Page 38 of Barbarous

Daphne took his hand and pulled him toward her. “Of course not, sweetheart!” She squeezed his small, rough fingers. “He has a broken collarbone and a few bruised ribs. It is nothing at all like Papa’s injuries.” She could not tell them about the possible danger to his head.

Richard’s expression turned mulish. “Papa fell from his horse and you put him in the Rose Room and he died.”

Her son’s logic was infallible.

Daphne drew both boys close, one in each arm. She spoke into Richard’s curly blond hair. “Yes, that is true, Richard, but your papa’s injury was much more severe and he was not as young and healthy as your cousin Hugh. He is only in the Rose Room because it is the nicest room on the main floor.” She kissed the top of his head. “It is only a room, Richard.”

“May we see him?” Richard said, squirming away to look at her.

“He is resting now and will sleep through tonight. It is possible you might visit him tomorrow or perhaps the next day.” Richard continued to look skeptical, his expression so like hers, it caught her by surprise.

“Why would Hugh fall, Mama?” Lucien sounded amazed his idol could have such an accident.

“It happens to even the best riders. I have taken falls and so will you. Come,” she said, taking advantage of the moment of calm introspection to herd them toward the washbasins and the hated before-dinner ritual.

When she left them an hour later, they were still subdued, but at least they were chattering to each other.

Rowena was waiting in a chair in the hallway. “How is he?” she asked, putting aside her needlework.

“He is sleeping.”

“Will this delay the trip to London, my lady?”

Daphne frowned. “How could you even ask such a thing, Rowena? Of course we will not leave him here while we jaunt off to London.” Honestly, sometimes Daphne wondered if the woman wasn’t unhinged.

“Yes, of course.” Rowena looked down at her hands, which she was lacing and unlacing. “For how long, my lady?”

Daphne glared at her bowed head, sorely tempted to give in to her fear, anxiety, and anger and deliver a thorough dressing down. But she held back; Rowena was old and set in her ways and she had taken Hugh in dislike—a thing she’d done often enough in the past. What good would scolding her do?

“I refuse to justify that question with an answer,” she finally said. “Doctor Nichols wants to keep him resting for at least two days. I shall watch him tonight. You may sit with him tomorrow, if you care to be helpful.” She turned to leave, but Rowena’s voice stopped her.

“I should sit with him tonight, my lady. It would be more proper,” she said, managing to sound nervous and adamant at the same time.

Daphne spun around. “Proper? To care for him when he is sick?” She strode back toward her. “Rowena, are you not sensible of what we owe this man?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You can relieve Kemal tomorrow afternoon and that is an end to it.”

She marched away without waiting for an answer, deliberately putting Rowena and her phobia of Hugh out of her mind. To own the truth, Daphne was more than a little worried about her own state of mind since Hugh Redvers’s arrival. And now there was this—somebody trying to hurt or kill him?

She wanted to barricade herself in the library and never come out again.

* * *

Daphne woke just before midnight. She’d slept, but only lightly, anxious about spending the night in Hugh’s bedroom even though he would be sound asleep. She considered her sleeping cap for a long moment and then removed it. After tidying her hair she put on her periwinkle-blue dressing gown, the most flattering garment in her entire wardrobe. This would be the first time she wore clothing around him that was not gray or black and he would be asleep. Daphne was ashamed to admit to such vanity, but there it was. She tied the eight ribbons that closed the gown and picked up the book she’d been reading to the boys at bedtime.

Kemal was waiting for her and stepped into the hall to give her a brief report.

“He slept without waking but had a fitful period after which I tightened his bandages.” He gave her a speculative look. “You may leave such tasks until the morning, if you wish, my lady.”

Daphne was amused by his concern for her tender female sensibilities. “Get some rest, Kemal. I will take good care of your captain.”

Kemal bowed deeply and padded away down the hall.

Hugh had a bit more color than earlier and a slight sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. He did not stir when Daphne seated herself beside the bed and adjusted the brace of candles to keep it from shining on his face.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been reading when he began moving restlessly and mumbling. She leaned closer to listen, but the words were too garbled. She was just about to return to her reading when he flung himself onto his side and then cried out as he rolled onto his injured ribs.

Daphne tried to roll him onto his back, but it was like trying to move a fallen oak tree. She exerted more pressure on his shoulder and his other hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him.

His eyes were wide open, both of them. “I’ll see you dead before I let you lay a hand on me again,” he hissed, his grip as brutal as a snare.