“What the devil are you doing in Hampshire?” Sebastian shook Oxford’s hand and lowered across from him.
Oxford was a blustery old duke whose face tended toward red. “My wife and I are headed to Cornwall to see my daughter. She and Lexum just welcomed my second grandchild into the world. We couldn’t outrun the weather. Deuced inconvenient.”
“Your wife?” Ryleigh choked out. He had heard Oxford had remarried the most notorious gossip in the ton.
“Er, Lady Parther and me, we tied the knot a month or so ago.” He was quick to change the subject. “’Nuff about me. What’s this I hear about your new duchess.”
Sebastian barely suppressed his wince. Rebecca would not be happy with this turn of events—not that he was, he assured himself. “How on earth did you learn of—”
“These innkeepers can’t keep nothing to themselves, don’t you know.”
“Ah, yes.” Especially when they end up at the same place twice within a few days’ time.
“Who’s the lucky woman, man? My wife will be all agog for the information.”
No doubt. “My felicitations on your new grandchild.” Ryleigh deflected. “How are Lord and Lady Lexum?”
“Good, good. Everyone’s good.” Oxford proceeded to fill him in on the latest news from London. “Don’t know what the world’s comin’ to when one of our own is struck down in Vauxhall.”
The fine hairs on Sebastian’s neck lifted. “What do you mean?”
“You ain’t heard? Thought you of all people would have. Man being related to you and all.”
“No.” He sipped at his pint, his insides twisted, as a fleeting image of the twins went through his mind.
“Baron Welton was with Huntley when they were attacked.” His brows creased. “Can’t rightly remember which one didn’t make it. Still, what’s the world comin’ to when a peer can’t enjoy the fireworks without being attacked.”
Huntley was attacked? Ryleigh’s hand squeezed about his tankard. That could explain why Gabriella hadn’t heard from her husband. But it didn’t explain how he, the Duke of Ryleigh, Marquis of Dorset, Viscount Woodford hadn’t heard. “One of them didn’t make it, you say?”
“Messy business going to Vauxhall. Exactly why the commoners should be kept separate from the peer, I always say,” he blustered.
“I, er, better get back,” he told Oxford. “See how things are faring.”
“Yes, yes.” Oxford threw back his ale. “P’rhaps our duchesses would like to meet for breakfast.”
“I’m afraid the lady’s maid took sick and my, er, duchess is indisposed. But, of course, any other time…” he said, impatient to be away. There was no one he could speak to of this development but Rebecca.
Sebastian made his goodbyes and hurried up the two flights of stairs to their chamber. Their chamber. He felt a little ill himself.
Rebecca was sitting on the settee with her head back and her eyes closed. “Where have you been?” she asked without opening her eyes.
“Oxford is in the public rooms. Apparently, the innkeeper couldn’t hold in his great fortune of the flow of nobility passing through and mentioned we were here.”
“I’m almost too tired to care,” she said. She turned her head and speared him with a slanted glare. What did it say about him that the look did something to his nether regions? “You didn’t mention anything about me, did you?”
“Hmm. Perhaps the news I have to share will wake you up. In fact, I happen to believe it is enough to keep me awake for the rest of the night.” He sauntered over to the hearth near the fire. “I suspect I’ll have trouble sleeping.” Not to mention, being confined in the chamber with Rebecca all night. A whole other issue to deal with.
Again, she peered at him from one eye. “Oh? And what is that?”
“Oxford said that Welton and Huntley were attacked at Vauxhall, and he wasn’t sure which one was the survivor.”
She bolted upright, just as he thought she would, proving she mightn’t be a fairy from the constellations after all.
“How is Serena?” he asked.
“Over the worst of it, I believe. We’ll know more in the morning. Don’t change the topic.” She was frowning. “What is this about Welton and—dear heavens. You think this is what Owen witnessed, don’t you?”
Sebastian grimaced. “The thought crossed my mind. And now we have Oxford and his new bride to contend with. We shall have to be wily to escape their company.”
“Oxford’s married?”
“He married Lady Parther, Lexum’s aunt. How do you not know these things?”
Rebecca rubbed her forehead. “The names escape me. I’ve been out of society for seven years, you know.”
Ryleigh went and stood before her, grasped her still lace-covered hands and tugged her to her feet. He set his chin atop her head, giving him the added advantage of the warmth of her breasts against his chest. “Never mind. We’ll deal with Oxford on the morrow.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead as if it was the most natural progression in the world. “Go. You need rest.”
“Of course. We can’t very well be caught sharing a chamber.”
“No,” he said softly even as shock sparked through him. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind being caught with her. She would have no choice but to marry him then. Where the devil had that thought come from? Regardless, Lady Rebecca Thatcher was unpredictable. She didn’t wish to marry. Had no care for society’s dictates. No care for her own reputation.
It hit him—a bronze mace to the sternum—Rebecca would not fold under those dictates or any dictate. Why should she? If pretending to have bastard children didn’t offend her sensibilities, why should being entangled in a compromising situation affect anything? She was an Amazon of the ancients, a warrior bound and determined to avenge and protect those less fortunate than her.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Go on. Get some rest. It’s been a long day. You shall take the bed,” he said.
“Of course, I shall not take the bed, Your Grace.” She pulled away from him and found her bag, ironically, on the bed. She dug through it and pulled out a scrap of fabric of the sheerest lawn that had him swallowing a moan. Next a wrap appeared. “I shall rest with Serena.”
“What if you contract her illness?” he demanded.
“’Tis better than you landing a hoyden. Good night, Your Grace.”
Another one of those damned exits worthy of treading the boards.
Rebecca fell back against the door, her heart pounding wildly. Surely it thumped like a knock that Sebastian could hear on the other side. She’d been so rattled, she pulled the first item out from her open bag still sitting on the bed in the outer chamber—the most luxurious of her nightwear. She pulled herself together and moved to the chair in the corner next to the window. The chair was an old piece of furniture with worn threadbare cushions. The fabric was so faded the original color was undiscernible. She reached over and placed the back of her hand against Serena’s forehead. Her clammy skin indicated her fever had broken. Her breathing was regulated. The poor dear had had the time of it.
Rebecca dropped in the chair and leaned against the back, clutching her night rail and wrap to her bosom. She didn’t have the energy to change, even had trouble swallowing. How could her jaw be so tired? She hadn’t even yelled at him.
Her thoughts drifted to Sebastian’s meeting with Oxford. Lady Parther, apparently now the Duchess of Oxford, was a renowned gossip. That put her duke—wait, not her duke—Sebastian, no. Not Sebastian. Ryleigh—in an impossible situation, and someone needed to reach Gabby. Her brain was a fogged mess. It felt as if she hadn’t slept in a week.
She stripped off a glove but didn’t have the energy to manage the other one. She rubbed her eyes.
What the devil had Huntley been doing with Welton? Not only was the baron miles beneath the earl, Welton was a known imbécile. That much she remembered from her come-out season. If something had happened to Huntley, that would explain why he hadn’t returned home, but the news would have flooded the London newspapers. Oh, Gabs. What have you gotten yourself into?
She and Sebastian would have to take their chances with Serena and leave on the morrow, weather be damned. The duke could ride alongside the carriage. It was a plan. Plans set one’s mind at ease. Her last thought as she closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
Sebastian waited thirty minutes. He even went to the lady’s companion door and laid his ear against it. Not a sound emitted. There was no rustling of fabric to indicate Lady Rebecca changing out of the brightly colored frock he pulled from her valise. He paced the outer chamber until his curiosity fairly strangled him. He tapped at the door and waited.
Nothing.
He tapped again. He didn’t wish to disturb Serena. She needed her strength to travel. It was imperative they leave the next day. And he would not be leaving Rebecca behind. The idea was unthinkable.
Again, no response. He would have to risk a sound scolding. Quietly pushing down the latch, he peered inside. The smell was rank. Serena slept peacefully. Rebecca, too, as indicated by the night clothes resting slack in her hold. Her position did not appear all that comfortable.
He shook his head and moved inside the small room. He placed a hand to the maid’s head and, to his relief, found her skin cool to the touch. He went to the window and cracked it just so. Even should the rain come in, it wouldn’t reach her sick bed. It would, however, drench Rebecca.
He twisted around and touched Rebecca’s shoulder. Still no response, there again reassuring him she was not an apparition conjured from the stars. He shook her lightly and was unsurprised to find she slept like the dead. Lady warriors worked hard during their waking hours.
She certainly couldn’t stay like that all night. There was nothing for it. He slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other, he wrapped along her shoulders and lifted her. She weighed but a feather for an Amazon. Her only response was her snub-nose burrowing in his shoulder like a kitten, worn out after a long and playful day. Clearly, she’d been too exhausted to change into the silk night rail and wrap she clutched, sadly hiding his view of her lovely bosom. Intriguing as it was to see her eyes flash fire, this quiet, sleeping side of her showed a vulnerability most others would not be privy to. He certainly hadn’t—before now. In the light of day, her Amazonian nature dominated every aspect of the generous spirit he was fast learning she possessed.
How was it she felt so right in his arms? Just the thought of her standing up to that villain in St. James Park turned his blood to ice.
Sebastian carried her to the outer chamber and laid her on the bed. The minute her body touched the mattress, she rolled away from him, never stirring from her slumber, leaving him staring at the back of her gown. Of course. He’d forgotten how a woman’s dress required assistance to get in and out of.
He wasn’t about to touch her. That way lay a danger he was not willing to attempt lest he not stop at just loosening. He rubbed the palm of his hand over the back of his neck. It was damp. He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and loosened his cravat, then made his way around the chamber, dousing candles. After a moment, he stretched out on the settee with his feet hanging over the edge and let the patter of the rain hitting the windows lull him into a light slumber.