Chapter 22
For the next week, Cosette did little more than eat and sleep. Charlotte came by her room often to chat, the latter carrying most of the conversation. Most of her stories consisted of Quinn and what they’d been doing, along with a heavy amount of eye rolling when it came to any mention of Davien. But even though her friend might act like they were constantly at odds, Cosette knew that they had settled into a companionable, if not almost respectable, acquaintance for her sake.
Davien also checked in on Cosette, but it was only when she ate, likely to make sure she cleaned her plate, to apply more of that soothing cream to her back, and when he thought she was resting. More than once she’d felt his shadowed, comforting presence in the middle of the night. He never joined her on the bed, but she knew that he was there, watching over her like a dark angel.
At least, if nothing else could be said during her convalescence, it was that the voice had remained silent. Then again, it had proved a point by breaking out of the walls of the Abbey to cause havoc. Its quest for bloodlust must be content for the moment.
Finally, after nearly six full days of bed rest, Cosette could move without her body screaming in pain. The dull throbbing deep in her bones she could endure. Since all of her clothes were still in her chamber, she dug into Davien’s wardrobe and found one of his banyans to wear. She had to smile, for the ivory garment with its dark red stripes was likely the most colorful thing that he owned. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the delicate silk around her body, fastening the line of buttons up the front. She brought the collar up around her face to breathe in Davien’s familiar scent, which still clung to the fabric.
Her feet were bare as she padded across the carpet, relishing the feel of the softness on her toes. But even the cold of the hard wood was a welcome feeling, because everything around her was part of Shadowlawn—part of Davien.
She opened the door, making it only a handful of steps into the hallway before Davien accosted her from the opposite side. His steps slowed as he saw her, eventually coming to a stop. He looked tired, but he was still the most handsome, intriguing man she’d ever laid eyes on. He still wore his usual black, evidenced by his trousers and waistcoat, although he had dared to don a white shirt and cravat. The contrast made him even more appealing, if such a thing were even possible.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
His curt demand didn’t annoy her, but caused her to smile. “I thought I would go downstairs to the library for a while.”
He frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She nodded. “I’m feeling better. The stiffness has subsided.”
He paused. “I’m glad the cream seems to be working.” He walked to her and offered his arm, as gallant as any other gentleman. “Allow me to escort you?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
Those dark eyes glittered at the use of his title, although his lips twitched. “Some day, very soon, you will pay for that, madam.”
They were nearly downstairs when there was a furious pounding at the front door. Cosette gasped, while Davien’s arm flexed beneath her grasp. Upon hearing the commotion, Charlotte and Quinn came running into the foyer from the dining hall.
“Wot’s goin’ on?” Charlotte demanded.
Davien kept silent as he led Cosette to the library, ignoring the continued demand for entry that was echoing their every step. “Stay here,” he ordered, passing Charlotte and Quinn on his way back over the threshold.
“It sounds like they’re goin’ t’ rip th’ door right off th’ hinges,” Charlotte huffed.
Cosette remained silent, but her hands curled into fists. She could only think of one reason that someone might be calling at the duke’s residence. It was because Dashwood had led the authorities here—for her.
It appeared that her temporary freedom had come to an end.
~ ~ ~
“Open in the name of His Majesty, King George III!”
Davien tensed at the sharp command, but he was careful to keep an outward nonchalance as he opened the door. Before him stood at least a dozen red-coated soldiers. One man, a leftenant, stood out from the rest, along with his companion, Sir Francis Dashwood.
He wasn’t surprised to see him. In fact, he’d been anticipating the day they came to collect Cosette for the crime of murder.
But what they didn’t count on was the lengths he was willing to traverse to see that Cosette remained safe.
He adopted a bored pose. “Ah, gentleman. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
The leftenant his face completely impassive, said firmly, “We are here to arrest Miss Cosette du Buoir, for the murder of Lord Alfred James Barker, the son of the Earl of Canfield. We were told that we would find her here.”
“Under whose authority?” Davien asked, although he already knew the answer.
“Mine,” Dashwood returned smoothly. “I saw the entire incident take place before my very eyes. It was quite gruesome. I’m rather surprised that you still have her under your roof.”
Davien crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, leaving his ‘guests’ to remain on his front steps. “If I recall matters correctly he was attempting to force her to do something that she didn’t want to do. The way I see it, she committed no crime if she was merely defending herself.”
