Ducal Encounters 02 - With the Duke's Approval (10 page)

The brothers shared a glance. “Do it,” Winchester said tersely.

Clarence took a deep breath, then gently but firmly grasped Lady Annalise’s left elbow and wrist. Slowly he rotated her lower arm until he felt resistance. When he did so, he nodded to Winchester, who placed a restraining hand on his sister’s other shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Winchester replied. “I have her.”

Clarence forced his mind to go blank. This was not the lady who had occupied so many of his thoughts recently, but just another poor soul who had met with an accident. He could fix this. He absolutely could. Thus resolved, he lifted her upper arm as far as possible forwards and rotated her forearm to bring her hand towards her opposite shoulder. There was a sharp click and a louder scream from Lady Annalise. She was definitely conscious now. Her eyes flew open but appeared unfocused, hazy with pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarence said, crouching beside her, still holding her arm. “But that should feel better now.”

“Clarence?” The frozen fingers of one hand clawed at his sleeve. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, Anna. You’re home.” Winchester crouched on her opposite side and stroked her wet, tangled hair. “You’re safe now.”

“So cold,” she muttered, her teeth chattering. Both wolfhounds pressed their bodies against her legs, as though instinctively trying to warm her. Clarence didn’t try to move them. Lady Annalise closed her eyes and sighed. “Everything hurts.”

“Shush, I know.” Winchester replaced the blanket over her shoulder. “Brandy,” he said to Vince.

Lord Vincent poured brandy into a glass and handed it to Clarence. He lifted the glass to Lady Annalise’s lips.

“Take a sip,” he encouraged. “It will warm you.”

She appeared delirious, a jumble of words spilling from her lips that made no sense, and he was unsure if she even heard him. Sharing a concerned glance with Winchester, he forced the glass to her lips and tipped. A little must have trickled down her throat because she spluttered. More trickled down her face. Clarence was filled with rage when he noticed her cut lip and the bruise forming on the side of her face. Someone had obviously struck her. Clarence intended to discover whom that someone was and ensure they paid a heavy price for their cowardly act. He was a diplomat, given to winning arguments through intelligent mediation. The determination he felt to resort to physical violence took him by surprise. Let the bastard responsible for hurting Lady Annalise take on someone his own size and see how he fared then.

“Frankie, we need to warm her feet,” he said, pushing aside his murderous thoughts and concentrating on reviving Lady Annalise. “Can you remove that sacking around them, and her stockings, please?”

“Of course.”

The gentlemen turned their backs while Frankie crouched at lady Annalise’s feet and did as Clarence asked.

“Dear God, her shins are scraped and bloody, but I don’t think the damage is too severe. There are rope marks around her ankles.” Frankie looked up, her eyes blistering with anger. “Someone tied them very tightly.”

“Her wrists too,” Clarence said, disgusted when he saw the chaffing on her delicate arms. “Wash her lower legs and feet with a warm towel, please, Frankie. Rub them briskly to get the circulation going, and then wrap her feet in dry towels.”

Before Frankie could complete that task, the duchess came into the room. She looked haggard yet composed, until she saw the condition of her daughter. Tears then streamed down her face.

“My poor love,” she said, shooing Winchester’s dogs aside and crouching to take a frozen hand in hers. “Whatever happened to you?”

The two ladies bathed and dried Lady Annalise’s legs and feet. When Clarence examined her face again, he was relieved to notice a little colour returning to it. But she still wasn’t fully cognisant.

“Don’t burn that!” At Clarence’s sharp command, Nate’s hand arrested halfway towards the fire, onto which he had been about to throw the sacking that had bound Lady Annalise’s feet. “It might lend a clue as to where she was held.”

“We know who held her,” Vince growled. “We shall be paying Count von Hessel a visit just as soon as we’re sure Anna is all right.”

“And what do you imagine he will say if we do?” Winchester asked.

“Is that who took her?” the duchess asked at the same time.

“We don’t know for certain yet, your grace,” Clarence replied, slipping into his diplomatic persona.

“You may not be certain,” Nate snarled, “but I am.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Nate,” Winchester advised. “Our first priority is to ensure Anna recovers. Then we shall decide what’s to be done.”

Clarence nodded his approval as he unwound the sacking from one of her frozen hands and patted it briskly between both of his own. Winchester mirrored his actions with her opposite hand.

“She has a nasty gash on her forearm,” Winchester said.

Clarence looked and nodded. “At least the cut on her lip is superficial, and won’t leave a scar.”

“Can we not warm her up in a bath?” the duchess asked.

“No, your grace,” Clarence replied. “We need to warm her gradually. I would not recommend bathing until tomorrow, but the doctor will be able to advise you better in that respect.”

“Does she have frost bite?” Nate asked.

“It’s a close run thing, but I hope not.”

“Then why the devil doesn’t she respond?” Vince demanded to know.

“Quite apart from anything else, she’s exhausted. I suspect, from the state of her, that she escaped from wherever she was being held and found her way back here in the middle of a blizzard.”

The three brothers shared an admiring glance. Clarence felt inclined to join in, but was careful to keep his expression neutral. The Sheridans’ initial euphoria at having their sister returned to them was quickly turning to anger at her condition. Clarence suspected blame would soon again be apportioned to him, which was only right and proper since that was where it belonged.

“Oh my goodness!” The duchess took in Clarence’s words, and looked close to losing consciousness herself. “The poor, poor child.”

“Her determination held until she got home. Now she feels safe, her body has closed down so it can heal.” Or at least, Clarence hoped that was the case and there was nothing permanently wrong with her.

Faraday came in with the broth Clarence had asked for.

“Make sure there’s a good fire in Lady Annalise’s room,” Winchester told him. “And have the bed warmed, and put plenty of blankets on it.”

“Arrangements are already in hand, your grace.”

“Lady Annalise.”

Still holding her hand, which was gradually warming, Clarence squeezed it and spoke loudly to his brave, damaged, totally exhausted angel. Eventually her eyes fluttered open, and this time they looked a little less cloudy.

“Lord Romsey?” She blinked. “Where am I?”

“Sheridan House,” the duchess said, wiping away tears. “You are quite safe now, my love. Take a little broth. It will warm you.”

When the duchess placed the spoon to her lips, Clarence was pleased to see a few sips slide down her throat.

“No more,” Lady Annalise said, pushing the spoon away. “I feel like I will choke on it.”

“Doctor Fisher,” Faraday said from the doorway.

The doctor introduced himself to Anna. Having examined her, he dressed her various cuts, declaring none needed stitching, and said she was now warm enough to be removed to her chamber.

“She ought not to be left alone overnight,” he said. “Call me again if her situation deteriorates.” He packed up his bag, shaking his head. “Terrible business. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

Once the doctor left, Winchester went to lift his sister from her chair, but Lady Annalise raised her arms towards Clarence instead. The brothers exchanged another of their speaking looks.

“I’ll show you the way,” Winchester said curtly.

Clarence gently picked Lady Annalise up. She was as light as a feather in his arms, but thankfully more aware of her surroundings than when he last lifted her. The duchess followed them up the stairs.

“Her maid and I will take turns watching her,” she said.

“So, what happens now?” Vince asked when Clarence and Winchester returned to the drawing room.

“We must wait until later today, when hopefully Lady Annalise will be able to tell us more about who took her and where she was held. Then we will decide.” Clarence yawned. “In the meantime, I suggest we all get some sleep.”

“I have arranged a chamber for you here, Lady St. John,” Winchester said. “Faraday has sent round to the Bexley residence for your things. I would be happier if you remained with us until we get to the bottom of this matter. It is clearly you who was the target of this atrocity, and I feel responsible for you.”

Frankie nodded. “Very well. I feel responsible too, despite what you say. Anna should not have had to suffer on my account.”

“We are all tired,” Winchester said, stifling a yawn. “Let’s leave the recriminations for later.”

“I shall return this afternoon,” Clarence said, shaking Winchester’s hand. “Hopefully Lady Annalise will be in a position to talk to us then.”

***

Was she dead? When Anna felt an agonising pain rip through her shoulder, she wished she was. But she was fairly sure one didn’t feel pain once one died. Now the pain had gone completely, and she could move her shoulder. Yes, definitely dead then, but it was almost worth it to be rid of the pain. And to feel warm again.

Strong arms lifted her, carrying her up a flight of stairs, murmuring reassurances in a melodic voice that she found soothing. A voice that haunted her dreams. It sounded like Lord Romsey, and smelt like him too. A rich, spicy masculine aroma she would always associate with the reserved, highly intelligent, sophisticated, and suave gentleman who so fascinated her. He had a surprisingly solid chest, or at least the version of him who was carrying up the steps to heaven did. She snuggled more closely against it, clutching the lapels of a coat that felt surprisingly real.

Damnation, he had put her down. Why did good dreams always end too soon and the bad ones endure? Female hands peeled away her clothing. A warm shift and warmer nightgown were pulled over her head. Then she heard her mother’s gentle voice. Surely, she wasn’t in heaven, too? Her eyes flew open. The familiar surroundings of her chamber at Sheridan House came into view, as did the even more comforting sight of her mother’s face.

“Oh, my dear. How do you feel?” the duchess asked. “You gave us all such a fright. The boys were beside themselves. So too was Lord Romsey. No one knew where to look for you, or who had taken you.”

“I feel chilled to the bone still, but not as badly as before,” Anna replied, her voice weak and trembling. “But I am very glad to be home.”

Mama hugged her. “I don’t know how I would have borne it if I had lost you, my love.”

Anna sniffed, feeling tears flood her eyes and emotion squeeze her heart. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“So you are not. Now, let Fanny brush your hair, and then you can sleep. I shall be here with you, and when you wake you will feel much better.”

Anna groaned with pleasure when she felt a brush being pulled through her tangled hair. Nimble fingers braided it and tied it off with a ribbon.

“Come on, Anna.” Mama took her arm. “Into bed with you.”

Anna groaned again as she slid between blessedly warm cotton sheets.

“Drink this, my dear. The doctor said it would help you sleep.”

Too weary to put up objections, Anna obediently drank down the concoction. Every bone in her body ached, and she still wasn’t warm enough. Even so, she immediately felt drowsy, which surprised her. She had imagined she would be plagued by visions of her ordeal, which would prevent her from sleeping. As it was, she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillows.

***

When Anna woke, she was unaware of how long she had slept. The curtains were closed, but she sensed it was night time. Fanny was seated beside the bed, sewing. She smiled when she realised Anna was awake.

“How do you feel, my lady?” she asked. “We were that worried about you. The whole house was in uproar.”

“I’m hungry, and in need of a bath.”

Fanny jumped up, beaming. “Both of those things can be easily arranged.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight in the evening, my lady.”

“Where are my brothers?”

“Downstairs in the drawing room with Lord Romsey and Lady St. John. They will be pleased to know you’re awake.”

“Don’t tell them yet, Fanny. I want to eat, bath, and dress. Then I shall go down, and they will be able to see me for myself.”

“Oh, my lady, do you think that’s wise?”

“I have no intention of being interviewed in my bedroom, Fanny.”

Anna felt weak, yet determined. All the things she thought she had dreamed were most likely true. It
was
Lord Romsey who had carried her up the stairs. She had a vague notion it was he who fixed her shoulder also. She rotated it now as she waited for Fanny to return and found it hardly hurt at all. He really was the most remarkable man, full of surprises. But he would not be permitted to visit her in her bedroom, and she very badly wanted to see him. Even Zach, usually the most level-headed of men, couldn’t be trusted to resolve this matter because he would be as angry as her others brothers about what had happened to her. It needed a cool, intelligent head to decide what ought to be done, especially if foreigners were involved. That was definitely Lord Romsey’s forte. What it most definitely did not require was one of her hot headed brothers fighting duels to avenge her abduction—something she would not put past Nate.

Pleased that her cognitive powers appeared to have been restored to her, Anna sat up and reached for a thick shawl that was draped across the bed. She wrapped it around her shoulders, wondering if she would ever feel truly warm again. Fanny returned with a tray, which she placed over Anna’s lap. There was more broth, fresh bread, and pastries to tempt Anna’s sweet tooth. She had felt hungry when she awoke, but now she had food in front of her she found it hard to eat and pushed the tray away again, having not taken very much. She did however drink two cups of tea, which revived her.