The Poor Relation (16 page)

Stooping to pick up the trailing skirts of her habit that she belatedly realized were covered with twigs and grass, she straightened up to find Camden’s right arm across her shoulders.  As they made their way to the house, she grew more concerned, for he actually leaned against her and let her carry some of his weight.

It was still early yet, so they encountered no one other than a couple of footmen at the front door and a parlor maid on the stairs. 

Upon reaching his bedroom door, Chloe asked, “Will you summon your valet?”  When Camden replied that he
hadn’t traveled with his manservant, she never gave it another thought but slipped inside the room with him and eased him down upon a large four-poster bed draped in blue brocade.  “Someone should be sent to get the doctor,” she said.

Immediately he shook his head and
emphatically said, “No, no doctor.  No one must know of this.”

Loathed to leave him alone, she resolved to tend to his wound herself.  It
seemed only right since he’d done no less for her when she had needed help.  Telling him she’d be right back, she first made sure no one was about the hallway, slipped out the door, and raced down the hall to her own bedchamber.  There, she rummaged through several drawers of the bureau until she came across an old petticoat.  Tucking the garment under her arm, she crossed the hall and cautiously opened her aunt’s door, then paused to listen.

From the sounds of soft snoring, Chloe deduced that Lady Milbanke was fast asleep and wasted little time.  Ducking in to snatch the silver flask on the bedside table, she gave it a good shake to make sure there was still some whisky left in it. On her way out, she came face to face with Hannah, carrying her mistress’s breakfast tray, a steaming pot of tea and a plate of cinnamon toast.

“And just where do you think you’re going with that, Missy?” asked the abigail in an accusing whisper.  “Your aunt’ll be looking for it before too very long.”

“Aunt Sophia is asleep and will stay that way if you do not wake her,” Chloe answered.  “I promise to return shortly.”  She was out the door and down the hall before Hannah could make any further objections.

She found the Viscount’s door locked, so she tapped lightly.  It was several moments before it opened just enough for one dark blue orb to peer out. Seeing she was alone, he held the door ajar, wide enough to stretch out his arm for the wadded up petticoat.  Chloe, however, put her shoulder to the door, pushing on it until she’d slipped through.

“Trying to compr
omise me?” he asked sarcastically.

His eyes were missing their wicked glint as he leaned wearily against the wall next to the door jam.  He was nude from the waist up, and her eyes, opened wide, were riveted to the broad muscular expanse
.  Dark hair on his left shoulder was matted with blood that trickled down the thick hair line of his chest, which then narrowed to a vee and disappeared into his breeches.  Chloe felt a blush heat her body to her very toes. Forcing her eyes upward, it was hard for her to read his expression, though she noted the gray pallor underneath his bronzed skin and decided now was not the time to let his acerbic tongue to wound her missish sensibilities.

“More like trying to keep you from bleeding to death, my lord,” she answered candidly.

“Don’t you think under such intimate circumstances you could call me Oliver?”

Ignoring th
e jibe, she ordered him to be seated in an arm chair over by the window. She drew back the drapes to let the morning sun pour in and looked down on a magnificent view of the front gardens.

He laughed when she
turned around and produced the flask from the voluminous folds of white muslin and placed it on the small octagon table next to his chair. While she tore up the old petticoat into strips, he reached for the flask and used his teeth to pull the glass stopper out and took one long swallow.

After completing her task, she glanced about the spacious room, decorated in shades of blue and cream with heavy masculine furnishings of rich mahogany.  Spotting a porcelain pitcher on top of a small bureau, she splashed some water into a matching basin.  Carrying it back to the table, she dipped one strip of muslin into it and began to cleanse the wound.  Thankfully, she noted that the bullet had not lodged in the shoulder, though it had deeply seared the flesh, leaving a long, ang
ry graze that continued to ooze blood.

“This should be seen by a physician.  You have lost a great deal of blood, and the wound may require cauterizing.”

Camden did not answer.  Instead, he slumped down in the chair, resting his head on the back of it.  His expression remained impassive as she thoroughly washed the lesion, and though she knew it hurt him, he never once showed it.

Once she’d finished cleaning the wound, she said, “As a precaution against infection, I am going to put some alcohol on it.”

He grimaced but resignedly handed her the flask after she draped a strip of muslin across the shoulder.  When she poured the whisky over the cloth, his body stiffened, and he closed his eyes against the pain and clamped his jaw shut.  His facial muscles tensed and worked back and forth as beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead and upper lip. 

Taking a clean cloth, Chloe gently wiped his forehead.  He grabbed her hand in an iron vice while his other so fiercely gripped the arm of the chair that his knuckles turned white.  After a long minute, his body sagged in the chair, and he opened his eyes, now blood shot from the strain, and stared at her concerned face.

“There’s no need to worry.  I’m all right.”

“Yes, you probably will be if you get into bed immediately to help ward off the shock your body has received,” she replied evenly.

He laughed, a low rumbling sound.  “Do you realize, my dear, sweet Chloe, that you have just propositioned me?”

He still held her hand, although he eased up on his grasp and gently rubbed his thumb back and forth across her palm.  It was a very suggestive action and she blushed as she tried to pull free of his grasp.  He looked at their entwined fingers, then met her eyes before he released her head.

“Let me help you to bed, my lord,” said Chloe in the most prosaic tone she could muster.

“Will you join me?”

Observing the ashen pallor that marred his bronzed coloring, Chloe shook her head in frustration.  Apparently, a rake never lost interest in the art of seduction.  “You would do better to rest for the remainder of the day.”

He started to refute her, then seemed to think better of it
and accepted the arm she extended him to rise up out of the chair.  Smiling down on her, he placed his own around her shoulders.

He put very little of his weight on her as they move
d slowly toward the bed, and once more, Chloe suspected he was playing with her.  She reached down and quickly flipped back the coverlet and gestured for him to climb into the four-poster bed.

He had other ideas, however, and sat on the edge of the mattress instead.  Searching her face, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because you have been shot,” she replied automatically.

“No, I mean why have you gone along with this charade.  You haven’t told anyone about the shooting?”

She gave him a long look.  “I hope I am a fair judge of character, my lord.  Although your motives for sleuthing about have escaped me, I sense you are the good guy.  Besides that, I find Monsieur Guyot . . . lacking,” she concluded with a mischievous smile.

He bowed his head in mock salute. “Thank you,” he said, then turned serious again.  “What makes you suspicious of Pierre Guyot?”

“For one thing, your warning to keep away from him.”

“Has he said anything out of the ordinary to you?”

“Not exactly, but he uses every opportunity he can to quiz me about the people I know and how often I have seen you while out walking Lady Caro at night.”

“Never allow him to get you alone, Chloe,” he said with such fierceness that she knew her instincts about the unctuous Frenchman were well founded.

She walked back to the table with all the paraphernalia on it and tidied up the mess, wrapping the bloodied bandages up in the remnants of her petticoat, and replaced the basin on the bureau.  Lastly, she tucked the flask in the pocket of her skirt.

“You could leave that, you know.”  His voice sounded raw and tired.

“Now there you are out, my lord.  My aunt would set up a hue and cry over its disappearance and wear her poor lady’s maid and me to distraction in the process of hunting for it.” Then, she returned to the bed and stood in front of him. Offering the flask, she asked, “Another sip, my lord?” 

He took the flash and upended it.

After he handed the empty flash to her, she asked, “Will you rest now?”

With a wry smile he
answered, “Yes, that’s an excellent idea.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she nodded her head in approval and went to the door.  She opened it cautiously and peered out.  The hall was empty and, overcoming the urge to glance at him one last time, she slid out the door, headed for her aunt’s room.

Just as she was congratulating herself for having escaped detection, she was accosted by Judith Palmer.  She stood inside the doorway of her bedchamber with a backdrop of pink and deep rose draperies and rugs that flattered her fairness.  It was obvious that she was in high dudgeon.

“What do you think you are doing?” Judith demanded in haughty tone
s.

Flustered at first, Chloe looked around for a means of escape, but there was none.  So, she squared her shoulders and as nonchalantly as possible replied, “Why, nothing really.  I am on my way to Lady Milbanke’s room.”

“Don’t think you can fool me,” the widow hissed with venom dripping from every word.  “With my very own eyes, I saw you leave Camden’s room.”

Returning Judith’s hateful stare with one of pure innocence, Chloe replied, “You are quite mistaken.”  Inwardly she was quaking yet was amazed at her own boldness.  “It was the Marchioness’s apartments next door to the Viscount’s from which I just emerged.”

“Humph! I know what I saw,” Judith Palmer flung back.  Then, placing one daintily clad satin foot to the door, she viciously kicked it shut.

***  Chapter 14  ***

Chloe maintained a post by her aunt and, while she fretted over his lordship’s condition, was actually relieved by his absence since it meant he was at least getting some rest.
  It wasn’t until evening, when everyone gathered for dinner, that Camden put in an appearance. 

To Chloe’s eyes, he looked drawn and pale with taunt lines about his eyes and mouth.
But before she had a chance to inquire how he was faring, Judith Palmer pounced on him, lacing her gloved arm about his left elbow to prevent his escape.  At once, Chloe saw him stiffen and then transfer the lovely vision in pale blue satin to his other side.  To Chloe’s utter despair, the beautiful widow never once left the Viscount alone the entire evening, leaving Chloe no opportunity to talk with him.

Throughout the night, however, Chloe felt his midnight blue eyes on her, and each time she glanced his way, it was to find not one but two set
s of eyes fixed on her.  Camden wore his habitual mask of ennui, hiding his thoughts.  Judith Palmer, on the other hand, had let slip her semblance of pleasant social veneer.  Her blue-gray eyes narrowed to mere slits, exposing a seething malice for Chloe as the widow’s sworn enemy.

~~~~~
  

For Camden, the evening was extremely tedious.  He craved a private word with Chloe to reassure her that he had more than sufficiently recovered from the ordeal and thereby erase her worried frown.  But he could not shake Judith for five minutes.  The jeal
ous cat insisted on clinging to his arm, making him wonder each time she grabbed his bad arm if the Fates weren’t punishing him for past sins.
Fortunately, each time he’d managed to adroitly switched her to his right side and thus maintain his usual sangfroid. 

Going in to dinner,
a groan nearly escaped Camden when he saw that Judith was placed on his left. Quickly, he exchanged places with Sir Albert Morley, who tactfully never so much as blinked an eye.  While this meant sacrificing Lady Sarah’s ingenuous remarks to his flirtatious sallies for Lady Sophia’s stale gossip, it definitely beat having Judith maul his left arm half the night.  Even now the wound throbbed painfully, extracting its toll on his strength, leaving him feeling exhausted.  He waited until shortly after the tea tray had been removed to announce he was retiring early, only to be rewarded with a Cheltenham tragedy enacted by Judith.

“No, Oliver, you cannot be so cruel, especially after acting so distracted
half the night,” Judith complained.  “You think I do not know that you went riding with Lady Milbanke’s little companion.  Really, you are neglecting me dreadfully.” She turned her lovely visage up to give him the full effect of her bright teary eyes and rosy pouting lips.  “If I did not know you better, I would suspect you of having developed a
tendre
for the little spinster.”

Unmoved by her beauty, he fixed her with a long, cold look.  “You mistake the mat
ter, my dear.  Any interest I’ve shown toward Miss Woodforde has been out of appreciation for a few favors she’s performed for me.”