Did madness smell like citrus and roses?
Did madness have a sister-in-law poking him in the back with the porcelain statue’s breasts?
Lawden met him at the door to his study. “Lord Wycliff, I came in through the rear. I have the grooms securing the rest of the house.”
“Good. Give the lady’s driver a guinea and send them away. I’ll see to their transport.”
Mrs. Bexeley pressed close and touched Ruth’s cheek. “Wait a minute. You can’t—”
“It’s done. There’s no time to argue. We must see to your sister. Come into my study. We’ll revive her there.”
He started into the big room, his father’s wonderful study, and paused.
Freed from impressment, newly back to London, he’d slipped into this room four months ago. Blaren House had become a secret gaming hell. Gambling and debauchery had filled the rooms. No one had noticed Wycliff easing into the study and taking the ledger book he’d hidden on the tall bookshelf behind the big desk four years earlier. The information inside had enabled his current plan to destroy his enemies.
Mrs. Bexeley shoved him in his back again. “You stopped in the doorway. Put her down or put us in a carriage. You can’t keep us.”
“You can leave.” His tone was harsh but true. Ruth was all he cared about, all he’d ever cared about. “I’ll take care of her.”
Stepping fully into the room, he tangled his fingers in Ruth’s hair. A thick healthy curl. His wife was alive.
Another shove to his back hurt and would probably leave a bruise. “I take it you wish to remain, Mrs. Bexeley?”
“This is not funny. Put her down.”
It was funny and tragic and humbling. He debated putting Ruth on the gaudy fur rug, the desk, or the settee by the bookcase. From what he’d witnessed during the eviction, particularly the indelicate situation on the desk, every bit of Blaren House would need to be washed with lye soap.
“I…I think the settee is best.” Supporting Ruth in one hand, he moved to the striped satin bench and covered it with his cape then laid his love upon it. Tall, gorgeous Ruth’s feet dangled over the settee’s padded arm.
Wanting to hold her hand, touch the satin of her lips—lips he still dreamed of when he allowed his mind to be undisciplined—he forced himself away. Ruth must awaken and recognize him before there could be any celebration.
“Go to the sideboard, to the right of the desk, Mrs. Bexeley. There looks to be something like brandy there.”
She ran to it, picked up the crystal decanter, and shook it. “Will this help Ruth?”
“No, but I could use a drink. Pour me a glass. Get yourself one, too.”
She hefted the bottle, one hand had the statue, the other the liquor. “I don’t want jokes. Just let us go.”
He undid his cravat very carefully and left his collar buttoned. “I told you, you may go. This woman won’t, not until she has awakened and can leave on her own power.”
His sister-in-law bit her lip. She put the bottle down and then put the statue on the desk with athud. “If you hadn’t sent my driver away, I’d go get him, but I’d never leave you alone with my sister.”
“Then I would have dealt with your driver as I have the thieves I evicted from Blaren House. This woman will go nowhere, not until I know she’s well. An injury to the head is very serious. Catch, Mrs. Bexeley.” He tossed her his cravat.
“Soak it in the brandy. We’ll use it as a restorative.”
Mrs. Bexeley’s head shook, but she did as he requested. “Did I hear your name to be Wycliff? I need to tell my husband and my father who to go after.”
He could tell the sister loved Ruth, but he didn’t care. Wycliff’s world was shifting. Part of the revenge he sought had been for Ruth’s death.
Now what?
Could he half destroy his enemies?
“The name’s Wycliff, the Baron of Wycliff. Make sure they go after the right man. Vengeance should be earned. Hurry with the cravat. I don’t like how she’s breathing.”
If he was assured the scum he evicted wouldn’t return, he’d send his man for a physician.Ruth, be all right.He stroked her hair, lifting a strand from her face, then studied the rise and fall of her chest. His mind again went to four years ago—the night before she haddied, their last night at that foul inn.
