your death."

"No, but it will make death
so much sweeter."

She turned her back and removed
her clothes then wrapped the fur coat around her shoulders. She breathed in the
scent of the lavender that Bessie had stored with it to keep the moths away. The
fur was so warm, so blessedly warm.