She turned away from the window when Alfreda returned and handed Brooke two colored pouches and a small potion bottle. “The herbs in the red pouch will draw out the poisons that are causing the inflammation. Mix them with water and make a paste, and apply it to the wound three times a day until the redness is gone. Then use the herbs in the blue pouch. They will make the wound close more quickly and form a scab. The potion will help him to sleep more soundly, which will also aid the healing, but you might want to explain that to him before you offer it.” Then Alfreda added stubbornly, “I’m never going back in that room. I don’t care if he’s taking his last few breaths.”
Brooke nodded. She didn’t blame Alfreda for feeling that way. She also knew Alfreda didn’t mean what she’d said. The maid wouldn’t ignore someone close to dying, no matter how she felt about the person. But the wolf probably wouldn’t die now, so Alfreda was no longer obliged to deal with him.
Brooke concurred, “I’m not going back in there either. We’ve done more’n enough for him when we shouldn’t have helped him a’tall.”
Alfreda tsked, giving Brooke a look of disapproval before reminding her, “We settled on a plan. The more you help him, the more his heart will open to you. When he’s better, he will remember what you did for him and start to love you.”
Brooke sighed. “Very well.”
“Be pleasant.”
“I doubt that’s possible.”
“Be soothing,”
“I know that’s not possible.”
“Then just be yourself.”
Brooke laughed. “I think I’ve been doing just that!”
She knew Alfreda had given her sound advice so she decided to at least try a combination of all three. If she didn’t lose her temper again. If she could ignore his surliness.
Gabriel answered Brooke’s knock and let her into Dominic’s room, even though he whispered, “He’s sleeping.”
“No, I’m not” came from the bed.
He had keen hearing like a wolf—that was an unnerving thought. But approaching that bed again was even more unnerving because his long, muscular bare leg was still on top of the sheet, not beneath it.
She tsked when she saw that the leeches were back on his leg.
He admitted in a somewhat normal tone, “I assumed you were done helping me.”
“Did you? You were half-correct.” She set the medicine on his nightstand. “These leeches will have to come off. The sooner I apply the salve, the sooner you will start to heal.”
“A servant can do that.”
“A servant will not know how.”
“Your maid does—”
“You’ve offended her. She won’t be back.”
“She’s offended—”
“I was present. I know exactly who got offended. But as your soon-to-be-wife, it’s my duty to assist you, and it is your duty to be grateful for it.”
He stared at her incredulously. “You overstep. And you aren’t even correct. I have no duty to you.”
“Well, I will still honor my duty to you.”
She removed the leeches carefully, picked up the red pouch, and went to find water. She walked through the sitting room, which contained a few reading chairs that matched the one next to the wolf’s bed, and a small dining table, to the two other rooms in the suite, which she’d caught a glimpse of when she’d stormed out of here earlier. She saw the valet in one of them folding clothes. She guessed the other was the bathing room.
She was surprised to find a second fireplace inside the bathing room. It wasn’t as grand and ornamental as the one that heated the main room of the viscount’s suite, but it certainly was useful for warming up the room in cold weather and for heating water for baths. A metal bucket of water currently hung over a low fire. And what a tub! A long porcelain tub that had to have been specially made for his size dominated the room. The wolf certainly liked his luxuries.
She went over to a large cabinet with glass doors that contained stacks of towels and an assortment of items, including a supply of clean shaving cups.
She grabbed one and poured water from a pitcher in it, just a tiny bit, then sprinkled some of the powdered herbs in to make the paste. She stirred it with a clean spoon she found in the cabinet and washed her hands.
When she returned to the main room, the wolf was eyeing her and the cup in her hand suspiciously.
“This will only sting for a moment, then you won’t notice it.” She’d dipped her finger in the paste so she could dab it on his wound.
He grabbed her wrist when she leaned toward him, demanding, “Only sting? If it does worse, you may not like the consequences.”
“How much more unpleasant can you be?” she countered, then reprimanded herself. She had to stop reacting to his surliness. “You were shot. Nothing I do will equal the pain of that.”
He let go of her wrist without further comment. Without the leeches on his thigh distracting her, she was suddenly too aware of his body, all of it, and how close she was to such a big, strapping handsome man—fully naked under that sheet. And his wound was so close to his . . .
Her cheeks suddenly too hot, she tried not to think about where she was touching him and quickly applied the salve, saying, “Perhaps I’ll have dinner here with you tonight?” Without waiting for his permission, she glanced up and gave him a brilliant smile. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea, since I will need to apply the salve again come evening. We may even see some improvement by then.” And less churlishness, she added hopefully to herself.
“That soon?”
“It may only be minimal, but, yes, I do expect there will be a little less inflammation and perhaps your fever will go down. We shall hope.”
He merely grunted, so she went to wash her hands. When she returned, his eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep that quickly? Or was this his way of dismissing her? Likely the latter, she decided, but she left the room quietly anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
“YOU’RE STILL HERE?” JANIE asked when Brooke entered the kitchen.
Brooke was taken aback. Janie wasn’t exceptionally pretty, though she did have lovely red hair and bright green eyes to keep her from looking plain. The girl was glaring at Brooke accusingly. And here she’d thought she’d charmed the kitchen staff over lunch.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because he was so angry when I gave him my aunt’s message about her feeding his children.”
“Ah, that.” Brooke managed not to grin. No, indeed, he wouldn’t have liked hearing that.
But the cook swung around from the counter where she was chopping meat. Knife still in hand, Marsha said angrily, “That’s all you have to say? We’re lucky he didn’t send us all back to the village. We serve him, m’lady, not you—yet.”
“I understand where your loyalty lies. But you need to understand that no matter how hard he tries to push me out the door, I’m not leaving. You also might want to take into account that he’s feverish and in pain, so he probably won’t even remember that you took my side in this matter after I finish healing him.”
“You’re healing him?”
“Yes. With my maid’s help, we’ll have him back on his feet much sooner than his doctor can manage. So please have two dinner trays delivered to the viscount’s room at precisely seven o’clock this evening. I will be dining with him.”
Both women appeared startled by the news that Brooke would be spending time with their lord. She could even hear them whispering about it behind her back as she left the house through the kitchen door. She hoped they would now stop taking sides, at least in the battle for decent food.
With the rest of the day free, she would have liked a tour of the house, but since Gabriel wasn’t around, she decided to treat herself to a pleasant ride with Rebel instead.
While her mount was brought in from the pasture, Arnold Biscane gave her the lay of the land. The village of Rothdale was to the west, within walking distance, with hills and dales beyond it. The seacoast
was more than a day’s normal ride to the east, as she’d guessed, but the distance could be traversed quicker with a heavy hand.
Of the northern route, Arnold said, “If you come to woods, you’ll know you’ve gone too far.”
“The woods aren’t on Wolfe land?”
“Only partially, m’lady.”
He also cautioned her to always keep a landmark or a road within sight, so she wouldn’t get lost. She kept her grin to herself. Some men just had to treat women like children. She didn’t mind Gabriel’s uncle’s advice. She was sure he meant well. And she was too excited that woods were somewhat nearby and went in that direction. Alfreda, who loved forest and woodlands, would be pleased.
On the way back she spotted a church halfway between the manor house and the village and wondered if Dominic and she would be married there. A graveyard was behind it. She decided to stop to see if Eloise was buried there. The inscription on her marker might even indicate how she died. Brooke was curious about that since no one would say. But only the villagers were buried in the churchyard. The Wolfes had a crypt at the back of the graveyard, but the door to it was locked. So much for that.
Brooke was late getting back, so she stopped by the kitchen again and told the servants to delay the dinner she’d requested by three-quarters of an hour so she could take a bath and requested that water be heated and sent up to her room. At least there were no objections this time.
Alfreda arrived with the servants carrying the water buckets. She stayed to help Brooke undress, then laid out a frock that didn’t smell of horses while she bathed. Brooke wanted something a little more fancy and said so.
“We’re going to tempt tonight?”
“No, just hopefully look pretty.”
“You look that no matter what you wear, poppet. The yellow, then? It enhances the brightness of your green eyes.”
The gown did more than that, but Brooke didn’t blush. She’d done enough of that when her first evening gowns had been made for her earlier this year in preparation for her Season. They weren’t her first Empire fashions, but they were her first fancy gowns that didn’t include a chemisette tucked between the low neckline and her throat. The yellow gown was sleeveless and had a short ruffle that edged the entire neckline, front and back. A sprinkling of gold sequins that sparkled in the light was stitched to the ruffle.
Apart from the embarrassment she felt at her unaccustomed exposing of so much skin, Brooke found the current fashions quite comfortable. The thin, soft muslin was pulled tight beneath her breasts and flowed loosely down to her ankles. Beneath the gown she wore flesh-colored pantaloons! Brooke had laughed at the notion, but Harriet’s seamstress had explained that all fashionable women were wearing this undergarment because the Empire-style gowns should appear as if nothing were worn underneath them.
To fill in the bare expanse of skin above the gown’s low neckline, Brooke put on the necklace Alfreda had given her, an ivory cameo on a silver chain. A jewelry box had been delivered with her new wardrobe, but nothing in it was as precious to her as the cameo. It was mostly filled with inexpensive baubles of every color that matched the new gowns that Harriet had picked out for her. The only expensive items were an emerald set Brooke was to have worn to her first ball.
With her hair yet to be styled more elegantly for the evening with a lot of short ringlets around her brow and temples, Brooke said anxiously, “Hurry with my hair, please. I’m really running late for dinner with the wolf.”
“Nonsense,” Alfreda replied. “You’re going to look so beautiful he will find you worth waiting for. So stay calm and remember your plan to make him love you.”
Easier said than done, Brooke thought. But he probably wasn’t going to wait for her, had most likely sent someone to fetch his food. She hoped he’d done that. A hungry wolf wouldn’t make for a pleasant wolf—and whom was she kidding? He was never going to be pleasant with her. Not growling was the best she could hope for.
On her way out the door, she told Alfreda to hurry to the kitchen to have the food for her dinner with Dominic sent up immediately, if he didn’t already have his. She then knocked softly on his door, but didn’t wait for permission to enter since he was expecting her. It was beyond the dinner hour but not dark yet, with the sun setting so late in June, so no lamps were yet lit. Dominic appeared to be alone in the room this time.
He was still in bed, still propped up on his many pillows. But at least he was wearing a white nightshirt, though it was mostly open down his chest. And he’d combed his hair! He hadn’t been shaved, though. The stubble on the lower half of his face was darker now. But perhaps he was feeling somewhat better. . . .
“Why the devil are you dressed like that?” he growled as she approached the bed.
Brooke was embarrassed by the way his eyes focused above the décolletage, but she didn’t pause. She might love how comfortable the current fashions were, but she would never get used to these low necklines that were so popular in London.
“I always dress like this for dinner,” she lied.
“Not with me you won’t.”
She was so pleased to hear that, she smiled. “As you wish. I can be very accommodating.” He snorted. Since he already sounded like a beast, she added, “I suppose I don’t need to ask how you are this evening? No better a’tall?”
“Hungry, that’s how I am. Twice I have been given excuses for why my dinner doesn’t sit before me. How have you managed to charm my cook?”
“I haven’t,” she replied pleasantly. “In fact it’s very obvious your staff doesn’t like me a’tall.”
“Then why are they listening to you instead of me?!” he yelled.
“Because I’m a lady, of course,” she said pointedly. “And servants don’t dare pit themselves against a noblewoman without serious consequences. It must be your fever that has made you overlook that. Besides, your trying to starve me while I’m here isn’t going to work. At least wait until you’re well enough to guard your kitchen yourself, because in the meantime, I’ll chase your cook out with a broom and prepare my own meals if I have to. So you might want to reconsider that nasty plan. Burned bread and nothing else? Really?”
His face just got redder. She ought to be angry, too, but having gotten a proper meal for lunch, she could now see a little humor in his attempt to starve her. So she tried to mollify him a little by saying, “I expect our dinner will arrive at any moment. But in the meantime . . .”
He was done yelling, perhaps done talking at all, so she glanced down at his wound and was relieved to be able to say, “It does look a little better, not quite so red.”
She hurried to the bathing room to mix the salve. When she returned to his bedside, he was still glaring at her. But she was surprised when he grabbed her wrist as she reached for his wound and said, “You are closest kin to the man I hate most in this world. That should terrify you. Why doesn’t it?”
That gave her pause. If he thought she should be afraid of him, then she probably should be. But then he didn’t know how she felt about her brother. She decided to tell him.
“Because, believe it or not, I hate Robert, too. And believe it or not, I would rather be here with you than with my own family, no matter that you’re a churlish beast.”
“You might want to stop calling me names.”
“You might want to give me a reason to.”
She had kept her tone pleasant thus far. She’d even smiled at him, which was obviously confounding him. Good. It was a start. Make him curious. Catch him off guard.
“Why would you hate your brother?”
She’d never told anyone but Alfreda. She shouldn’t share the reason with him, but suddenly she did.
“He’s hated me from the day I was born, I don’t know why. But he used to come into my room in the middle of the night, put a hand over my mouth and hit me, leaving bruises where they wouldn’t be seen, and promising to kill me if I told on him. I was too young to realize I could lock my door against him. I think I was
only four or five. Most people don’t remember much from that age, but Robert’s beatings are something that I can’t forget and still can’t forgive. He became sick for several weeks after the last time he did it, justly deserved.”
That had been after Alfreda had found out what Robert had been doing and began sleeping on a cot in Brooke’s room and locking the door to prevent any more middle-of-the-night visits. Alfreda did that for nearly two years, although Robert stopped trying to get in the room when he started finding the door always locked to him.
“You wished him ill?”
She laughed. “D’you think I can make wishes come true?”
“Can you?”
“I didn’t take you for superstitious . . . well, actually, you must be if you can believe you are cursed. But if I had such a talent, I wouldn’t be here, would I? I’d be having my Season in London as I was promised.”
“That’s all? You wouldn’t wish for something more grand than that?”
She realized suddenly that they were having a normal conversation, with neither of them growling or snapping. “It’s something I’ve looked forward to for the last two years.”
It had made those two years tolerable, at least, better than all those before it. She’d had something to be excited about. The trip promised something better in the end, possibly even happiness. It promised escape. But this man could give her those things, too, couldn’t he? At least the escape.
So it was quite annoying to hear him say, “You know I have no reason to believe you about your brother and every reason not to.”
“How true! But I don’t feel a need to convince you of anything, so it’s all right if you don’t. You asked, I answered. And as long as we are making confessions—”