In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) (27 page)

“I know, it’s all Kathleen’s fault,” Louisa replied, shoving the revolver in a drawer. “Go on, you two. And don’t hurry back. I probably won’t sleep a wink tonight anyway.”

The truth was, she wanted to be left alone with Charles. She clenched her fists together and squinted as she’d done so many times when she was a little girl, imagining him leaping from the bed and striding to the window to watch the whitecaps below. He’d invite her to walk on the beach in just her nightdress. Louisa hastily changed the time of year in her mind to high summer, where the breeze from the sea would be temperate and the sand still warm from the day’s sun. They would walk awhile, the water rushing around their bare feet. Charles would give her a look—she could see his expression clearly under a full moon—and pull her night rail up over her head. His head would dip to tug her swollen nipple into his hot mouth. Her knees would buckle and he would hold her fast, working his fingers and tongue and teeth on her sensitive flesh until she didn’t have a coherent thought in her head. His hand would find her needy center and prepare her for what was to come—what she craved—and the scattered stars would flash inside her eyelids before he thrust within her.

The image was so real, her pulse sped and her breath quickened. Wake up wake up wake up, she begged. Make this waking dream true someday.
Please, Charles
—

Suddenly, he shifted and thrashed on the bed as if he were under attack. “No, goddammit, no!” There was an unearthly howl, and then Charles—her strong, steady Charles—began to sob as if his heart were shattered.

“Charles! You’re dreaming! Wake up, love.” She tried to hug him, but in his nightmare he pushed her away.

It took a long moment for him to come to, sitting up in the bed, his face a mask of pain.

“My God.” He was so quiet, Louisa feared he’d gone under again.

She grasped his hand, which was dead weight in hers. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

A full minute passed. “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. Did I hurt you?” He slipped his hand free.

“No, of course not. You’d never hurt me,” Louisa said, smoothing the sheet back down on his chest. Never intentionally, of that she was certain.

“Oh, wouldn’t I? You really don’t know what I’m capable of.” He cocked his head, then shook it, wincing at the movement. “What happened to me?”

“Someone shot at us. Or at Lambkin, really. Pieces of the statue flew everywhere and one hit you.”

He touched the bandage that partially covered his bad eye. “Move the lamp closer.”

She did as he asked, although she knew bright light bothered him when he wasn’t wearing his eye patch.

“I can get you an eye patch. Not the one you were wearing—I’m afraid it was torn and covered in a little bit of blood.” What an understatement, but she didn’t want to alarm him. “You have a cut over your eye, but Dr. Fentress sewed it up quite neatly. You’ll be as handsome as ever.”

“I don’t care what I look like, Louisa. For a second I thought I could see, but now it’s back to the way it was. Maybe even worse. I—I don’t think we should marry after all.”

Chapter

36

T
he army doctors had told him he might get better someday, but he couldn’t keep living on hope.

Someday was never coming.

He could live with the loss of his sight. But he couldn’t live with his dreams.

When he’d opened his eyes from the nightmare, his vision had been sharp. Brilliant. And then—

Maybe it had been wishful thinking. An old memory from his previous life when the world was in vivid color instead of shades of gray.

But the dream before waking . . . Let’s just say he might never allow himself to fall asleep again.

Louisa dead beneath him. At his hand.

Like Marja.

He might do anything at night and never know it. How could he expose someone he loved to what he was?

Broken.

Louisa was blessedly alive, blurry, hovering at his bedside. How he wanted to see her clearly just once.

It was unfair to her to be saddled with someone who couldn’t see, who couldn’t provide for her properly, or really, provide for her at all.

And possibly even kill her, just as he’d killed Marja.

What had he been thinking?

The job offer from George might amount to nothing, even if his vision was good enough to take it. If he couldn’t tally up profit and loss columns, what use would he be in New York? And not everyone was as enamored of cars and had as much money to indulge in them as Louisa Stratton. What if he couldn’t sell any, the workers went on strike, and the company went bust?

More importantly, how could he ask Louisa to leave Rosemont?

It was her home. She’d gone through enough anguish to hold on to her rightful place here. Nothing should stop her now, especially marriage to a half-blind beggar with delusional pretensions to better himself. He was just a factory foreman’s son.

Borrowing trouble, as his mother would say, but he couldn’t overcome the feeling of helpless panic that washed over every inch of his skin. The dream had peeled back all the civilizing Norwichian layers he’d tried to paste on. There was something frightening underneath.

Charles had a roaring headache. There were dozens of black spots swirling about, and the gray shadow that always hung at the edge of his vision loomed even larger than ever.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s you who’s being ridiculous. You can’t—shouldn’t—make a life with me, Louisa. You deserve more.”

“Oh, you tiresome man! Don’t tell me what I deserve! I know what I want, and you’re it.”

“Maybe you were the one hit on the head,” Charles grumbled.

She was slowly coming into focus. Her dress was splotched with blood, and her topknot had unwound in a precarious bundle at one side of her head. His pristine princess looked as if someone had dragged her through a hedge backward.

This is what came of spending time with him. Destruction.

And possible death.

“So, someone shot at us,” Charles said, looking away. She was too beautiful even in her disarray. “Who? This seems a trifle more serious than fleas in the drawer and screws under the saddle.”

Mischief had turned to attempted murder. When he left, would she be safe at Rosemont?

Who was he fooling? He hadn’t been able to protect her to start with. He’d spent half his time here with Louisa taking care of
him.

“It
is
serious, and Mrs. Evensong and I have a plan. I’ll tell you all about it, but don’t think I’ll let you get away with crying off our engagement, Charles. We’ll discuss it when you are more yourself.” She was actually wagging a finger at him, or maybe two. It was hard to tell.

Charles felt his lips turn up against his will. “I assure you, I am myself. Mostly blind and finally awake to the impossibility of our union. It’s—it’s unequal, Louisa. Unsuitable. Implausible. I was an utter fool to propose.”

“And was I an utter fool to accept, Mr. Walking Dictionary?”

Yes. Yes, she was, an utterly adorable, lovable fool.

Charles shut his eyes, but the spots continued to waltz on his eyelids. “I’m not going to start calling anyone names.” Perhaps if he went to New York on his own and made something of himself—

No. He really wouldn’t ever be worthy of her.

“Coward.”

He opened his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are lying there feeling sorry for yourself again. I thought we had done with all that.”

“Had we?” Charles couldn’t hide his bitterness. It was as if the past few glorious days—well, more or less glorious despite all of the assaults—had never happened and he was wallowing in self-pity. At least this time his sheets were cleaner and he was stone-cold sober.

He could feel Louisa’s disapproving stare, even if he couldn’t quite see it.

“As I said, we shall discuss the marital issues later. Right now—”

“There are no marital issues to discuss. I withdraw my offer, and you should be doing cartwheels.”

“You know I don’t like to be told how to think or what to do, Charles. I’ve had enough of that to last two lifetimes. You are being very provoking at the moment.”

“Even more reason to thank your lucky stars that we are done. Now that Mrs. Evensong is here, you’ll get to the bottom of the bank business and my role here will be superfluous.” Not long ago, they were looking at the stars in the winter sky from their bed. Charles had been the lucky one then.

Louisa gave a world-weary sigh. “I can see there’s no point in reasoning with you. Very well. I hired you to be an imposter. You’ll have another opportunity in the next day or two to expand your role and earn your fee. And then if you wish to go—” She shrugged and spread her hands wide. “I can’t stop you now, can I? You’re a grown man. Go back to London and live in—in—”

“The word you’re searching for is
squalor
.”

“Whatever you say. You know all the words today. I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you. I can only hope someone else will shoot at you again and knock some sense back into you.”

Damn. She thought this would all blow away—that he was simply in a black mood. What would it take for her to realize he was not the man she thought him to be?

“So tell me what game we are playing next, Miss Stratton—you and Mrs. Evensong and I. What do you want me to pretend now? And will I earn more money? Now that I’m not to be kept by an heiress, I’ll need every penny.”

Brutish. Blunt. That would show her. He went in for the kill when she sat silent at the bedside, still unmoved by his show. “When can I expect your old lover to show up? Sir Richard is the local magistrate, is he not?”

Charles spotted the worried tip of her tongue, the only sign his words were beginning to disturb her. “Oh! I don’t think anyone’s thought to call the authorities, such as they are. And yes, Sir Richard is magistrate. I certainly don’t want
him
here to muck everything up.” Clearly she was not ready to see Sir Richard Delacourt twice in one day. Or ever.

She should be furious with Charles. His behavior toward her was horrid, but he didn’t dare to press his boorish act any further. With each hostile word, the pain deepened in his head.

And heart.

Eventually she would have to see the error of her ways.

“Someone shot at us, Louisa. Someone in this house. They need to be punished.” He wasn’t angry for himself, but something could have happened to her. Charles might not deserve her, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent.

Didn’t mean he didn’t love her.

He wished he could take her hand back. On it was the plain gold band Mrs. Evensong had acquired for them. He had wanted to place it there himself one day, pledging his troth, whatever that was.

Louisa shook her head. “I don’t think they really meant to shoot
us
. We were very far away from Lambkin at the time.”

“It was dark. If we’re dealing with an inexperienced shooter that might explain it, too.” He paused, knowing his next words might be more wishful thinking—he was itching to get at Hugh Westlake and pummel him senseless. “And if one is a marksman, one can shoot to miss. I presume your cousin Hugh is handy with a gun.”

“Y-yes. But I can’t believe he would do such a dangerous thing! The fleas are much more his style. He was forever putting bugs in my bed when I was a little girl.”

“All of these ‘accidents’ have been warnings, Louisa, even from Kathleen and Robertson. People want me—or us—to go away. Even your housekeeper asked if we were ready to go back to France.”

“Well, we should go then. I can’t bear to have anything else happen to you.”

“You are wasting your concern. This is your home, but I’ll leave as soon as I’m fit to travel, or whenever this ruse is finally at an end.” Judging from the way he felt now, that would be never.

But he had to go. Louisa would be fine. She was an heiress. Spirited. Beautiful. She would find someone, a better someone. A man of her own class and background. A healthy, whole man who wouldn’t hurt her.

Be a burden.

“What crackpot idea do you have now to unmask our villain?”

Out came that tongue again. “I think you should pretend to be blind.”

Charles laughed harshly. And it hurt. “I don’t think there will be much pretense involved. I told you, things are worse than they were.”

“I am sure they will get better, though.”

Of course she did—she was off in her fantasy world. “Have you been to medical school while I’ve been unconscious?”

Louisa ignored the jibe. “We will see who takes pleasure in, or advantage of, your disability. Mrs. Evensong will interview everyone, and I will help her. She is very canny, and has been responsible for the new hires. I’ve known the rest of the staff all my life.”

And they were complicit in keeping her a prisoner in her own home. Charles fought back a comment—she shouldn’t think he cared about her in any way.

The Sherlock Holmes idea was absurd. “So, you will talk to them and ferret out all their secrets. Am I to walk into walls and trip over furniture while you do it? You
will
have to pay me more.”

“You needn’t do actual harm to yourself. And Robertson will be your constant companion in case the shooter strikes again.”

“Wonderful. We’ll both get killed and then you’ll have to deal with Kathleen. I don’t envy you
that.
”

* * *

L
ouisa wouldn’t leave him alone, even after he’d said a host of rude things. Stubborn little witch. She was curled up on the chaise, sound asleep.

It was past midnight. Charles was nowhere close to joining her. The blanket across his chest felt like a vise and his head ached.

He’d leave tomorrow after he performed his circus act. Louisa could say their “marriage” was at an end—who would want to be married to a blind man?

Kathleen and Robertson had already spread the rumor belowstairs that he couldn’t see, and Louisa had given them the night together in Robertson’s quarters. Old Mrs. Lang didn’t need to know that Kathleen wasn’t sleeping in their suite and try to lock her into the maids’ wing.

Outmaneuvering the housekeeper had pleased Kathleen enormously. She said it was only fair since the woman had been on the warpath lately. “Sour as a crock of that nasty pickled cabbage stuff we had in Germany. I don’t mind giving her the slip,” she had said to Louisa with a mischievous grin.

Louisa thought Mrs. Lang must be upset by the danger and chaos at Rosemont. Kathleen had retorted the only thing the woman cared about was coddling Grace, and that the rest of them could all go hang.

Kathleen’s words were still floating around in his head, so when he heard the gentle knock on the door, he shot up in bed. “Come!”

Louisa slept on. How would she protect herself when he was gone?

Well, it wouldn’t be his problem. He’d done a damn poor job taking care of her so far anyway.

Carrying a candle, Kathleen entered and quickly averted her eyes from his bare chest. “Begging your pardon, Captain,” she whispered. “I need to wake Miss Louisa. Something’s happened.”

Louisa was still curled into a ball, half her face covered by the blankets.

“What? Is it something I can handle for her?” he whispered back.

“I don’t think so. She’ll need to know before she goes downstairs tomorrow morning.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s her plants, sir. Someone’s gone into the conservatory and wrecked it.”

That beautiful room, teeming with lush life. Louisa loved her plants and had told him they were the only thing she missed while she was away.
The bastards
.

“Everything?”

“No, mostly her orchids. Her favorites. Like her babies, they are. Pulled out of the pots and thrown all over the floor and crushed. Griffith is practically in mourning. He took it upon himself to take care of them while we were gone, and a good job he did of it, too. Whoever did it didn’t break the containers, so there was no noise to wake anybody up.”

“Someone isn’t satisfied with what they’ve already accomplished,” Charles said grimly.

But how did Kathleen find out? She was supposed to be with Robertson ensconced over the garage.

Unless they had done it together.

“Mrs. Lang is waiting for her orders before the maids clean it all up. She wonders if Miss Louisa will find something that’s still salvageable,” the maid said.