The Offer (12 page)

 

Phillip took in her pale lifeless face the next morning, the dark smudges under her eyes. He set her breakfast tray on the table beside her and helped her to sit up. “I've brought you some good strong tea, toast and jam. It should make you feel more the thing.”

She didn't look at him, just nodded.

“I have many chores to perform and will see you later.”

He left her to herself for two hours. After he'd bathed and shaved, he returned to her bedchamber and lightly tapped on the door.

She looked bad, tired and ready to fold her tent and slink away. “You can't sleep?” Stupid question, but he had to say something. He walked over to her and sat on the side of the bed. He touched his hand to her cheek and said without thinking it through, “Perhaps a hot bath would make you feel better.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized he was an idiot. “I'm sorry. I'm a man. I don't have a wife. This sort of thing simply hasn't come my way before. Listen, let me give you some laudanum. There's a bit left. You need to rest. All right?”

“Yes, all right,” she said, and he wanted to take her in his arms at that moment and tell her—what?

Phillip shook the few remaining drops of laudanum into a glass of water and handed it to her. She downed the entire glass of water without taking a breath. She leaned back against her pillow, closed her eyes, and waited for oblivion.

Phillip moved quietly about the bedchamber,
straightening the disorder from the night before. He bent down and added several more logs to the sputtering fire, then turned slightly and looked toward the bed from the corner of his eye. To his dismay, Sabrina lay wide-eyed, staring blankly ahead of her.

He pulled the large chair closer to the fireplace and walked to her bed. “You're exhausted. You've got to rest. Trust me now.” She didn't fight him when he lifted her into his arms, blankets and all, and carried her to the chair. He eased himself down, and drew her close against his chest. She gazed up at him for one long moment and closed her eyes. A small sigh escaped her and she turned her face inward against his shoulder.

Phillip laced his fingers under her back to hold her steady, leaning his head back against the chair top. It was some time before he felt her ease, before he heard her breathing even into sleep.

One moment Phillip was sleeping, the next he was alert, his eyes fastened to the half-open door. He heard soft boot steps on the stairs. He was on the point of dumping Sabrina onto the floor and flinging himself toward the door when a very familiar face appeared.

It was Charles Askbridge.

Charles opened his mouth and closed it. He quite simply couldn't believe his eyes. There was Phillip—long-lost Phillip—sitting in a large leather chair holding a sleeping female in his arms. At least he hoped she was sleeping and not unconscious or dead.

“Oh, my God,” he managed to say at long last. He didn't move. He couldn't. All he could do was stare.

“Be quiet, Charles, I don't want you to awaken her. She had a hard night. Actually, I did as well.”

Charles nodded. It was just as well since he couldn't think of anything to say in any case. He walked quietly toward Phillip and looked down into the half-hidden face of Sabrina Eversleigh. “My God,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sabrina stirred at the sound, but was too deep in sleep to awaken.

Phillip shook his head at Charles, then carefully rose. He carried Sabrina back to her bed and gently eased her down. He looked to the still openmouthed Charles and waved him from the room.

Phillip gazed down once more at her, lightly touched his palm to her forehead, and nodded to himself. She would be asleep for a good long time yet. He followed Charles from the room.

He was silent until they had reached the bottom of the stairs. “Well, Charlie,” he said, shaking his friend's
hand, “this is a surprise, I'll admit it. Do you often break into houses and creep up stairs?”

“You'd think I was a thief, wouldn't you? Actually, I'd think so myself. But you see, Phillip, this hunting box just happens to belong to me.”

Phillip laughed, he couldn't help it. He felt unutterable relief, not to mention amusement at how the fates had worked this all out. “The devil you say. Well, Charlie, since the absentee landlord has decided to inspect his property, I don't think it would be all that wise to boot him out. Am I ever lucky. What if you'd shown up with half a dozen guests for hunting? No, I won't think about that. It's too painful.

“Now, come into your cozy front parlor and I shall serve you up a glass of your own sherry.”

“Phillip, everyone has been frantic. What are you doing here? And not just you but Sabrina Eversleigh? Good God, man, the entire country is out scouring the forest for the both of you.”

“So you know Sabrina, do you, Charles? Why of course you do. It only makes sense, particularly since she must live not far away from here, as do you as well.” He handed Charles a full glass of sherry.

“I haven't tried it, but I know you have a fine cellar. Why would you stint here?”

“I wouldn't.”

“Good. To your health, Charles.” Phillip clinked his glass to his old friend's.

Charles downed the sherry in one long gulp, coughed, teared, then managed to get hold of himself.

“I do wish you would dispose of that gun, Charles. A lot of things have happened to me in the past week. I don't want to crown the week with a bullet in my gut.” He poured Charles another glass of sherry.

Charles gulped it down, shook himself, and looked blankly down at the gun hanging out at an odd angle
from his waistcoat pocket. He drew it out and laid it on top of a table. “You know, I did wonder if my intruder could be you, but to be honest, I didn't really believe it. I was starting to believe you dead, Phillip. It's good to see you well.”

“Thank you. I must say that I'm also delighted to see you. Better me here than a criminal, I suppose. A criminal wouldn't have kept your house quite so clean and tidy as I have.”

Charles shook his head and grinned. “Poor Stimson—he and his wife keep this place in good order for me during the winter months—he was white in the mouth with fear when he came to see me this morning at Moreland. You see I was the only one there, all the others out searching for you. I would have been gone in another ten minutes. In any case, Stimson saw smoke coming from the chimney and thought that rogues had taken over the house and that he should inform me immediately.”

Charles dropped himself into a holland-covered chair. “How long have you had Sabrina here?”

“Five or six days now, I'm not really certain,” Phillip said easily. “By the way, Charlie, just exactly who is she anyway?”

Charles raised incredulous eyes to the viscount's face. “What the devil kind of question is that? You don't know?”

“Come on, it can't be that bad. She isn't royalty, is she? As a matter of fact, she's refused to tell me who she is. You're my only hope.”

Charles felt immense anger, the first time he'd ever felt such anger at Phillip in his life. “How could you? Where did you come across her? Don't you realize how very young she is? How innocent? Dear God, Phillip, I can't believe you would have seduced a young lady of quality. But you did, didn't you? You
gave her that lazy smile of yours and she allowed herself to be seduced. Damn you, she's young and guileless, she didn't know any better. Oh, and then later she realized what she'd done. And that's why she must have refused to tell you who she was. She knew if she told you then even you wouldn't have brought her here.”

“Charlie, who is she?”

“She's the Earl of Monmouth's granddaughter.”

Phillip was stunned. Now he remembered where he'd heard her father's name. Yes, it was from the Peninsula, but it was from one of Wellington's men. Major Eversleigh had had to go home because his father, the Earl of Monmouth, had become very ill. And then he'd returned, only to die at Cuidad Rodrigo.

But he shouldn't be surprised. Damnation. He said, “Let me tell you something, Charles. I didn't seduce her. I was following your impossible directions to Moreland when I found her close to the edge of the forest, unconscious and suffering from severe exposure. Luckily for her, I remembered passing this place and brought her here, just as the blizzard gained its full strength. So she is the earl's granddaughter, you say? Why the devil didn't she want to tell me? Why was she so bloody frightened? What would it matter? It doesn't matter. Why? Ah, this teases my brain. You know what, Charles? I think I'll strangle her when she wakes up. Yes, now that she's finally well again, she deserves to be throttled.”

Charles groaned and rose to fetch himself a third glass of sherry. He didn't like this and he knew he was going to like it less as time went on.

Phillip said from behind him, “Who is a man named Trevor?”

“Trevor? Oh, you mean Trevor Eversleigh, the Earl
of Monmouth's nephew and heir. He recently wed Elizabeth—Sabrina's older sister—it wasn't above a month ago. Quite a lot of flash and ceremony. Sabrina seemed quite all right then. Why, Phillip? What is this all about? What does Trevor have to do with Sabrina being here with you? You said she was sick?”

“Yes, very ill. The fever came upon her. I feared several times that I'd lose her, but she pulled through. She's tough. She's just very weak now, but on the mend. Have you known Sabrina long?”

“Little Bree? I've known her all her life. Monmouth Abbey lies only about ten miles to the west of Moreland. She was really that ill? You're certain that she'll be all right?”

“Yes. As I said, she's just very weak now. In a week or so she should be quite fit again.” Phillip turned suddenly toward the door. “Follow me, if you please, Charles, my bread should have sufficiently raised itself by this time for baking. I finally found some yeast. It certainly makes a difference.”

“Your
what?
”

Phillip merely grinned and left the room, Charles on his heels. When they reached the kitchen, a room Charles had never been in in his entire life, he watched Phillip walk to the big central block surface, pick up an apron, and tie it around his waist.

Phillip looked up and grinned at him. “I'm lord and master here,” he said, waving his arm about the kitchen. He tested the dough. “If my meager experience serves me, my yeast needs more time to work its magic. Do sit down, Charles. I'm at present tied to my kitchen.”

For the first time, Charles took in the viscount's appearance. His white shirt, though clean enough, was wrinkled, as were his fawn-colored breeches. His
Hessians were a disaster. “Oh, God, wait until Dambler sees you. He's going to have apoplexy, Phillip.”

“I'd prayed that Dambler was with you. I trust you've kept him from searching for me in the snow. He's a fine fellow but feels I'm still a lad to be shepherded and protected.”

“He's very worried, as were all of us. He's out looking for you with the other men. Both you and Sabrina Eversleigh, I might add. I wish I had another sherry.”

“Come, spit it out, Charlie.”

“Teresa Elliott,” Charles said, and that was enough, surely.

“What about her? She's at Moreland, right?”

“She's too much at Moreland. She's been driving everyone mad, utterly mad. She was trying to shove me out into the blizzard to search for you. It's a close call, Phillip, but now you don't have to worry about that harpy getting her quite pretty fingers into you.”

“I would never have married Teresa Elliott. Not in a million years. Not until the earth crumbled to dust, not until my great-aunt Millie went to the hereafter, which likely won't be until the turn of the next century. No, not a worry there. Calm yourself, Charles.”

“Well, even if she didn't bedazzle you with her beauty—which I can't deny is near to overpowering—it's now out of the question.”

“Charles, what the devil are you talking about? If my faulty memory hasn't failed me, I recall having taken her for only one ride in the park. That certainly shouldn't give any lady hopes of marriage.”

“Do you forget that you danced with her twice at Lady Branson's ball? Believe me, I didn't remember it, but she must have told me about it six times in the last three days. Evidently, Teresa places sufficiently high confidence in herself to think she would bring you about to bending your matrimonial knee. But as
I said, Phillip, she is no longer in the picture. You've jumped from the frying pan into the flames. Not that the flames aren't quite lovely.”

“The three glasses of sherry you gulped down have addled your brain, Charlie. How about some coffee? That'll bring you back to reason. No, don't fall all over me with your thanks. I'm also the butler in this establishment. Coffee?”

“Sabrina Eversleigh is a charming girl,” Charles said, ignoring Phillip's words. “She's eighteen now, I believe, quite old enough.” He mentally ticked off the years in his mind. “Yes, eighteen. She's two years younger than my sister, Margaret.”

“I've seen glimmers of charm in her, on rare occasion. However, usually she's been more stubborn, more closemouthed than my uncle Harvey's pet pig, Horace, a great animal, really, but once he'd made up his mind about something, that was it.”

“Phillip, what's all this about a pet pig? Surely that isn't at all to the point. Now listen to me. I suppose it would be best if I seconded you to the altar. The old earl could obtain a special license and you could be wed by the end of the week. I'm certain the old earl would like to keep things as hushed up as possible.” Charles looked up and beamed at Phillip. His relief was boundless. “You know, I think I'd like some coffee.”

“Coffee,” Phillip repeated as he stared at his friend. “A special license? Dear God, Charlie, you indeed did drink too much sherry. You believe I should marry Sabrina Eversleigh? That's more ridiculous than the ridiculous waistcoat you wore last month to White's, the one with the yellow tulips on it. I've known the young lady for less than a week.”

“Don't you see? That's the point, Phillip. You've got a reputation that makes women want to creep into
your bed and makes men envy you. You've kept a young unmarried girl with you for nearly a week. She's compromised, Phillip, all the way to her toes.”

“She does have rather nice toes,” Phillip said.

“I doubt that even Richard Clarendon would want her now.”

“My brains have gone round the bend more than yours have, Charlie. That's another reason why her name was familiar to me. Richard told me one night while we were playing piquet that he was going to marry a young girl from Yorkshire. It's Sabrina. Now, listen to me. I'm not about to marry her. There's no reason to. Don't you understand? She nearly died. I kept her alive. I didn't have sex with her. I've cared for her the best I knew how, and that did not include having sex with her. I cooked all her meals and fed her, and dessert didn't include having sex with her. Now forget this nonsense about me marrying her. Richard wanted to marry her and now he can. I am and will remain the good Samaritan, nothing more.”

“I doubt that. Once he realizes she's been with you, a gentleman with as great a reputation as his own, I doubt he will be inclined to wed her. Do you know he's been like a madman, nearly killed one of his horses in the snow, searching for Sabrina? He wants her powerfully bad. But now, when he finds out about you? I don't know, Phillip, but I strongly doubt it. I hope he doesn't want to kill you.”

But Richard could not love Sabrina, Phillip thought, staring down at his bread dough. Why else would he have continued in his wicked ways, which he most certainly had? Why he'd even taken an opera girl under his protection but three weeks before. Maybe Charlie was wrong and it wasn't a love match. He racked his memory, trying to recall Richard's exact words about Sabrina. They were in White's, playing
piquet, both men having left their mistresses but an hour before. Richard was slightly in his cups and the brandy had begun to curl pleasantly in Phillip's stomach as well when he'd said, “I've found me a wife.” He didn't look at Phillip, but stared over at the flames in the fireplace. Phillip thought he was jesting. He laughed and refilled his glass.