Head in the Clouds (16 page)

Feeling as if she were walking to the gallows, Adelaide picked up Lucinda’s journal, opened the door, and trudged down the long hallway to Gideon’s chamber.

Chapter 19

Gideon whistled softly as he buttoned his tan riding trousers. Stepping over to the washstand, he caught a glimpse of himself in the shaving mirror. He shook his head. Twenty-eight years old and he was grinning over a woman like an inexperienced pup. Although, he guessed he
was
inexperienced. The feelings Adelaide inspired in him were stronger than anything he had encountered before. Even now, a thrill vibrated through his bones as he anticipated the two of them galloping over the countryside together. After their ride, she would sit beside him in the grass and they would talk. Perhaps he’d even find a way to hold her hand or stroke the line of her cheek. His smile widened as he reached for his shaving mug and lathered his whiskers.

Visions of Adelaide filled his mind as he scraped the razor along his jaw. She had been so beautiful last night. It was a shame that his servants had been the only ones to see her on his arm. He’d been so proud of her; he would have gladly escorted her to the finest soirees in London.

Gideon toweled away the residual soap lines from his cheeks, chin, and neck and examined his jaw for any places he missed. Satisfied, he fetched his white linen shirt from where it lay draped over the back of a chair, and slid it over his head. He’d just turned down the collar when a quiet rap sounded on his door.

Adelaide.
He would have recognized Chalmers’s brisk knock, had it been his butler.

“Just a moment.”

He quickly fastened the three buttons down his chest and shoved the tail of his shirt into his trousers. Walking toward the door, he snapped his suspenders onto his shoulders and tossed his morning coat over his arm. He didn’t want to keep his lady waiting.

The hinges squeaked as Gideon pulled the door open.

There she stood, his little brown-haired pixie. He smiled down at the top of her head for a few seconds before it hit him. Something was wrong.

Instead of her customary split riding skirt and matching jacket, she wore a flowing housedress that hung unbelted and shapeless on her petite form. A single braid reached forward over her right shoulder, its tasseled end caught between her arm and a book that she was clutching to her chest. Bare toes poked out from under her gown.

Her silence worried him the most, combined with the fact that she hadn’t looked up at him yet.

“Adelaide?”

She tilted her chin up and his heart skipped a beat. Dark circles shadowed her red-rimmed eyes, and the pallor of her skin drove a dagger of fear into him. He dropped his coat and took hold of her arms.

“You’re ill.” Not waiting for her to confirm his conclusion, he lifted a hand to her forehead and felt for fever. “I’ll send Chalmers for the doctor.”

He moved past her, intending to see to the task at once, but her free hand latched on to his forearm and brought him to a halt.

“I’m not sick, Gideon. I’m grieved.”

What was that supposed to mean? Had someone died?

“Danger’s coming,” she said. “We have to protect Isabella.” After making that cryptic pronouncement, she shoved the book into his hands.

He frowned down at the slim volume. “I don’t understand.”

She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Gideon. I didn’t sleep last night, and I fear I’m not making any sense. Read the passages I marked. Then you’ll grasp what I’m trying to tell you.”

He held up the book. “Is this what kept you up all night?”

“Yes. I found it in Lady Petchey’s trunk when I returned her dress.” Her eyes met his. “I can’t explain it, but I believe God wanted me to find this journal. You may already know some of what is written there, but I doubt you know all of it. We must prepare, Gideon. He’ll come for her.”

He was having the hardest time following her jagged thoughts, but her fear communicated itself to him quite clearly. Whatever she’d read had shaken her badly.

“Who will come?”

“Reginald.”

Viscount Petchey
. Relief flooded him. This he could handle. She didn’t know about the court decision and how his guardianship of Isabella was secure. He tucked the book under his arm and placed his hand at her waist. Adelaide looked as if she were about to fall over. He wanted to carry her to the sofa in his room, but that wouldn’t be proper. The study would have to do. She needed reassurance, and he planned to give it to her before her worrying made her truly ill.

“Let’s go down to my study. I think I can alleviate your mind about this.”

She resisted, her feet firmly rooted to the floor. “You should read the journal before we discuss it.”

Gideon didn’t think there was much need, and she probably wouldn’t think so either once she heard what he had to say, but if he didn’t give her his word regarding the journal, she probably wouldn’t allow him to take care of her. Right now, getting her into a chair was his first priority.

“I promise to read it when we get downstairs, all right?” He nudged her forward, satisfied when she complied.

He’d explain about Petchey first, of course. Then, if she still wasn’t convinced of Bella’s safety, he would read the journal to placate her. Once he’d assuaged her fears, he’d see that she got the rest she needed.

They navigated the stairs together, Gideon keeping a firm grip on her as she wobbled along. Then he ushered her into his study and directed her to the settee. He slid in beside her, not caring if one of the servants spied him cozying up to the governess. Comforting her was more important to him than his staff’s opinions. He wished he could wrap his arm around her and pull her into his side, but he wouldn’t flaunt propriety so much as to cause her embarrassment should someone stumble upon them.

“I know about Lord Petchey.”

She grabbed his hand, and her hazel eyes searched his. “You do?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to erase some of her tension. “He contested Lucinda’s will and my guardianship, but the courts ruled in our favor. Bella is safe. He can’t take her away.”

“Maybe not legally, but that’s not stopped him before.” In the blink of an eye, the soft woman who had leaned against him for strength vanished. Adelaide yanked her hand out of his grasp and lurched to her feet. “He wants the money, Gideon. He’s already killed twice to get it. He won’t let a court decision stand in his way.”

“What do you mean … he’s already killed twice?” Gideon stood and reached for her, but she backed away.

“I had him fully investigated prior to the trial,” he said in a soothing tone. “He’s a scoundrel to be sure, but the only crime he’s guilty of is trying to cheat at the card table. If he was involved in murder, there’d be rumors circulating. Not even a whisper of such a foul deed was linked to his name.”

“That’s because he manipulates everything into looking like an accident or illness!”

Accusation flared in her eyes as she turned on him. Why, she was glaring at him as if he were in league with the villain! He didn’t know what to make of it. She acted like a scared rabbit one minute and a defiant tigress the next. He blew out a breath. The only thing he knew for sure was that his efforts to comfort her had fallen far short of the mark.

Before he could figure out what to do, she snatched up the book from where he had left it on the cushion of the settee and thrust it at his chest.

“Read the journal, Gideon.” She flopped into one of the armchairs with a huff. “I folded the corners down on the most pertinent pages.”

He cracked open the cover and began scanning the entries as he sank back down onto the settee. His eyes skimmed over the sentences quickly until his mind caught up and finally recognized what he was reading. After that, he went back and studied each word, absorbing the implications.

A deadly rifle shot with no one to witness the shooting. Arsenic disguised as medicine. No proof to offer the authorities, only the coincidental timing of events and a grieving widow’s supposition.

Gideon lost track of time as he pored over the journal. He’d met Lucinda Petchey. She hadn’t struck him as one prone to bouts of paranoia or vindictiveness. She’d certainly been frail and desperate to find a protector for her daughter, but everyone on the ship had agreed she was of sound mind.

He set the book down and leaned against the cushioned back of the settee. Staring at the ceiling, he fought against the tremors that rocked through him. If Lucinda’s conclusions were true … God have mercy.

Adelaide was right. No court dictate would fetter Reginald Petchey. An ocean might not even be big enough to keep him away. Gideon hoped the Lord had a plan, because his gut told him Petchey wouldn’t challenge him directly. No, the snake would continue his subversive methods and strike while hidden in the grass. Only God would be able to see him coming, and Gideon would need all the warning he could get.

A soft purring sound arose across from him, drawing Gideon’s attention. Adelaide had curled up like a kitten with her head pillowed on the chair arm. A delicate snore rumbled out of her open mouth. His little tigress had succumbed to her exhaustion. Perhaps seeing him read the journal finally gave her the comfort she needed.

He walked over to where she lay and dropped a whisper-soft kiss on her forehead. She trusted him—trusted him enough to let go of her burden once he had a solid grip on it. Warmth spread through his veins. He wouldn’t disappoint her.

After tucking the journal away in his desk drawer, he returned to Adelaide’s side. She really did need her rest, but she’d end up with an awful crick in her neck if he left her in the chair for very long. A slow smile stretched across his face. He
had
hoped to get her in his arms this morning. Surely nothing could be nobler than carrying a weary woman up to her bed so she could get some proper sleep. He would simply be performing a good deed. His duty, even. And if he happened to derive a great deal of pleasure from that duty … ? Well, that was no one’s concern but his.

Gideon carefully gathered her into his arms. She moaned and her eyes cracked open for a moment, but she almost immediately cuddled her cheek against his chest and resumed her deep breathing. He could get used to that sound.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he readjusted his hold and carried her the rest of the way to her room. Her door stood ajar, so he pushed it open with his foot and moved inside. Her chamber was a bit disorderly, but a delightful reflection of the woman in his arms—someone more concerned with people than things. The dress she had worn prior to the party lay hurriedly discarded atop a chest in the corner, while school papers littered the top of her bureau. A collection of Bella’s artwork sat propped against the mirror on proud display amid a bird’s nest of ribbons and bits of lace.

Gideon lowered her onto the bed, thankful that he’d felt no evidence of stays through her gown as he carried her. As soon as he slid his arms out from under her, she rolled over onto her side and grabbed the second pillow. She snuggled the downy square to her bosom and mumbled a few unintelligible words before settling herself. An unexpected tenderness rose within him as he watched her sleep.

Could there be more to his feelings than simple attraction? Something deeper and more lasting? He’d escorted countless debutantes about London in the past, beautiful women who inspired ample appreciation within him for their feminine charms. But none of those women had created the tug of possessiveness he felt when he gazed at Adelaide. None of them stirred this desire to cherish and protect. And no matter how suitable their background and manner, none of them made him smile like his Addie.

Addie.
The name fit. Fanciful, whimsical—just like the woman herself. Yet there was strength in it, too. Simple, straightforward strength. He’d known she cared for Bella, yet until her relentless plea this morning, he hadn’t realized how deep her affections ran. Gideon couldn’t help hoping that some of those affections extended to him, as well.

The blankets were tangled up in a clump at the foot of the bed, so he straightened them and held them aloft. He hesitated to lower the covers, admiring her a second or two longer. But as he did so, his admiration became concern. Perhaps it was the nearly colorless hue of her gown, but she seemed to blend in with the sheets, her face still pale from her upset. She had lost her vibrancy, her zest. A pattern of small golden flowers dotted the ivory fabric of her housedress, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted the cheerful, full-blown yellow he associated with her personality. This faded version made his heart ache.

He would fix this. He would. Bella and Adelaide depended on him. Whatever it took, he would see to their protection and ensure their future happiness.

His jaw clenched in conviction as he finally let the covers float down over Adelaide’s sleeping form. Gideon pulled the curtains closed against the daylight and turned to leave but came up short. Bella was standing in the doorway, her eyes huge in her tiny face as they darted from him to her teacher and back again.

Gideon held a finger up to his lips and tiptoed to where Bella stood. It wasn’t until after he had closed the bedroom door behind them that he recognized the irony of shushing his mute daughter.

She pointed toward the door, jabbing her finger over and over as her eyes pled with him for answers.

“Miss Proctor is fine, sweetheart.” He hunkered down in front of her and rubbed her arm. “She had trouble sleeping last night after the party and is very tired. I talked with her in the study this morning, and she fell asleep in one of the chairs. So I carried her up here and put her to bed. Like I do with you when you fall asleep in the wagon during the long ride back from town.”

It took a while for her to accept his words. Her reaction reminded him of the day she found Miguel wearing that bloody shirt in the kitchen, only this time, thankfully, it was less severe. That memory triggered another thought: the blood on Stuart Petchey’s shirt when he came staggering out from the forest.

Bella hadn’t been speaking to him at all when she’d said the word
Papa
in the kitchen that day. She’d been remembering her father’s fatal injury. Lord help her. She watched her papa die.