Make Me Love You (13 page)

“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.

“Y
OU
’
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—”

“
We
aren’t.”

She ignored that. “I should warn you that I don’t usually reveal my feelings. I have become quite accustomed to keeping them under wraps, as it were.”

“Why?”

“Because the alternative would be—unpleasant,” she admitted.

For me,
she wanted to add, but she was not going to try to win him to her side with pity, if he was even capable of it, by telling him what her life with her family had been like.

“So instead of this light, chipper nonsense I’m hearing, you’re really seething with anger inside? Is that what you’re implying?”

She blinked at that guess, then laughed. “Exactly! Often-times
that is the case, but not right now. And earlier I felt angry and, as you might have noticed, I couldn’t hide if from you because—”

“But how will I know whether you are concealing or revealing your true feelings?”

“I admit it might be difficult for you to tell. So shall we both simply agree to be forthright with each other?”